Devil's Waltz Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  AEON CHRONICLES

  ONLINE

  BOOK TWO: DEVIL’S DEAL

  A LitRPG Novel

  By

  Dante Sakurai

  Copyright © 2018 by Dante Sakurai

  All Right Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of very brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Prologue

  Eric Burke covered a yawn with a dry palm, lounging in the hall by the kitchen’s metallic double-door entrance. His fortune hadn’t been great since he’d taken a guard post at Osborne High-Security Hospital and its connected psychiatric facility. The hours were long, it was lonely as heck, and rarely he was required to act as a guard. For a week now, his primary task as the new guy was to deliver food to the offices upstairs. He had hoped to catch a whiff of the delicious savory smells within, but unfortunately, the kitchen was behind an airlock—hygiene standards. At least his superiors were polite, and his weekly pay was good… for a guard.

  Eric was already regretting this; he’d rather play Aeon Chronicles Online in the comfort of his apartment right now like he’d done so all day every day for the past year. It was too bad that universal basic income had taken hefty cuts, and his crafting business hadn’t been performing well either. If Synaptic had not let the beta become stale in recent months, high-level players would log in more often, and his gear-crafting professions would be in-demand again. Everything was in a sad state, his life most of all.

  And as if the gods of Aeon heard his plight, his phone vibrated in his pocket and played a three-beep tune which signaled the message was from inside the game. He snatched out the aluminum rectangle and swiped the archaic touch-screen with his thumb.

  Blaze Runner: Yo, shit just went down at that Water Mages’ Spire in Draconia. There’s two player World Bosses now! Check out the thread linked.

  Endorphins surged. Eric jumped to his feet and nearly fist-pumped at the news. Players could become World Bosses now! He couldn’t begin to fathom how something like that could possibly work in a game with over a hundred thousand players. So new and creative! Yet bizarre… and possibly imbalanced to an outrageous extent. How could a tiny few be allowed to possess such power over everyone else? Unfair! Unless all players could become World Bosses… but how would that work? If everyone was a boss then no one was.

  The low-tech phone sure took its time to authenticate his forum credentials and load the animation-filled page. The cheap connection plan wasn’t helping either. It was all he could afford with his UBI credits—scraps. This touch-screen computer technology was over a century old, and it wasn’t even a mediocre version of what they had back then. It was far worse. Though now with this guard job, he could save up for a Holo-Phone soon enough.

  The blurry page finally sharpened. Load complete.

  The Water Mage Spire Has Fallen. Posted by Hadrian Miser…

  Eric gobbled up the opening post. His sweaty hands warmed. His eyes took in point after point. Tingling excitement swept his skin, the prospect that he might also become a World Boss one day far too appealing. He could pay all his real-life expenses and then some.

  Except… both World Bosses were darkies.

  Cold dread put a sudden death-grip on Eric’s throat and balls. The chosen player was none other than Gabby LeMort, the most powerful of the five. And a new darkie more powerful than her! A Necromancer. And the Dracos’ faction leader had been captured. Fortunately, LeMort and Black were only tier sixes—not too powerful.

  “My god,” Eric whispered as he scrolled through the thread. Outright pandemonium raged in there. People cried foul, yelled in all-caps, and some threatened to quit the game. As expected, the most common complaint expressed how unfair it was. Albeit, a few were excited about mass-scale world PvP, and some lapsed players whom Eric recognized were already returning. Others reasoned that it was still beta and this simply was a temporary experimental feature.

  As Eric flipped through page after page, the chaos began to subside, and in its place was renewed confidence and surprising optimism. A significant share of the posts of the thread’s latter half were by players who hoped they’d be the next World Boss leading the light side to glorious victory against the darkies. Only gamers could be so fickle and bold.

  Still, many complaints trickled into the thread at a steady rate. A few hundred had lost their houses, and even more worried similar might take place throughout the continent. Many were already planning to elope to one of the other factions, one of the other two more-prosperous continents. Eric imagined the housing prices for Draconia right now and couldn’t stop himself from chuckling into the empty, silent hall. It was most likely in free-fall—a perfect opportunity to buy while everyone else was panic-selling. The human capital was likely safe. The Dwarves’ capital as well. The Draconian capital would likely never fall. Those were prime areas to snap up some cheap real estate.

  As his cruddy phone loaded the marketplace website, the pager at his waist beeped. He checked without delay; it could be something serious.

  Just another food tray ready for pick-up and delivery in the airlock… for a visiting neurologist and his patient this time.

