《Viarem》 0.5 Meziah Miranda scanned her options in the blank world that expanded endlessly. The floating menus overwhelmed her at first, but slowly she managed to sort through it and found what she wanted. She began with appearance. With a dramatic beep, a light scanned her from the top down. The default state was her own body, a body that couldn¡¯t be called feminine. Thin without curves, and too short for comfort, Miranda cringed at the avatar that mirrored her imperfection. She took a step and touched the stranger like her, then clenched her fist. ¡°Race,¡± she said, skipping gender. A robotic voice responded. ¡°Affirmative.¡± Like a windshield wiper, Miranda¡¯s hand waved left to right and scrolled through dozens of options. Human, orc, high elf, dwarf, gnomes, fairies. Even angels and devils were options. None appealed to her, especially human. Strange races never before seen also existed in Viarem, but they displeased her all the same. Miranda went through the options again, slower. She watched her avatar morph. Her face turned demonic, reptilian, and then cat-like, but still with faint echoes of her look in reality. The land changed with it. Switching to high elves changed the world into a lush forest with homes that looked like treehouses parents made their children. They were a step above, however, and were majestic rather than wooden shacks. The unfamiliar smell of nature wafted through her nose. Miranda was a city girl. She never experienced the open world, but knew this was what it was like. The human landscape was industrial and boomed with the workings of machinery. It irritated her ears, and she had enough of that for a lifetime. She clicked her tongue and hovered over another race. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The dark elves. Almost the opposite of Miranda, they had duller skin tones that ranged from black to the pale blue of moonlight. Their hair was bone white, which could not be altered. A sensual race, the women had curves she dreamed of, and the men muscular without bulk. Towering, gothic cathedrals and buildings surrounded her, the moonlight shining down on her brighter than the sun. Miranda rubbed her hands and got to work. First, she sharpened the nose and narrowed the eyes. It reminded her of a hawk. Her lips became thin, but with a pout. Her body ¡ª Miranda hardly had to tweak that. The system had calibrated her body to conform with the average dark elf woman. Her limbs and torso had lengthened, and her chest grew. Satisfied without further tune ups, she admired her work. Reaching for the hud, Miranda tapped [Name] and inputted her own. ¡°Name unavailable, would you like recommendations?¡± the voice said. The worst names imaginable appeared. Mariah, Mystogan, Merry. They were beyond understanding. Miranda rattled off new names. ¡°Mystique. Maribelle. Maelynne.¡± ¡°Name unavailable.¡± Her hope shriveled by the second. ¡°Meziah?¡± There was a pause, and then a ping as if it registered. A pop-up came into view. [Confirm] or [Cancel] ¡°Confirm.¡± Miranda no longer cared, and wanted to get in. ¡°Welcome to Viarem, Meziah,¡± the voice said. And the landscape below Miranda¡¯s feet vanished alongside the world and her avatar. 1.0 Meziah Meziah spawned inside a stone building illuminated by candlelight. The candles lined the floor and threatened to tip over at the slightest touch, but the wind had no presence. A large tree, thousands of years old judging by its size and thickness, rested in the middle. The ceiling had been destroyed by its powerful branches, and a hum of energy emanated from it in steady waves. It was a faint, but powerful energy, not unlike a heartbeat. Meziah wobbled to the first person in sight. Not one to be invited to many parties, she struggled with the heels she defaulted in. She smiled a little smile at her height, however. She felt tall for once. But her cheeks flushed at her outfit or lack thereof. Knowing the dark elves flaunted sexuality, Meziah was still unprepared and took hasty steps to the quest giver, covering herself with her arms despite the other dark elves dressed similarly. With closed eyes, the man said, ¡°Hello.¡± His voice was silk. Sitting in a lotus position, he was wearing a leather outfit that would be kinky on any other race. He popped an eye open. ¡°Are you prepared to lay down your life in the name of duty?¡± Not really. ¡°Yes,¡± Meziah said, lowering her head. Players around her chuckled in muted tones. ¡°Is she roleplaying?¡± one said. ¡°How embarrassing,¡± another responded. ¡°Can¡¯t be helped, there¡¯s only one server. You¡¯ve got all kinds of players.¡± Fidgeting, Meziah imagined chucking herself off a bridge. The man, whose name he revealed was Veranel, rubbed his chin and nodded, then glanced at her. ¡°The corp sent word that a promising new recruit was coming, but they didn¡¯t specify much.¡± A simple, bronze sword and wooden staff appeared in his hands. Meziah researched little about the class system, but she knew beginners had some leeway. It was at later levels that she would be forced to commit to something. She grabbed the sword knowing it wasn¡¯t a permanent selection. The gym was not her thing, and more physical activity interested her. That would change today. Virtually. ¡°I¡¯m a master of the sword,¡± she said, swinging the blade clumsily in the air. ¡°Of course,¡± he said with a measured tone. ¡°Your first mission is to curb the giant spider population plaguing our land. The undead are bad, but they do not hunt our livestock. Slay them, and bring back their legs as proof.¡± Meziah froze, then rubbed at the bridge of her nose. ¡°Is there an alternative to that?¡± Why was it always spiders? Why not skin fluffy rabbits? Realizing she made a grave mistake, she suddenly found the high elven forest to be a more agreeable experience. ¡°No,¡± he said. She stared at him. Veranel stared back. Meziah knew she ran out of dialogue. After a beat, she handed him back the sword. ¡°I lied, I¡¯m actually a mage. One that fights long range, far from enemies. Very far.¡± She stressed the last bit. In silence, they exchanged weapons. Veranel¡¯s blank stare made his nonexistent judging worse. [General] Lugina: LFM Necromancer¡¯s Tomb, gear check 30+ [General] Sylphy: Can anyone help me? Whisper plz. [Trade] Agaremneis: Selling leather in bulk, PST Meziah selected her chat and moved it out of view. Most was spam, and she heard most with her ears that reading was unnecessary. If she had to, she could skim it later. She was more urgent troubles. Lost in the city, Meziah became fascinated and frustrated by its beauty and likeness to a labyrinth. It seemed the old cathedrals could touch the moon with their staggering height. The tree had nothing on everything outside its own home. The city was illuminated by sparse, yet oddly bright candles. It seemed as if it would be in a permanent state of darkness without it, as the entire place was covered by a dome, leaving but a small hole in the sky for moonlight. From afar she saw a large, stone statue of a hand situating itself in the middle of the dark elf city, reaching as if longing for a lost love. ¡°This place sucks,¡± she stated. Meziah couldn¡¯t help it. That was what she felt. A player walked up to her, judging by the symbol denoting him as such. A bearded dark elf scarred over the mouth, he was wearing firm leather, the armor unashamedly revealing in the abdominal area. Upon closer inspection, he was quite handsome. Only in virtual reality, Meziah thought with a mental eyeroll. Not that she disliked it. Neither was she one to judge, considering she was living a fantasy herself. ¡°You¡¯re quite a rebel to declare that,¡± he said. Meziah shook her bangs out of her face. ¡°That¡¯s me.¡± ¡°New player?¡± ¡°You could tell?¡± ¡°Well, you¡¯re naked?¡± he said, flashing a smile. She raised a brow. Veranel had given her a robe with her staff. It was, however, light on materials and still revealing. She chalked it up to games being games. ¡°Not literally,¡± he continued. ¡°You know, starter equipment.¡± ¡°Again, that¡¯s me,¡± she said, raising her hands as if surrendering. ¡°Care for some help? I don¡¯t know about you, but when I first started I wandered here for days looking for the exit.¡± She admitted to herself that she was lost, but wasn¡¯t prepared to do so to a stranger. ¡°I¡¯m not lost, but I could use some help.¡± Meziah recounted to him the quest, and told the man she did not wish to loot spider legs. ¡°Can you carry it for me? I know it sounds stupid, but I really don¡¯t like spiders.¡± ¡°Few do,¡± he said, and raised his hand for a shake. ¡°I¡¯ll do it on the house. Someone once helped me when I started. I¡¯ll return the favor today. The name¡¯s Sharkeyes.¡± She took his hand. ¡°Meziah.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s be off,¡± he said. ¡°This place is simpler than it looks.