Aeon Chronicles Online_Book 1_Devil's Deal 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

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  AEON CHRONICLES

  ONLINE

  BOOK ONE: DEVIL’S DEAL

  A LitRPG Novel

  By

  Dante Sakurai

  Copyright © 2017 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

  May 2nd, 2134

  The lines between reality and video games had blurred into a smudge during the development of virtual reality technology. The Bavarian order had seized on the opportunity all too quickly in their lust for the creation of a greater, better society.

  Darius Roth, CEO and founder of Synaptic Entertainment, sat in silence and adjusted his masquerade-style mask beneath his silken robe hood. A tingle of unease settled on his shoulders as the order leader banged his staff on the marble floor. The murmurs faded in a heartbeat.

  “Is the forecast ready?” the order leader asked, his voice ancient, textured, and quiet.

  “Ah… Yup!” a member said, seated ten or eleven seats to the right of Darius. A young female to his surprise. The average age of the order was over forty. “It finished processing the other night!”

  “Play it.”

  She chirped, “Okie dokie.”

  Very young. She sounded like a late-teen or a woman in her early twenties still in a cutesy-act phase to lure in boys. How did she get anointed? Darius guessed it must’ve been a family connection to an upper-echelon member. She probably had been tasked with babysitting the quantum supercomputers… though that wouldn’t explain her presence in this high-ranking meeting. Only the inner-circle and need-to-knows attended.

  She must’ve been given a major role in this particular mission, Darius concluded.

  The girl thumbed a remote and a holographic projection flashed to life on the wall and played a 2D video. A mere two minute, 2D probabilistic glimpse into the future had taken over eight months to compute. Even the latest quantum chips struggled with this type of modeling. Though this was one of a trillion possible futures, some outcomes were more probable than others.

  The image expanded to the ceiling and adjacent walls, filling the entirety of Darius’ field of view. It was a scene from within Aeon Chronicles Online, Synaptic Entertainment’s upcoming revolutionary fully-immersive virtual reality game. Darius was immersed in the sight and sounds within seconds. A steady, strong beat thump in his chest and neck.

  A man clad in armor made of an unfamiliar, light-blue metal walked down a hallway. The walls appeared to be cut from granite and the floor tiled with marble. Frosted, colored windows passed every five meters. He stopped at a large, wooden double door. Two men wearing steel ring-mail saluted him. “Sire,” they greeted without eye contact.

  The man nodded, then waved his glowing, gloved hand and the doors swung open. He entered and stopped before a brunette man standing behind a desk and looking down at a map and piles of parchment. The lord’s crimson eyes swirled with liquid fire.

  “Report, Knight LightSlayerX,” the Lord said. His voice was smooth and attractive.

  “The darkness shrouds our enemy’s movements. The Undead quickly spreads and our forces weaken by the hour. Greenwood, The Water-Mage’s Spire, The Great Library. All fallen.” The knight shook his head, sighing. “We have to abandon the northern kingdom and hold a line in the crossing.”

  The lord glared. A wave of heat engulfed the knight. “Unacceptable.”

  “My lord, please reconsider—”

  “You know very well what will happen if Black ascends to a tier ten boss. We must reinforce Icemeet at all costs.”

  Black? Darius looked left and right, finding most of the meeting also showing signs of confusion. The in-game name had changed since the last forecast. The operation leaders must’ve altered the plan, he reasoned. Secrecy and compartmentalization were paramount to success.

  The knight grunted in frustration. “The other factions are more than capable of holding the other two seals—”

  Quakes rippled through the building and the knight spun on his heels, sword and shield already drawn. An aura of gold and white erupted from his chest. His rune-etched blade shone.

  The right-side windows shattered. A blast of razor frost detonated, blowing apart the wall. Ice stormed the room in a rage while the lord channeled a bubble of fire, saving himself from the fallout. The knight wasn’t as lucky. He laid bleeding, half-frozen by blocky shards of ice and snow. A jagged piece of granite jutted out of his skull. The hyper-realistic sight made bile swish up Darius’ throat.

  The Fire Lord disappeared and reappeared by the destroyed wall in a swirl of flame, a staff of gold and ruby in hand. He gazed at similar icy blasts raining down onto the outpost. Troops and workers screamed and ran helplessly.

  Just as he began chanting and motioning with his staff, flying monstrosities descended from within gray and black clouds. Three enormous bone drakes hurled mortar after mortar. A swarm of skeletal creatures circled the flying artillery.

  Then a deluge of black, miasma ridden ice flooded the projection.