  Standing, Eric sighed and pocketed his phone. If he prided himself on anything it was work ethic. He wasn’t going to slack while doing something he was paid for. He carried that attitude everywhere from his crafting business in-game to these occasional low-skill jobs in real life.

  The journey to the offices upstairs passed tediously. Eric made his way through the maze of corridors, stairs, and reinforced security doors. A fellow guard nodded as he strode past. Another was strolling to the west-wing psyche ward. You needed to be a nurse-guard to work in there. Their pay was substantially higher, understandably. Eric couldn’t guess what kind of crazies they had to put up with.

  Door B-13 was where it should be. Eric knocked with three not-too-loud taps with his index finger knuckle. “Food’s arrived.”

  No answer.

  He knocked again and said with a harsher voice, “Food’s here!”

  Over twenty seconds
passed. Nothing happened. Was this the right door? Eric checked the ticket stuck to the covered tray, and indeed it was for room B-13. Perhaps it was a mistake? Or a prank?

  Eric quietly groaned as he turned. He’d walked all the way up here for nothing, and it was a very long walk. He’d slogged his way across the entire facility. With a searing-hot tray in his grasp! Now, he was to return to his post still with it in hand. He wasn’t paid enough for such nonsense.

  Eric squirmed as he double backed for room B-13. Damn it to all hell. He was a guard, not a freaking delivery boy.

  My access card better work.

  Flashing the plastic in front of the scanner, he found the door was already unlocked—which meant there was someone in the room! It was protocol to never leave offices unlocked. No doctor would make a mistake like that.

  Eric growled from his stomach, then barged into the room with a strong palm. “Your snack is getting col—”

  The tangy, iron, rusty smell of blood rushed up his nose. He knew it all too well after working in this hospital for a week. Heart thumping, his guard-training and experience in Aeon Chronicles as a support kicked in. His eyes snapped to a body laying on the carpet. Tossing the tray onto the table, he grabbed the pager from his hip and slammed the emergency button. “Code blue! Room B thirteen! Repeat! Code Blue! Room B thirteen!”

  The reply was instant, the operator’s voice calm and professional: “Response unit on the way.”

  Out of instinct and not protocol, Eric leaped to the body. He crouched and thumbed for a pulse at the neck. Please be alive. Please.

  A timid beat pushed against his fingers after too many seconds. The teen was alive—barely. But blood was still leaking from the ears and nose, and by the looks of it, he’d lost at least a liter or two or three depending on how much the carpet absorbed. He was minutes if not seconds away from death.

  Eric jolted straight as a door slammed down the hall. A second later, from the opposite direction, the first EMT rushed in. Eric stepped aside to let the white-coat attend to the guy.

  “What happened?” the woman asked as she did doctor things, starting with a pulse-check as Eric had done.

  “I don’t know. I was delivering food, and the door was unlocked.”

  She nodded without another word.

  The guy from the room down the hall entered. One of the hospital’s directors. Dr. Winston paled at the sight. His hands visibly shook as he took retrieved a Holo-Phone from his coat pocket. Sweat ran down his flabby neck, and his bushy mustache quivered. He was breathing heavily, enough for his airways to make a wheezing noise.

  Why was he so nervous? Surely, an old doctor like himself had experienced emergencies like this a million times before. Eric wasn’t as panicked, and he was just a security guard, but maybe that was due to Aeon Chronicle’s desensitizing effect on one’s psyche. He’d seen much worse than this in countless dungeons and raids. Melted faces, exploding torsos, and horrid screams winked before his senses. The gore was somewhat tuned down but not much. The realism of the game was astounding.

  Finally, Dr. Winston cleared his throat and shook off his hesitation. He made messy gestures in front of the hologram. The phone dialed. Three quiet rings trilled by—and two more doctors ran in—before Dr. Winston connected to whomever he dialed. He said in a shaky voice, “It about Mr. Black. Yes, Rowan. He’s unconscious and injured, bleeding from…” He eyed the body. “The ears and nose.”

  Immediately recognizing the name, Eric frowned. Rowan Black? It couldn’t be the same Rowan no matter how uncommon that name was. And players usually chose pseudononymous in-game names. It had to be just a coincidence.

  Dr. Winston left the room, nervously. He spoke in hushed tones into the phone. A the trio of white-coats lifted the guy as another doctor entered. Eric stepped back to make space. As a guard, it was protocol in this high-security facility to stand by during events like these. For all everyone knew, it could’ve been foul play, and whoever was responsible could be lurking nearby.

  The response team carried away Rowan with great care through the door. Eric was about to follow, but his hand brushed against a matte surface he had felt before a billion times before. He spun around.