¡± He was right. Despite a couple twists and turns that he promised would become second nature, the city was straightforward to a fault. They exited quickly, and Meziah got to breathe in relatively fresh air. Relatively, because the forest within Meziah¡¯s sight was dead. Gray, spindly trees without a leaf in sight littered the dry ground and waited to die. Malnourished animals perked their ears up at their presence, but kept their distance as if they were demure deer. ¡°What happened here?¡± Meziah asked. The continent the dark elves lived on was grimmer than she imagined, the opposite of high elves. The large webs inhabiting some of the trees concerned her, too. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to spoil racial-specific storylines, right?¡± her companion said. ¡°Before I forget, here.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.[Sharkeyes sent a party invitation] She confirmed it. ¡°We can group chat if you want,¡± he said. Shaking her head, Meziah said, ¡°Say is fine.¡± She wanted to practice speaking with others out loud. She wasn¡¯t the most vocal woman in real life. He started toward the webbed forest. Meziah followed, kneading her forehead. Why spiders? ¡°You haven¡¯t fought before, correct?¡± he asked. ¡°Correct, Sharky.¡± ¡°Sharky?¡± He turned around after stepping over a thick, wilted vine. The density of trees was growing, and became harder to traverse. She bit her lip and wondered if she offended him. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just your name was too long so I shortened it. Made it more endearing.¡± She thought it was cute. Sharky¡¯s forehead wrinkled. ¡°Call me what you like,¡± he said, returning a friendly smile. ¡°Take out your weapon, we¡¯re almost there.¡± They came upon a clearing in the woods. The trees had reached heights of over two, maybe three stories, and above the clearing with the moonlight at its backdrop, a large, singular web. Spiderwebs shadowed the ground. ¡°This doesn¡¯t look safe,¡± Meziah said, crouched next to Sharky. There were five spiders patrolling on the grounds, with a couple latched onto the trees. An especially large one hung upside down on a web, the thick, hairy kind that caused nightmares for those cursed with arachnophobia. ¡°I don¡¯t need to kill a boss, just a few simple legs.¡± The thought alone made her shudder. ¡°Attacking any spider will aggro the queen,¡± Sharky whispered. ¡°In Viarem, the world doesn¡¯t stop moving for you. The spider population has gotten out of control, and to be honest, dark elves aren¡¯t the most popular race. Their influence has risen to this level. This is the result.¡± ¡°What do we do? I can¡¯t handle a queen. I¡¯m literally fresh out of character creation.¡± He patted Meziah¡¯s shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re in a group. The spiders are weak individually. Even a novice can take them down. I¡¯ll handle the queen.¡± Sharky took out a cruel dagger, its edge serrated and tinged with a hint of red. ¡°I¡¯m going to pull one. If it¡¯s far enough, the queen won¡¯t notice.¡± Meziah hugged her staff. It was smoothed out and didn¡¯t have the characteristics of rough bark, but retained a gnarled appearance. She briefly checked her skills. [Mystic Blast] [Heal] [Summon] Self-explanatory, she thought. A basic attack spell, a heal, and a summon, Meziah assumed it was a basis for all mages. She could further specialize later, although she immediately wrote off healing. ¡°I am absolutely not going to support,¡± Meziah said to herself. She did that enough in life. Too far to speak in say, Sharky messaged in chat. She almost missed it, with her hud to the corner. [Party] Sharkeyes: A regular spider incoming. I¡¯ve already poisoned it, so it¡¯s weak. Finish it! Meziah combed a hand through her hair and gripped her staff harder than needed. ¡°It¡¯s only level one,¡± she said. ¡°Only level one. I should one shot it, shouldn¡¯t I? I should. It¡¯s just a big spider after all.¡± Just a big spider. Meziah laughed nervously. She was terrified. With VR technology, it was practically reality itself. ¡°Got to kill it before it gets close.¡± She raised her staff and began focusing on the spell. Her thoughts translated into magic, and the power homed in on the tip of her staff. A dim light began to glow until it grew brighter and brighter. ¡°I¡¯m ready!¡± she shouted to her teammate running toward her. [Sharkeyes left the party] [The party has been disbanded] Sharky¡¯s legs failed him, and he crumpled to the ground, grasping at his chest. Behind him was a hoard of confused spiders, ogling at the spasming body. They zeroed in on Meziah, their eyes frozen on her. ¡°Huh?¡± Meziah stared. Dozens of eight-legged freaks sprung into action, switching their hatred onto her. ¡°What?¡± Her spell fizzled out, her terror disturbing the incantation, and she tripped trying to flee. Sharky hopped to his feet after the monsters¡¯ hatred transferred to her, then trotted to the queen without care. With a salute, he began to turn translucent until he stealthed out of sight. Footprints from an invisible man marred the dirt. ¡°That ****!¡± With her naturally low stamina, Meziah had no hope to escape. Closing her eyes, she said, ¡°I really hate spiders.¡± Their skittering closed in, and fangs pierced Meziah¡¯s flesh. In Viarem, the sense of touch was present, but subdued. Tactile perception was optional. If she wished, she could up her sense of touch as if she wasn¡¯t gaming. Gooseflesh formed on her skin. That level of realism was out of the question, and she curled into a fetal position until death visited and gave her respite. The next time Meziah opened her eyes, familiar shouts rang through the air. [Trade] Terry: Selling Tuna, 20 silver/piece! [General] Lugina: LFM Necro Tomb why won¡¯t anyone join? Meziah was sprawled over the cold, hard floor of the temple she started in. The large tree was the same as before. Her staff, the sole weapon in her possession, was chipped, and her robes had tears. That came second. The first was Sharky ¡ª no, Sharkeyes ¡ª he had tricked her. She didn¡¯t know his class, but she was aware certain leather classes could feign death. ¡°He ****ing ****ed me!¡± Meziah yelled in frustration. ¡°With spiders no less!¡± Mumbles could be heard around her. ¡°She sounds mad.¡± ¡°Think she¡¯ll quit day one?¡± ¡°lol¡± Meziah stood up sluggishly and stomped her feet. The NPC Veranel cocked his head at her. ¡°Have you returned with the spider legs?¡± Gritting her teeth, she opened the options menu and unchecked the profanity filter she happily skipped over at the start. Meziah smiled pleasantly and took a deep, calm breath. ¡°Fuck you, Veranel! Fuck you, too, Sharkeyes! Fuck spiders, fuck this game, and fuck this world. I¡¯m done.¡± With a heavy breath, she started the logout timer. ¡°And for the rest of you, I¡¯m not a fucking roleplayer. Jesus Christ.¡± ¡°She¡¯s definitely mad,¡± one woman said. ¡°Must be a real girl,¡± another said. [Meziah has logged out] Miranda took off her headset and set it aside, then perched herself at the edge of her bed. ¡°Fuck,¡± she said one last time, her hands cradling her face. Meziah Title n/a Level 1 Dark Elf Mage Reputation 0 1.1 Nero Nero shot a stream of flames at the goblins, then sprinted the opposite direction, his heavy armor clanging. He tagged another group and rounded them together until a frenzied mob clambered after the templar. The ogres of the grass plains had no love for their small neighbors, and watched with amusement. ¡°That¡¯s enough,¡± Nero said, the words echoing within his full helmet. He admired his pulling, and dared to claim he was the best in Viarem. [Union] Viper: Nero, you busy? We need a DPS. [Union] Nero: Sorry, training. [Union] Viper: You? Leveling? Is that a joke? Half the time you¡¯re just trolling in global chat. Nero popped a wind scroll, and his feet hastened as he craned his neck back. A crude spear with a stone point whizzed by him, narrowly missing his leg. He scoffed as it bounced off a boulder. Goblins were simple creatures. Ugly, too. Their ingenuity had brought them to the stone ages of technology. Maybe they thought he was God? Creating fire would be unbelievable to simpletons. Unsurprisingly, a few fireworks gathered the entire tribe after his shiny metal ass. And shiny it was. He had spent a fortune dyeing his armor after spending a bigger fortune on the plate itself. Nero told those that asked that it was red to represent the cleansing flames of the templars, the final shield against impurity. They were said to burn the shadows away ¡ª a rather dark, fanatical group, some said. In reality, he just thought red looked cool. With one last burst of speed, Nero dashed to the closest group of adventurers he spotted earlier. A small party of four, and from the looks of it, low leveled, Nero¡¯s lips formed a crooked smile, and when he got into range he shouted, ¡°Help!