  The projection buzzed in static, a quick jolt of surprise whipping through Darius before the channel one news reported blinked into view.

  “The hacker Rowan Black is still at large. Despite the authorities’ urge for players to stay away from the game known as Aeon Chronicles, people are still camping outside stores worldwide to order a home FIVR setup. This is madness folks.”

  The video cut. Darius stared into the blackness, mouth agape as murmurs whispered through the order. Not only had the in-game name changed, but it was now identical to the real-life name. A name which wasn’t present in the order, not even in the lower ranks and puppet list. Something had gone wrong—or was about to go wrong.

  The order leader spoke, “Probability and timeframe?”

  The girl skipped over to the holographic projector’s connected computer. She read, “Exactly two years and four days from now, accurate to within seventy-six point three nine percent. Plus or minus twenty point four depending on a large set of variables.” The room quie
ted for three heartbeats before louder mutterings and murmurs broke out.

  Seventy-six percent. The words echoed in Darius’ head. This future bordering on dystopia was one of the highest-probability forecasts yet. What had his brother done? He had opened Pandora’s box by creating this new virtual reality tech.

  A member sitting next to the leader stood and headed for the terminal in a familiar gait. Darius could feel the bitter displeasure radiate off his brother’s robes. He rarely appreciated unexpected hitches in his plans.

  Chapter 1

  Camping

  July 20th, 2134

  Rowan Black sat at the edge of the lake, fishing rod in hand, and watched the occasional fish swim by the surface. He hadn’t caught a single one yet. Fishing in real-life wasn’t nearly as simple or exciting compared to gathering in his favorite MMOs. He couldn’t level up, improve his catch-rate, or activate an assortment of special gatherer skills. So lame. The only plus was the graphics of real-life.

  His mother and father had taken him to the local nature reserve for a weekend camping trip after another horrid week at Westwind Highschool. Max and his gang had been getting worse, picking on him during the breaks, stealing his notes and constant teasing in class. And worse of all, the teachers hadn’t done a thing about except for the occasional sad smile—as usual. Max’s father was on the school board and one of the largest donors funding the campus upgrades. The school was poor and desperately needed the money. Max and his snobbish, wealthy family moved into the area a few years back for some reason and were untouchable. Even an afternoon detention for the pig-like boy resulted in shouting commotion in the offices.

  A cold breeze blew across the still waters, rustling the nearby pine trees and grass. A shiver rippled up Rowan’s arms and sides.

  “Mmm! It’s getting cold,” his father called from behind.

  He was still setting up the tent for the night, struggling with the extendable poles. Of course, he would. He worked as a poorly paid chemical scientist for a major pharmaceutical company, often working late into the night and rarely venturing into the woods. Rowan couldn’t believe his father agreed to his mother’s camping idea. She’d thought this would be a good way to help Rowan get over the week and experience some family bonding—out in the damp, cold woods by this lake away from his video games. She was a marine biologist and often went on expeditions to nearby lakes including this one.

  This wasn’t too bad of an idea, Rowan admitted. Staring out across the lake surface into the mountain ranges was indeed relaxing.

  But too bad his father insisted on setting up the tent all by himself. He had a tiny bit of an ego… although at least he wasn’t anywhere near as bad as Max and co. Rowan sighed and shook his head.

  His mother was always worried about his situation at school and had barged into the principal’s office five times to demand a stop to Max’s behavior. Every time she had left with moist eyes, a vice gripping Rowan’s chest at the memory. She didn’t that. And neither did his father—even if he didn’t worry or take the situation as seriously as she did. His father always simply told him to be strong and be the better man. But every now and then, something dark would flash across his father’s eyes whenever Rowan mentioned school.

  One afternoon, Rowan had returned home with bruises on his arms and chest. His mother had freaked out, going into hysterics. And his father had stared at his injuries with a sustained, menacing look, still and silent like he had been holding something back in himself. Rowan could remember every line carved into his father’s face when he had made that look. He was a middle-aged man with deathly, pale, skull-like features that made the look all the more frightening. Rowan hadn’t seen that look again—he didn’t need to for it was carved deep into his memory.

  His parents had complained to the school and threatened a lawsuit. But Max’s father had stepped in and countered with a warning to ruin the Black family with legal fees. That put an end to any talks of a lawsuit in a single sentence. The school hadn’t done anything as usual, though Max hadn’t assaulted him as severely since, only light trips and light punches.