  In the corner sat Synaptic Entertainment’s new FIVR pod. Rowan’s blood trailed from beneath the lid.

  Adrenaline pumped. A cold sweat broke out across his skin. His head swam, a thousand thoughts going off like fireworks. What the hell was happening here? Was that the same Rowan Black from the thread? And were the pods unsafe? It couldn’t be. Seconds turned into minutes while he stared dumbfounded at the scene.

  Behind him chuckled a smooth voice.

  Eric flinched and twisted around, meeting the gaze of an old man behind rimmed spectacles. The circular glasses gleamed in the sunlight, hiding his eyes. His white coat was slightly different. Neurology department.

  Eric’s cheeks heated. He was more than breaking protocol here. He was supposed to follow the response team. “Sorry, I was a bit shocked at the scene. I’ll head back to my post immediately.”

  The doctor smiled creepily. “See that you do. With haste.”

  “Yes, doctor.” Ertic backed away from the blood and mumbled another sorry.

  “Do be mindful of patient confidentiality,” the doctor lightly said. “And good work. You might’ve saved a young man’s life.”

  “Yes, of course. And I’m just doing my job.”

  A trillion thoughts raging under his scalp, Eric ate a massive gulp of conditioned hallway air and shook his head as he turned down a corner. He couldn’t make wild speculations here. He would cause a mass panic by claiming the pods were unsafe. Yeah, that probably wasn’t Rowan Black. The neurologist was just using the FIVR tech for some other medical purpose. It was all just a coincidence.

  Chapter 1

  Green Tea

  Darius Roth, CEO of Synaptic Entertainment, mused on the afternoon’s events in his top-floor office while sipping from a porcelain cup of green tea. Rowan Black and Darius’ apparent second-niece Gabrielle had performed above expectation, far exceeding what anyone had imagined one would accomplish in their position. Phase one realized. None had speculated any involvement by Synaptic. As for phase two…

  There was a hitch.

  The AI controller had been difficult to work with and control since activation. This time, it had rejected several so-called ‘incompatible’ directives to incorporate Black’s destiny into the game, reasoned they would be too disruptive to the gamespace and clash against existing directives. Fair enough. But alas, when it had accepted a more equivocal directive, it had done so problematically.

  The AI had also allowed for player World Bosses other than Black in order to keep the game stable. Gabrielle was the immediate second, and more could follow any day depending on how many the AI judged the gamespace needed. This unforeseen element possibly changed the timeline enough to render the forecasts moot. Granted, they averaged under seventy-percent accuracy. A thirty percent chance of something not happening was substantial. He wouldn’t bet his life with those odds. This present timeline was simply that thirty percent.

  No matter. With proper tact, this new development would be twisted to the company’s (and the Order’s) advantage. Since Black’s triumph, Darius had mulled it over while keeping an eye on the internal and external discussion forums. The employees had been quick to discard their initial panic and see the prospective positives of player World Bosses. As for the players, they’d been slower. The external forums were in an uproar, and emotionally charged support tickets were still being filed. They’d calm down either today or tomorrow or next week, as always.

  The next steps to take were clear, but nevertheless, Darius appreciated the input of his lead ‘game designer’ before making a decision, whom he was waiting for this minute. He poured himself another cup of tea. Sweet aroma filled his airways.

  Soon enough arrived Derek Brown, stomping into the room so boorishly. How this bulky, gingery-brunette man had been rec
ruited into the Order’s lower rungs was an enigma. It didn’t matter; all that mattered was his aptitude for game design, even if he wasn’t designing much. He was more of an analyst and community spokesperson. The players liked a central figurehead with a jolly, enthusiastic attitude as a transparent channel of communication. Darius loathed interacting with the masses so regularly. How fortunate for Derek that he wasn’t hideous in front of a camera.

  Derek plonked onto the leather office chair, then rubbed his hands together under an… energetic smile. “Oh ho ho! We’ve done it this time. You won’t believe how they won at—”

  With a healthy subtle glare, Darius waved him off. “Please, give me your suggestions on what should be done. Concisely.” But he wasn’t a cruel leader, so he offered him a cup of tea. “Help yourself.”

  Derek’s demeanor softened by a touch. “Oh, alright.” He drank a sip. He liked the vanilla taste, his head nodding. The cup clinked onto the glass. Four drops splashed. “So. As I see it, we have three options we can take here. The first is to continue as per the plan without any alterations. Announce Black is an exploiter who activated an experimental feature through a loophole which allowed him to become a boss… and throw in a torture and rape claim for good measure. We claim any further damage has already been prevented, and then ask players to unite and take him out in-game while we claim to work on a solution to ban him…”