¡± and waved his arms at the unsuspecting group. The party turned his way with puzzled expressions, but their faces twisted at the cloud of dust trailing Nero. An army of goblins grunted, and pumped spears into the air as they chased. Nero reached them in a blink and knelt on the ground in front of them, like a knight bowing to his king. The sun shined down upon the noble templar. Then, he became divine. Great, white wings sprouted from Nero¡¯s back, leaving a gust of wind with each flap as he floated. The symbol of the strongest templars, and the ones closest to righteousness. Or so the lore claimed. Nero laughed and said, ¡°Toodles,¡± then shot through the air. A sonic boom followed, and the sweet sound of startled cries sang in his ears. With the sun to his back, the templar looked more like the devil blotting out the light, and he looked down on the players and goblins like ants. It was the right of the strong. [Union] Viper: We really need someone to fill this raid spot. [Union] Nero: Sorry, friend, still stretching my legs, you know? The party died in minutes. Their tank fell quickly to the goblin assault. The numbers alone overwhelmed him, and he was unable to control the mob. His lightly-armored companions were sent to the graveyard soon after. Red really was a beautiful color. Nero believed he looked best in it. Others, too, but only with blood. Red worked with everything but his name. It wasn¡¯t meant to mar his beautiful name. A name he took great pains to get. Staking out late at night, Nero pre-ordered the game and downed caffeine until launch, grabbing the best name of all. He even skipped character creation. Nero landed by the corpses after the goblins dispersed and took off his helmet. A generic human face appeared. Dark brown hair, average eyes, and a jaw that no woman would caress with batting eyelashes, Nero was the epitome of normal. Not only in-game, but out, he regretted every night that he did not tweak it. He knew of no alchemists capable of brewing an appearance changing potion yet. He consoled himself with his fantastic name, and ranked it by its simplicity and how smooth it rolled off the tongue. It was perfect. Dollar signs appeared in his eyes when he rummaged through the bodies. He ignored the few goblins reaching up into the sky, as if their lives mattered. Nero didn¡¯t spare the time to grant them death. They dropped nothing but trash. Players were different. Their levels were low, but crafting material stayed valuable. Nero swiped not only raw mats, but also began stripping the players of their gear. Not everything was lootable. Red players risked everything, but normal players still bet their equipment at a low percentage. As luck would have it, Nero easily slid the paladin¡¯s boots off. Steel wasn¡¯t worth much, but leaving the body bootless for the owner to return to was a reward itself. He couldn¡¯t strip the pretty priest¡¯s robe to his dismay, but her wand was loose, as were the weapons of the remaining members. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Nero closed his eyes. ¡°Boredom officially relieved,¡± he said with satisfaction. He inhaled through his nose. Equipping his helm, the image of a cool templar returned to mind. ¡°I look the best this way.¡± And with another flap of his wings he took flight before an angry party returned for vengeance. Not that they could do anything to him. Nero returned to the town of Malkav with [Recall], a convenient spell that relocated the caster to the nearest friendly village, town, or city. Malkav was a low population village that most players outleveled in a matter of weeks. It was hardly a hub that mattered. But it had the necessities. Skill trainers, a warehouse, stores, and quests, it was a short stop, but one many players made. Church bells rang through the town square. Nero respawned inside, with holy men and women crossing their hearts. The stained glass windows above made a brilliant array of colors dance across the otherwise dull building. Thou must throw away greed, or something like that. At least, it sounded like a holy thing to him, though he wasn¡¯t certain it was an actual saying. He ignored the NPCs, but took care to peek out the large temple gates before exiting. He had his fun and left it behind already. Nero found that his fun tended to take it personally. He deemed it safe and waltzed out. Hiding in plain sight, it was called. The village was dead. Few players roamed about, but most had a clear goal in mind and likely were leaving soon after a quest was turned in, or a rare item was banked. A scruffy player near the warehouse squatted by the entrance, hawking goods. ¡°Sculptures for sale! Handmade!¡± the man said. Sculpting was an uncommon trade skill. Nero sneered at its uselessness. Crafts! What was the point? Downing a raid boss gave access to the best equipment. Creating objects was time-consuming, and they broke even at best. That was why his bag was filled with materials to sell, not to forge or tailor. ¡°A weed,¡± Nero mumbled. ¡°That¡¯s what that man is.¡± [Union] Viper: Nero, done yet? [Union] Nero: Still waiting? That desperation. [Union] Viper: If you¡¯ve got time to type you¡¯ve got time to wipe. Let¡¯s tackle this raid boss. We¡¯ve got a solid three hours before Jack has to go. [Union] Nero: Jack is a jackass, who cares? But fine, shoot me an invite in ten minutes and summon me, I refuse to walk. AFK. Terry ejected from the game and sat up, stifling a yawn. His dog Patches, a small, gray Corgi, snored in the corner of his room. Video game posters, figurines, and an assortment of school books required for his high school curriculum filled the gaps in his room and lent itself to a claustrophobic feel. He pondered whether he had finished his homework, but shrugged. Terry rarely bragged, but he was skilled in cheating, an undervalued art form that walked the line of competent leisure. At least it sounded smart. Terry set aside his headset and walked to the kitchen. His mother was still up, eyes glued to the television as usual. Her only child¡¯s presence never registered, and she continued to be sucked into trivia no normal person could answer. She tried making Terry answer alongside the contestants before, but he lost her interest soon after. The colors of the television set painted his mother red. ¡°Late night TV is a blast,¡± Terry said loudly, sifting through the fridge. He grabbed a can of Cola and returned to his room, shutting the door until the excited dinging of a winner was drowned out. Resting his back to the door, he rolled the can between his hands and let the soothing cold wash over him. He didn¡¯t drink soda. The fridge merely lacked choice. Terry bumped the back of his head against the door and closed his eyes, exhaling. He placed the drink on top of his desk, nuzzled the furball¡¯s head, then adjusted his headset for injection. His union was waiting. His physical body went limp as his mind uploaded. It was the weekend, and the weekend was his time. Nero the Tyrannical Level 93 Human Templar Reputation 8661 1.2 Felicity Her feet sank into the sand. Outside of Felicity¡¯s normal habitat of the refreshing forests of the world, the high elf wrapped the cloak around herself tighter, her long ears taut against the sides of her hood. ¡°The worst,¡± she said behind the mask. ¡°Deserts are the worst.¡± Only her large eyes were left uncovered. ¡°What was that?¡± the tall man asked. ¡°This is the worst zone I have ever been in,¡± Felicity said, kicking the bright sand. ¡°There¡¯s nothing here. It¡¯s hot, dry, and filled with ruins. Do you know what¡¯s at ruins? More nothing. They¡¯ve been looted since forever.¡± Cartiga said nothing. A man with hair splashed with a touch of gray, he was a cover model that made the salt and pepper look work. Shrugging his broad shoulders, Cartiga continued to trudge through sand, his feet sinking each step. His hand rested on the hilt of his saber, always wary. Wearing a strangely formal uniform, an image of a soldier became of him. It made her wet. But Felicity grumbled, then meandered after Cartiga. The burning sun reflected onto the sand and into her eyes and had done so for the past two hours. It made her curse the world and everyone in it. If she had known hell was on the agenda, she would¡¯ve teased out a free pair of sunglasses from the fat merchant settled at the oasis. ¡°The sooner we find the tomb, the sooner we can leave,¡± Cartiga said. ¡°You weren¡¯t hired to complain.¡± Felicity slipped behind Cartiga and pressed her chest against his back. She could not be described as voluptuous, but men were simple creatures. Wrapping her arms around his waist, her fingers wandered up and drew whorls onto his chest. With some difficulty she tiptoed on the sand and pulled down her mask, blowing into her companion¡¯s ear. ¡°We can do other things,¡± she said. ¡°Somewhere darker.