  And Rowan hadn’t found out why Max hated him the most. His father had somehow, someway kept up his cheery self soon after, acting like a game’s NPC with a hard-coded, unchanging mood and personality even if a city burned down around him.

  “Row,” his father said, “You alright over there? Getting any bites?” The first pole was finally set up, arching across the clearing and glinting under the evening sun.

  Rowan took a breath before turning and did best to mask his boredom. He just wanted to stay home for the weekend and play War of the Ages, a real-time strategy computer game. He had a knack for strategy when he was in the mood for it. "Yeah, I'm fine. No bites yet though." He forced his best smile—but only managed a sad upturn of his lips.

  “Well keep trying!” His father chuckled, fumbling with the next pole. “I remember when I went fishing in high school. Boring but when one gets hooked it feels amazing to reel it in.”

  Over twenty years ago. He probably couldn’t identify a poisonous mushroom if they walked by one. Only his mother could protect them from the dangers out here. Rowan sighed under his breath again. “It doesn’t look like they’re interested in the bait… they swim by my feet constantly.”

  “Hmmm, that’s strange,” his mother said from the right. She was setting up the fire pit, lining a ring of small rocks around a shallow ditch. A stack of twigs and dried leaves piled in a neat pyramid. “Catfish love chicken liver. Check if your hook has any bait left.”

  Rowan shrugged. “Alright.” He stood and reeled in his line for a good thirty seconds. He had made a good cast—after a few practice swings. He wasn’t overweight or scrawny like Max had called him. Quite fit in-fact, much fitter than Max. The snob was very chubby, stating it lightly.

  Catching the end of the line, Rowan inspected two hooks spaced a foot apart. The two lumps of chicken had been nibbled into stringy bits. Rowan must’ve not felt the nibbles. The catfish were quite small. A grimace tugged at his face. He turned to his mother. “I think these fish are too sma—”

  Something gray moved within the trees.

  “Too small?” his mother said, “There’s plenty of big ones if I recall right. Try casting your line out a bit further.”

  “How far did you cast?” his father asked.

  The thing moved through a gap within in the branches again.

  Was that fur?

  It couldn’t be, for the park ranger they had met at the gate said electric fences protected the reserve and they’d swept the area for bears, wolves, and other dangerous animals last week. Maybe it was another camper in a furry coat… Or a couple of small squirrels and badgers. But despite that, a fuzzy weight settled into Rowan’s belly and another wave of goosebumps surged up his limbs.

  His mom glanced at him, her bronze eyebrow raised. “Did you hear us, Row?”

  He swallowed. “Mom. Dad,” he said in a low voice, “There’s something in the woods. Grey and brown. There might be a few of them.” More patches of silver, gray, and brown appeared. They were getting close. There had to be at least a handful.

  Rowan’s father dropped the tent pole he hadn’t finished assembling and strode to their camping bags under a tree. “It shouldn’t be anything.” He rustled through a polymer box filled with supplies at lightning speed. “But just in case…”

  Meanwhile, his mother inched closer to the forest line. She crouched like she was approaching a whale at the aquarium—or a thief using a sneak skill in a game.

  Rowan shuffled over to his mother and steadied his breath. Every step crunched small twigs and dry grass. Every heartbeat drummed his skull. He shouldn't react like this, really, but he couldn't help it after four years of torment at the hands of Max. Every corner was a threat. Every time Rowan didn't watch his back could lead to a nasty surprise.

  “Rowan, Charles,” his mother whispered, “I think they’re Northern Grays. They’re bigger than usua
l.”

  A rush of chill surged through his skin.

  Northern Gray Wolves were dangerous—extremely dangerous. They had evolved from a leftover, radiation-resistant strain after the early 21st-century nuclear wars while humanity rebuilt civilization in the southern hemisphere. It happened that they were also vicious, intelligent, and highly resilient and attacked in packs. Bad luck. Northern Grays had been a nasty surprise for colonists settling on the continent that had been known as North America. It’d been a slaughter for early settlers. They hadn’t believed in the need for weaponry.

  Rowan’s father dropped what he was holding. His head whipped to him in an instant before turning to where Rowan’s mother was looking. A heartbeat later, his father ran to his mother’s bags a few trees down and began searching for what Rowan assumed to be a gun or animal stunner. His hands were a blur while they tore open pocket after pocket like he used a haste skill.

  His mother tugged on his arm. “Stay back,” she said. Her eyes wavered.

  He nodded and set his fishing rod on the ground before picking it up a moment later. It could work as a makeshift weapon. His chest thudded steadily as his pulse grew.