¡± And out of the heat. Cartiga¡¯s stoic face cracked momentarily before his lips formed a grim line. ¡°My union normally doesn¡¯t deal with vagabonds.¡± He elbowed her lightly off. Truly a gentleman. ¡°It¡¯s only through trusted sources were you recommended. You were our last pick.¡± ¡°Ouch,¡± Felicity said. ¡°Definitely not a people person. I¡¯m thinking there are other reasons everyone else backed out of the job now.¡± ¡°Why not you?¡± ¡°A girl¡¯s got to eat, and the assignment listed the artifact only. Anything else is technically fair game.¡± Felicity skipped in front of Cartiga, her hood falling back. Her long ears wiggled. High elven ears picked up the smallest shifts in detail, sand dunes or not. Cartiga undoubtedly saw and heard nothing, and possibly thought they were lost. Humans, she thought with a laugh. It looked like they were lost, but a high elf¡¯s connection to the elements was stronger than any race, and even in places of death could Felicity sense life. Especially hostile life. ¡°Get down!¡± she yelled. Felicity shoved Cartiga, and tumbled onto the uneven sand alongside him. Sand got into her mouth, but she was otherwise uninjured. She was completely covered in enchanted leather, and not an inch of her body was exposed. Something inhuman shrieked, and deafened Felicity¡¯s sensitive hearing. She covered her ears. The sand where Cartiga once stood exploded like a geyser and left a sand worm in its wake. The name was simple and self-explanatory, almost laughable, but did no justice for the danger it posed. It slithered around the two until it lifted half its body into the air at a staggering height. Sharp, yellowed teeth lined the entirety of its maw, and the inside of its mouth seemed to oscillate with every move. Saliva oozed out of the worm¡¯s mouth and down its body. A putrid smell hung in the air. It smelled of rot. Cartiga recovered and unsheathed his saber. He was on guard. As an experienced duelist, his weapon became extension of his arm. He could control it as if it were a part of his body. ¡°Stay back,¡± Cartiga said, spitting blood. Felicity inched backward. ¡°We need to run.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t know when this creature will cease chasing us. Its aggro range is unknown.¡± He was right. Because of its underground habitat, neither Felicity nor Cartiga saw its spawning point and could not judge whether they were at the edge of its range or the center. She was careless, and berated herself for not picking it up with her ears. ¡°The sand has slowed our movement. Running is not an option.¡± The woman cursed, and reached for her bow. It felt foreign in her hands. Felicity¡¯s talents were in reconnaissance. Combat made her uncomfortable and was not her forte. Had someone given her the option of fight or flight, she undoubtedly opted for the latter, and considered it even now. There was no loyalty between her and Cartiga. He was from a small union that boasted fifty members at peak time. For Viarem and its vast size, calling his union small was generous. It was hardly relevant. Felicity would be a ghost to them, never to be seen again if she turned tail. Cartiga staved off a large bite from the worm that thrashed wildly. It kicked up a miniature sandstorm and blinded him. His defenses held strong, however. Duelists had a deceptively powerful defense one-on-one, humanoid or otherwise. ¡°You¡¯re going to die,¡± she whispered, then nocked an arrow with her bow. Felicity aimed, waiting with extraordinary patience. In high risk situations, nerves wrecked a person¡¯s ability to act. Felicity steadied her breathing. Death was unpleasant. At lower levels, the setback was a minor headache. The loss of a day¡¯s work. They neared the seventies. Their experience would take a huge hit, possibly go down a level. The dunes were far from town, and so their equipment could easily be lost in the sand, disregarding a random passersby looting it by sheer chance. Raiders, she found, were the definition of insanity. A single night tackling an unknown boss or mechanic could set a player back weeks as they ran to their deaths repeatedly. But that was Viarem, the sole virtual reality that truly mimicked life. Besides some additional features, like sand worms or elves, it felt like reality. The rush of adrenaline. Felicity understood how addicting it was. She breathed out. An arrow cut through the wind and sank into worm¡¯s throat. She heard a loud clang, like metal hitting metal. ¡°Dammit,¡± Felicity said, setting another arrow. The line of teeth was like armor. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Cartiga threw himself to the side, barely dodging the worm¡¯s mouth crashing down. Stumbling to get up, Felicity¡¯s second arrow attracted enough attention for him to scramble to his feet. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think you had the right idea!¡± Staying out of danger was always the right idea. ¡°Cover your mouth!¡± Felicity tugged up her mask. She plucked a heavier arrow out of her quiver and pulled her arm back. She breathed in. She breathed out. Felicity released the arrow. It exploded at the edge of the worm¡¯s mouth, and a cloud of dark green expanded like the aftermath of a miniature nuke. Just being in the vicinity burned her eyes. Her mouth and nose barely functioned properly as tears streamed out. The monster agreed. It roared, twisting and turning as if trying to rub the concoction off. It smashed into the sand and rolled as if driven to insanity, but the cloud would not leave it alone. Rather, it stuck to it, and the worm inhaled. The roars became pained, coughing fits. Felicity almost expected it to throw up its last meal. A camel, perhaps. Or a human. With Cartiga as an example, she supposed players that picked human were retards in general. Cartiga dashed toward her and heaved the slim elf over his shoulder. He steadied her with one arm, while the other sheathed his saber. ¡°How heroic,¡± she said indifferently. Another woman may have found her heart fluttering then, but hers only beat in fear of turning into food. Her stamina was nearly full, too. She could run herself. But Felicity remained silent and enjoyed the sight of the sand worm floundering like a beached fish. She took off her mask and revealed a sadistic smile. It happened occasionally. Her heart was unmoved, but she felt something else. Viarem wasn¡¯t limited to just monster slaying and treasure hunting. Her lower lips trembled. But she banished the thought and tapped Cartiga¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We¡¯re safe, you can put me down. You¡¯re quite the runner.¡± A strictly professional relationship on the job. Felicity worked in HR for a reason. The duelist had hearing problems. Felicity raised her voice and repeated her words. Cartiga finally nodded in response and slowed at one of the ruins they passed earlier and set her down roughly, eliciting a moan from her. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± he asked. Felicity bit her lip. ¡°No.¡± She leaned back against the stone block and shook sand out of her boots. ¡°Good.¡± He retrieved a flask from a pouch and chugged the red potion down. Felicity furrowed her brow at the sight. She held back the vomit. The potion tasted like medicine ¡ª cherry flavored medicine. Felicity had experience with alchemy, though she did not advertise her craft. It amused her, considering her poor grades in chemistry many moons ago. Regardless, no matter how high she leveled it, the damned taste refused to improve, but her alchemy was second to none if she were the bragging type. The solo life was rough. Taking care of herself was a priority, and alchemy helped greatly. Recipe prices lightened Felicity¡¯s pockets frequently to her dismay. It was why few invested in multiple crafts if any. The time and cost was exorbitant. Cartiga scratched at his jawline. Felicity sucked in air. It was a rather pronounced jaw, and squared. She allowed herself to swoon once the worm was dealt with. ¡°Now we can get back to this godforsaken artifact. If we didn¡¯t need it to level our union I swear I would never step foot here. You were right. This is the worst zone ever.¡± ¡°Luckily,¡± Felicity started, ¡°you ran the right direction.¡± Her ears twitched, a habit she couldn¡¯t seem to break. ¡°I hear running water, and no mirage can mimic that. The very hungry caterpillar will no longer bother us, either.¡± Cartiga grinned, revealing pearly whites. He offered his hand, and pulled Felicity to her feet. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he said. Felicity led her employer to the dungeon situated among plant life. The actual dungeon was a cinch compared to finding it, and the two came out unscathed. Her job was done. Felicity fanned herself within the shade of a palm tree. Boorish, yet effective. The dunes were cursed with an eternal sun, and so the heat wouldn¡¯t dissipate unless a raid resolved it. Maybe. Depending on the boss, it could be a world-changing, or nothing at all. The stakes in raids were too high for her pay grade, however, which was why she cooled herself by flapping her hand at her neck like an idiot. This was wrong, she thought bitterly. At an oasis, handsome men should be fanning me! Cartiga fiddled with the emblem they had found in the dungeon. The artifact looked plain, but it was worth a lot. ¡°Thank you.¡± She rubbed her fingers together with the universal symbol depicting money. ¡°Words are worthless.¡± Coins appeared in front of her. ¡°As agreed,¡± he said, ¡°half at the start, the remainder upon completion.¡± Cartiga dropped the hefty pouch into her palm. The jingle sounded better than a Christmas song. ¡°There were mishaps, but in the end you completed your task. Nice doing business with you.¡± ¡°Likewise.¡± He opened his mouth. ¡°You¡ª¡± Felicity laid a finger over his lips. ¡°No, I haven¡¯t joined one for a reason.¡± She let that sink in and, confident he understood, let go and counted the coins. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time someone had screwed her, and not the fun kind. With a sigh, Cartiga said, ¡°Then that concludes it. Our sources were correct. You have a keen eye and nimble feet. Good job.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not all I¡¯m good at,¡± she said with a wink. Business was over. Business and pleasure had officially separated. ¡°True, they said you dealt with information as well. Impressive. You were knowledgeable about the traps and monsters we encountered inside.¡± Felicity blew her blond hair away from her eyes. ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, flatly. ¡°Thanks." ¡°I have another job for you if you¡¯re interested.¡± Felicity rubbed at her neck awkwardly. ¡°I love doing business,¡± she said, ¡°do tell.¡± Felicity the Untouchable Level 69 High Elf Scout Reputation 3349 1.3 Nero Deep underground, vines infested the cave¡¯s tunnels. The dusty dungeon had Nero on edge and moving in measured steps as he avoided disturbing the coffins strewn about in ornate cases. It was a maze. The one-way path was simple at first, but as the raid of twenty-four traveled farther in, it branched out into two, then three different tunnels. The raid thinned to cover more ground, spreading to find the correct way to the boss. Nero¡¯s torch flared. While conjuring up a flame was simple for a hybrid class like his, mana conservation was vital. Getting surprised with one¡¯s pants down wasn¡¯t fun. His mother would know. She had caught him with his pants down more than once. Never again, Nero thought, leading the vanguard. As they went deeper into the tunnels, contact between the raid flickered on and off. It was a common feature. While chat messages could cross continents in the open world, special zones like dungeons cut off contact. Communication was possible only through close vicinity and hearing distance. In most raids they had conquered, diverging paths tended to end in the same place. Differences came from the trials faced. Viper was behind him, someone he trusted with his life. The beefy lizardman wore unassuming, brown robes, and was within arms length of Nero. The parts of his body uncovered revealed hard scales coating his body like natural protection. His eyes pierced the dark with a yellow glow, and his pupils were black slits. Nero¡¯s closest friend online and off was a lizard. He questioned where he went wrong in life. The other four with them were part of the union, though they were more acquaintances than buddies to Nero. Their DPS and heals were reliable, and their ability to follow orders was perfect. But Nero disliked separating from others. He had no anxiety about it. What Nero disliked was the lack of attention on him. They were too good. No one would see how cool he was if others stole his thunder. Viper wasn¡¯t a glory hog. Viper had his priorities in order. Templars were righteous zealots. Their crusade touched the entirety of Viarem and had altered its history, cleansing all impurity from the world. They might have burned a few innocents on accident with their cleansing, but to drive away the darkness! Surely, the end justified the means. Nero was flabbergasted when others thought he was crazy. ¡°Templars sound insane,¡± they told him, and uncool. Those people had no appreciation for backstory. He knew they hated only because templars were considered weak in the current meta. Hybrid, jack-of-all-trades were unpopular. Nero was a heavily armored mage equipped with a two-hander. Aesthetically, few could deny its style. The same few rejected melee mages in groups ever since he started playing. It was half-assed no matter what, they said. Nero made it work with levels alone, being the only high leveled one in the world, but he sometimes felt he was the token templar of the union, like the black guy that died first in movies. Nero chuckled behind his helmet. Visually he looked like the pinnacle of amazing, and was certain Mandy, his favorite druid, would have wanted a piece of it if he weren¡¯t so young. How he wished he was three years older. A major section of the game would open for him. He was only human, and a teenager at that. Nero was easily distracted. ¡°Watch out!¡± Viper¡¯s telekinesis held the templar back with an invisible force. The man rooted Nero in place, Nero¡¯s feet refusing to lift off the ground. A tiny mummy wrapped in old, green bandages shuffled out behind a rock. He sniffled, his head comically large for the tiny body he had. ¡°Come play with me,¡± the undead boy said. Viper released Nero who drew his broadsword and ignited the metal. It was hot enough to melt metal, but Nero paid good money to increase its heat resistance. Was that why they brought him along? Fire was effective against the dead, and the dungeon was crawling with them. ¡°Hey, come back,¡± the mummy said. His little hand reached up. His eyes welled up. ¡°Let¡¯s be friends forever.¡± He tossed a bandage at Nero, which wrapped around his wrist. The mummy tugged on it. Hard. Viper reacted first, holding Nero in place again. Instead of being dragged to the mummy, it instead pulled himself to Nero and latched onto his waist. It was heavier than it looked. A barrier encased Nero. He knew Sturm had his back. A support mage specializing in shields, Nero liked the man. He was quiet and reliable. Nero felt the barrier crack under the hug¡¯s pressure. ¡°Go be sad somewhere else,¡± Nero said through clenched teeth. He invoked the flames every templar had access to and immolated himself. The fire spread over his body and covered the mummy with it. With a cry, the monster let go and starting patting the flames off his body. Its tears drowned out the fire of retribution and left a puddle around it. ¡°Personally, I don¡¯t like mummies. Stick to the movies, or better yet, try another genre of games. I heard MOBAs are hiring.¡± The sad mummy stamped his feet on the ground. Like a child, he wailed and pounded the shaky walls in rage. The tunnels shook, and Nero regretted his loose tongue. ¡°Are you twelve?¡± Nero whined, deactivating the flames. Smoke rose from his body. ¡°You don¡¯t need to get mad.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about him,¡± Viper said, ¡°but you are definitely fifteen.¡± The psychic called out to Storm, Zaphel, Ayrietta, and XxScarred4LyfexX. ¡°Let¡¯s go, everyone, buffs and into formation!¡± Nero hated XxScarred4LyfexX. The name made him want to cut himself. Luckily, XxScarred4LyfexX, or Scar for sanity¡¯s sake, was good at his class. Perhaps he was a bigger troll than Nero himself, the name being a conscious decision to make others commit sudoku while still being in a top three raiding union. Seppuku, sudoku, same thing. Scar was a blade dancer, a pure DPS, and his dual swords sliced the mummy in a dazzling array of graceful steps. The lanky man danced around him and weaved out of every bear hug with inches to spare. Buffs aside, Scar cut away the bandages it used as a weapon and stripped it of its unlife. It was impressive soloing a mob in a raid dungeon. Their stats were thrice as powerful as normal at the minimum. Impressive, if not annoying. A hybrid¡¯s unpopularity stemmed from their lack of viability. Nero believed he had a bigger dick than Scar, at least. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Well done,¡± Viper said, his thick tail thumping on the ground. Scar tucked strands of hair behind his ear and said, ¡°It was nothing.¡± What a showoff, Nero thought. The scenario repeated the deeper they went. The undead crawled out from ground, and crude gravestones made of cross shaped wood became telltale signs of impending fights. Having prepared for it, the rest of the group had their turn to shine, smiting ghouls, zombie beetles, and more. Nero fought with a sigh. The creatures came at them like fodder. They were cut, burned, maimed, disabled, crushed ¡ª name it and the group had done it ¡ª and that brought a frown to Nero. ¡°Isn¡¯t this too easy?¡± he said, shoving his sword straight through what little flesh remained on the ghoul. Nero gave it a twist. The ghoul slid off his sword, lubricated by its own blood. ¡°Business as usual,¡± Scar said. He swayed to the right, and avoided a thrown ax. Scar relieved the skeleton of its skull, then systematically separated the remaining 205 bones. ¡°Everything¡¯s easy when you¡¯re me.¡± ¡°Not everyone can be you,¡± Viper said. Nero snorted at Viper¡¯s attempt at humoring the cocky blade dancer. ¡°That¡¯s because there can only be one.¡± ¡°Ayrietta,¡± Nero said, addressing their healer. ¡°Can you please let him die?¡± The busty woman hugged her staff timidly, wedging it between her breasts. She shook her head. ¡°Sorry, Nero, I don¡¯t want anyone to get mad . . .¡± Ayrietta¡¯s words trailed off like a faint whisper. The spectacled woman had a kind, sisterly appearance. Nero fell to his knees dramatically, placing a hand over his heart as if in pain. ¡°Gods, why have you forsaken me. When evil is in plain sight, why are your signs telling me to not smite this douchebooger down?¡± His hand moved to the side of his helm. ¡°What¡¯s that? I should kill him?¡± ¡°Nero!¡± Ayrietta said, gasping. Viper flicked her forehead. ¡°He¡¯s joking.¡± The woman¡¯s cheeks puffed up. Nero feared the tunnels would collapse judging by her heavy steps deeper down the tunnel. Her tantrum was worse than the mummy¡¯s as she stormed ahead without the others. Ironically, Storm followed up first, and then the rest of the group. They turned a corner, and left Nero alone. Leaving a healer in the frontlines was foolish. Wiping down his sword, Nero returned the blade to its former, pristine self. He inspected his work and approved of the end product. ¡°Nothing but the best to look and be the best,¡± Nero said. ¡°Quote by Nero, year 2176.¡± He set the massive sword behind his back and began to move when something stung him. His legs seemed like jello. Nero felt his chest. Something was stuck. He fumbled taking off his helmet. It slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the ground, leaving a crimson trail. His hands slick with blood, Nero¡¯s eyes widened at the dagger through his chest. It came from behind, and went straight through his torso and even through his perfect armor. He tried twisting his neck back to see his attacker, but the assailant made a twist of his own. The knife made a sickening sound. Nero blacked out. He began respawning near the dungeon¡¯s entrance. Normally, death would take one¡¯s body and spirit back to town, but Nero bounded himself, like all raiders, to a personal soul totem. Death was expected. They prepared for it by minimizing time loss, and maximizing efficiency. New totems were placed at the raid boss¡¯s location. Unfortunately, Nero had died. He would go the long way from the dungeon¡¯s entrance to return. Lasting a full twelve hours, soul totems bound their souls permanently until expired or reset. A vital tool for the pursuit of justice. Raid bosses were a plague on Viarem. Nero felt his body materialize, leaving him not unlike a vampire resting in its coffin, arms crossed over his chest. Eyes still closed, he took a deep breath. It was easier to breathe outside dungeons. He couldn¡¯t see regardless, which let him appreciate the cool air. Respawning took time, and vision came last. But what killed him? Before he could open his eyes, he felt a familiar sting enter his chest. ¡°What?¡± Nero spluttered. He coughed blood, only to choke on it. Its copper taste had him gagging. Nero respawned. A knife phased through his armor and sank into his heart. Nero respawned. A knife slit his neck ear to ear. Nero respawned. A knife severed his carotid artery. Nero couldn¡¯t call for help. Special zones forbade it, and he could not log out when combat occurs within a minute. The attacks kept him in combat. A force outside his control shackled him in his own body. The durability of his armor hit zero. It was no better than paper. Nero respawned. A knife drilled into his skull. Nero respawned. A knife clogged his throat. Nero respawned. A knife entered his frontal lobe. In panic, Nero reduced tactile senses to zero. It was already low, knowing he would die from the boss itself in some gruesome way, but he never imagined getting killed by one player repeatedly. Two, actually, if one had killed him deep inside the dungeon to begin with. And no matter how low the touch threshold was, getting knifed was the most painful thing Nero had ever experienced, and it wasn¡¯t even at 100%. Nero respawned. A knife ripped through his spine. Nero respawned. A knife tore into his gut. Nero respawned. A knife plunged into his lung. Nero¡¯s experience and reputation sank. In complete darkness, his body was toyed with, and continued to be unless another raid member died and respawned nearby to help, or the timer on the totem dried. It was unheard of. Raids were an exclusive community, and anyone that raided knew one another, mainly high levels and long-time players. Few were capable of killing Nero, especially with one shot in heavy armor. Time passed quickly in Viarem. To Nero it was eternity. Nero respawned. Nero respawned. Nero respawned. And before he knew it, he could log out. The timer counted down. [Nero has logged out] Nero the Tyrannical Level 21 Human Templar Reputation 0 1.4 Meziah Meziah smashed the imp¡¯s skull with her staff, caving its oversized head in. It looked like a demonic baby with stubby wings. She reeled back, finding it mildly disturbing as it fell. She was still within the vicinity of the starting area. Darkness, death, and a few cemeteries scattered about, it was what she¡¯d expect overall. Meziah had a strange relationship with horror. She was drawn to terror, but gore, something often paired with the emotion, still turn her off. With a sigh, she gingerly picked through the corpse. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m weird,¡± she said, but took solace knowing everyone tended to be. She found a black tome. It had a slimy, ripped cover. [Incantations of the Imp] Tomes, an alternative for magic users, had their concentration stat far above a staff. If Meziah¡¯s current staff represented power, the tome signified precision. Precision piqued her interest. She had to physically attack the imp because she ran out of mana, and she ran out of mana because her magic missed numerous times. Efficient, she was not. [Mystic Blast] charged slow. The power was enormous, but her hit rate was not something the dark elf would brag about. She unequipped the staff, and once she sat down, lifted the tome into her lap. The book was thin, but weighed more than than she imagined. Leafing through it, indecipherable scribbles filled the pages. Meziah wondered whether it was gibberish or an actual language. Imp language? Technically it was gibberish, but in Viarem she supposed it could be legitimate through lore. Her finger traced the words, and felt the rough surface of the aged paper. Old blood stained the pages. Maybe there was a quest to understand new languages. She wasn¡¯t on the Dean¡¯s list without reason. Learning was a drug to her. As far as drugs went, she considered it to be a relatively positive obsession. Meziah packed it up and fought another imp. She explored the macabre forest further, but struggled, and was backed into corners more than she could count. After killing the ugly imp, Meziah rested by a skeletal tree, its branches raking the sky like bony fingers. Sitting, she let her health and mana recover naturally. Her empty purse cried. Potions were out of her price range. Chatter interrupted the dead silence. Meziah tensed, and scooted herself closer to the tree. Low branches seemed to embrace her lovingly, and welcomed her. It felt powerful, something that could protect her if someone were to attack her. Or betray her. But it was a dead tree. Games made no sense, she thought. ¡°Hajime, please? One kiss.¡± A woman, some sort of humanoid rabbit, hung off the arm of a young boy. Irritation crossed his face. He covered one eye with an eyepatch. ¡°You gave one to her!¡± The rabbit pointed at the small girl traveling with them like a child denied a toy. The pretty girl being accused looked like a porcelain doll. Hajime reached for his gun, but stopped short. Then he bopped the rabbit girl on the head and walked off. The little girl stuck her tongue out at her companion whose floppy ears deflated. They disappeared into the darkness, heading toward the ominous clouds to the west. Monsters in their path actively avoided them, hiding among the trees. They must have been strong if mobs stayed away. Was it their levels? Meziah wondered if safety in numbers was an actual thing. Perhaps it was their traveling in a group. She banished the thought, still feeling the spiders¡¯ fangs sinking into her flesh. Virtual reality was amazing, but also disturbed her. People were still people. People were awful beings. And how shameless of that man. Their open flirting colored her ashen cheeks. Her heart felt for the girl whose feelings weren¡¯t mutual. Meziah concluded she was too old-fashioned. False hope for love was worse than none at all, she believed. Meziah stretched her arms. Solo play made her wistful. She wished she had group like them, minus the love triangle. The name Hajime was unique, too. The scope of the game was truly global. An idea came to mind. Meziah almost facepalmed at how she didn¡¯t think of it before. Opening her list of skills, she found and memorized the incantation. [Summon]. Her own creation would not abandon her, and two heads would be a boon. Meziah skimmed the description. According to the information, the summon could be tweaked depending on her wants, but was largely a product of its surroundings. It sounded like a baby. As a solo mage she needed a tank. Unfortunately, she was a dark elf in a dark forest. Meziah knew the summon would not be an angel. Before mustering up the mana, she cracked her knuckles. If it was a spider, she was prepared to squash it with her heel immediately. Meziah recited the words. Her tome floated from her hands and gave off light not unlike the moon in the sky. The cover split open, and pages turned in a rush of wind. Letters lifted off the page and surrounded the mage. Eyes closed, she said the final incantation. ¡°Now come!¡± she shouted. Darkness from every nook and cranny pulled together, whether it was the from the trees or Meziah¡¯s own shadow. There were various shades of darkness, and as the shadows condensed together in an orb the size of her fist, it became darker than black. Meziah stared at it, and considered prodding it. Before she could, the dark orb expanded and turned more translucent the farther it elongated into a strangely human, yet inhuman, shape. It growled. The summon floated a foot off the ground and had no legs. Instead, a metal-like robe covered the lower half of its body, and it melded with the darkness as if struggling to exist in one plane or the next. Its fingers were three times the length of its palm, with nails sharper than a sword. A single spike protruded out of its wrist like a hornet¡¯s stinger. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Meziah covered her mouth. The grotesque image churned her stomach. It opened a mouth without a face. The mouth was located on its chest. No words came of it. The thing growled again, shadowed saliva dripping out. It left no mark in the physical world and seemed to disappear the moment it hit the dirt, as if returning the shadow to its proper owner. It hunched over and seemed to declare obedience. Before she could react, the monster¡¯s back separated into two, and a gap along its spine appeared as spikes erupted down and out the fresh wound. ¡°Oh, God,¡± Meziah said, before her mana cut off. Her magic depleted, the summon ceased to exist. The shadows slithered back to the trees and to her body. Meziah¡¯s heart pounded against her chest. The world could have heard it. She collapsed. Blinking, Meziah immersed herself with the starry sky she could never see in her city. The light it gave off calmed her. ¡°Next time I¡¯ll summon in the morning,¡± Meziah said to no one in particular. Despite the creature scaring her, she felt a connection with it. It was a strange feeling, and it made her uncomfortable knowing that came from her. She noted to research further, hoping it would turn out better next time. She was proud of her researching ability. ¡°Probably killed enough imps by now.¡± Meziah recalled and turned in the simple hunt quest, leaving the summon at the back of her mind. She had been turned off by the game her first time playing, but after a couple weeks cooling off she logged in out of boredom. It turned out she enjoyed the repetitive nature of MMORPGs. Grinding reminded her of studying. She was good at that. Wiping out monsters over and over was like repeating a formula in her head and memorizing it. She scratched her head. Metaphors weren¡¯t her strong suit. She was definitely not good at that. The woman slew monsters for a week. She hunted one day, and ran across the town the next for (annoying!) delivery quests. Yet it brought smiles to her face. Turning in sawed off wings of an imp or delivering a parcel was something she never imagined doing, and anything out of her comfort zone had her leaping for more. This was virtual reality. It was more real than reality, as dumb as it sounded upon later reflection. Meziah cleared the dark elf village¡¯s quests completely, and knew the layout by heart. It was simple to grasp after a week. But it was time to move on, and she was weary of imps and witches and the like. ¡°A unicorn,¡± she said dreamily. ¡°That¡¯s what I want to see.¡± Unicorns wandered in few places, none of which near Meziah. She waved at Veranel. He was busy speaking to a dark elf youth with brooding eyes. The man picked up a simple sword and wandered off. Meziah shivered. Spiders encroached into her mind like a parasite. The memory wouldn¡¯t leave, and neither did Sharkeyes. Her nails dug into her palm, knuckles whitening. ¡°One day,¡± she mumbled bitterly. The tome stirred with violent energy, then composed itself when Meziah did. She watched the youth leave. Quests changed over time. It was possible her actions changed the area¡¯s priorities, and a new threat would emerge. Wolves had been spawning more than the norm. Meziah, with disgust, knew she should have started later. Some sucker would have committed arachnid genocide by then and left her with dogs. She liked dogs. Puppies to be exact. She refused to be a crazy, single cat lady in the future. She already had the single down. Crazy and cats would only condemn her social life further. Did VRMMORPGs count as socializing? Meziah sucked at the inside of her teeth. She wasn¡¯t doing that, either, going as far as summoning a freak of nature to avoid speaking to others. Her shoulders drooped. ¡°I¡¯m doomed.¡± ¡°Hello, Meziah,¡± Veranel said, interrupting her gloom. He gave her a small bow and a pleased reaction. ¡°There¡¯s something different about you.¡± Was it her mortification or sunken eyes that caught his attention? ¡°I¡¯ve done my duty. The spider invasion has been dealt with. The escaped necromancers have been killed, their undead army destroyed. The cult of witches are no more.¡± Meziah paused. She cleared her throat. ¡°I even delivered imp wings for a chef so his cat could eat a delicacy.¡± Veranel congratulated her, and she swore he had an amused glint in his eyes at the last bit. ¡°You¡¯ve come at a good time. Tira has been looking for you.¡± ¡°Tira?¡± ¡°A mage with great respect within our community. She is not here, but there has been word of your deeds and it has spread.¡± Veranel retrieved a map and a letter from his back pocket. An insignia, a snake with dark scales, sealed the envelope. ¡°Directions, and a letter of recommendation. I¡¯m confident you¡¯ll represent us well no matter where your travels take you.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± she responded. ¡°Tira, you said?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll find her at Novae Morose. I do not know what troubles they¡¯re facing, but our scouts report dark clouds blanketing the city. Not even the moon¡¯s light can pierce it.¡± Veranel¡¯s face darkened. ¡°It is unnatural.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll meet this Tira and, if it¡¯s within my power, resolve this,¡± Meziah declared. She was finally out of this hellhole, and was about to enter an even worse one. Hurray, she thought cheerlessly. Veranel nodded, and pointed west. ¡°Go, and bring glory to us all.¡± Meziah the Esoteric Level 14 Dark Elf Mage Reputation 248 1.5 Felicity Felicity slipped into her blouse and buttoned it, then pulled on curve-hugging leather. In real life, Felicia¡¯s wages leaned toward the lower end, but she had disposable income inside Viarem. Her gold turned into costume pieces. Always. Currency between the virtual world and the real world translated poorly. Felicity splurged on things she couldn¡¯t afford in Viarem. She pushed the inn¡¯s window open and let the breeze air the room. She set her elbows against the windowsill and propped her chin up with lazy hands, and with a sigh, gazed longingly at the fireflies. Celestial Hills was a rural village with high elven roots. Tucked right in in the middle of nowhere, it boasted a grand NPC population of 112, and was known for their potatoes. Despite the increase in tourists and their utter disrespect toward nature, nature itself had yet to forsake the villagers that worked hard to live there. The trees and lakes proved to be natural protection against monsters, the terrain deceptively serene. Treants woke when Celestial Hills was threatened, and likewise, the lakes¡¯ denizens surfaced. The forest slumbered for many years now, and the lakes stayed undisturbed. Danger wasn¡¯t a worry to the average citizen. Danger wasn¡¯t a worry to most of Viarem, actually. A large number of players chose never to see or fight a monster in their life, preferring to stay on a safer continent free from harm. Those were the ones that brought great leaps to humanity¡¯s progress. A firefly landed on Felicity¡¯s nose. She crossed her eyes and poked at it when the itching became too much. It flickered with a green light, then flew away to rejoin the light show passing through. It was night. Without the fireflies, Celestial Hills was blanketed in complete darkness beside the occasional lit candle. It was away from the din of man. Felicity stretched her legs and made a little noise in the back of throat. Stretching felt good. She practiced yoga in her free time. Daily, Felicity took out her yoga mat and worked on herself. A day had not gone by without her exercise. As a bonus, sex was more fun. Flexibility had its perks. The wooden grandfather clock ticked methodically. It was almost two hours past midnight in Viarem. She had time to spare. Virtual reality worked as an alternative to sleep, giving equal amounts of rest for more time conscious, at least in the mind. Many still enjoyed sleep. Sometimes the mind needed rest. Sleeping while sleeping, it was truly the future. The average human slept for twenty-five years of their life. Viarem returned that time, and the real world entered a new age with its introduction. Viarem was played by most first world countries that could afford the technology. Real-time language translations occurred instantly. Many took the time to follow dreams once believed to be impossible. Felicity didn¡¯t. She used it for nights of drunken debauchery. She slid into bed and under the sheets, sidling next to some guy whose name she forgot. He stirred, and then yawned, draping a strong arm around her waist. ¡°Hey, you,¡± she said. ¡°You¡¯re dressed,¡± he said. ¡°I was leaving soon.¡± The human skillfully began unbuttoning her blouse with one hand. Felicity nibbled at his neck and left a mark. Right, she thought. She had time to spare before the job. The lack of herpes was nice, too. Viarem was like abstinence for dummies, except not. An hour later, the elf zoomed out the door half-dressed in her armored leather, glancing at the clock one last time before muttering about deadlines. She was late. Felicity slowed, stopping by a swing attached to a thick tree branch. She made a face, then sat down and rifled through her bag. A dark green potion was in her lap. She uncorked it and turned her nose away. Felicity pinched her nostrils and downed the liquid mucous, then wiped her mouth in disgust, sticking her tongue out. Blood pumped to her legs, and she felt faster, stronger, and more alert. Felicity then found another potion, a small magenta flask. She grimaced and emptied the bottle. Her irises lit up, going from its natural green to a neon hue not unlike the fireflies around her, and her pupils dilated. The darkness became like daylight. Felicity was not a dark elf. She didn¡¯t have natural night vision. God forbid something turned her into a vampire. Suntanning was possible even in virtual reality, and she wasn¡¯t prepared to give that up. She sighed. Alchemy was amazing, but left a bad taste in her mouth. Swinging off her seat, Felicity sprinted out of Celestial Hills without difficulty, passing no one. Her next job prospect was waiting. Cartiga seemed reliable enough, and told her they were paying well. She promised herself she¡¯d make it for the clothes. The campfire burned her eyes. Felicity shirked away and swore. For the cloak and dagger vibe, making her come dead at night, the contact missed classes in Subtlety 101. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Her night eyes glowed bright in the dark. It had minutes to spare, and the clock continued ticking. Night eye was useful, but in dangerous situations it became a headache. Shoving a finger down her throat to rid herself of the effect came to mind, but waved it off. It was a habit no one should pick up. Felicity plucked out a pair of tinted goggles and adjusted them over her face. ¡°I look like an idiot,¡± she said. ¡°Like people wearing sunglasses indoors.¡± But she relented. Duty called. She announced her presence and walked toward the campfire, and took strides to avoid direct eye contact with the dancing flames. They were wild and impossible to contain, much like an animal grasping for life at its final moment. ¡°Hello?¡± A twig snapped. ¡°You¡¯re late.¡± Felicity yelped, and hopped to the balls of her feet. She almost drew her dagger until the man revealed himself behind the trees. Felicity straightened her back and coughed. ¡°I¡¯m here now.¡± The burly man grunted, and dropped a stack of wood by the camp. He wore flannel and had a beanie over his head. A gray beard covered the lower half of his face, but nothing could hide the pockmarks on his cheeks. He swung his ax off his shoulder and laid it on the ground beside him. ¡°Sit.¡± Then he motioned to the felled log near the fire. It was an order, not a suggestion. The lumberjack stared her down with dark, beady eyes. Felicity¡¯s skin crawled. ¡°You the scout?¡± he asked. His voice reminded her of chain smokers ¡ª low, rough, and scary. ¡°Yes,¡± she said. Normally Felicity introduced herself to clients with her name and a handshake, but she felt compelled not to in this situation. She was a people person, and some weren¡¯t. Jack there was in the latter camp. He shuffled through a filthy bag and palmed something, then threw it over to Felicity. It landed by her boots. ¡°Payment for information,¡± the man said. ¡°More to come.¡± ¡°What kind?¡± Felicity left the clinking pouch where it landed, though her eyes lingered on it. ¡°Players. Raiders. Politicians on the continent over. The little gopher living in your front lawn.¡± He paused. ¡°Everyone that¡¯s anyone.¡± ¡°That may be difficult,¡± she said carefully. ¡°Obscure info on those across the virtual sea is tough enough. The top raiders alone change by the week. It¡¯s impossible.¡± ¡°Not at once. Payment in regular installations.¡± She had already decided to bow out. Felicity was the type to avoid walking under ladders, or avoid cracks on the sidewalk. If she saw a black cat down an alley, she checked over her shoulder and strolled to the opposite side of the street. Her friends called her superstitious. She called it safety. Bad vibes filled her with dread with the lumberjack sitting across from her. ¡°I think this job is beyond my ability.¡± He jutted his chin at the pouch. The lumberjack tapped his foot on the ground patiently, crunching dry, dead leaves. Felicity gaped at the coins. Her eyes glazed over and were the color of old dollar bills. Night eye¡¯s effect had run out. She took off her goggles and inspected a single coin with the campfire¡¯s light. ¡°They¡¯re real,¡± he said. Felicity knew. She had an eye for money. After a long and difficult moment, she dropped the coin back in with a clink. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I can¡¯t take the job.¡± Felicity tightened the string around the pouch and sealed it, then tossed it over to the man. The woman was many things: greedy, selfish, and possibly neurotic if her therapist had a say. But she refused to fight against her gut instincts. The elf stuck with her decisions regardless of the outcome. It was her rule in life. Regret lasted a lifetime and the next. ¡°Are you certain?¡± he asked. ¡°Coin is hard to come by these days.¡± Felicity knew he was referring to raids. It started some weeks ago, with player killers targeting raids and devastating raiders spawn points. First, it was considered a fluke, but it happened again and again. The mystery killers grew bolder, and began interrupting groups mid-raid, attacking while players were on the boss. Raids had become impossible, and progress in the top echelon of Viarem halted. ¡°I spend a lot,¡± Felicity said, ¡°but not beyond my means.¡± ¡°Smart, but unfortunate. For both of us.¡± ¡°Again, I must decline.¡± Felicity threw a branch into the fire and rekindled the dying flames gasping for life, then got to her feet. Jack shrugged. The fire bled into his pupils and reflected a demon back at her if she had a say. Her friends weren¡¯t completely wrong. Felicity was superstitious to an extent. ¡°Be seeing you,¡± he said. Felicity hoped that would not be the case. She left, and the fire cackled once more. Felicity the Untouchable Level 71 High Elf Scout Reputation 3401