Devil's Waltz Page 11

  Rowan turned on the heel of his boot. The scene paused. Something to the left was highlighted.

  Sweat breaking, Jonathan held his breath. He dared to look, ducked down to a find a view through those sparse leaves.

  It can’t be.

  “Mrs. Bentley.” Though she was trying to hide behind a potted fern conveniently on her desk, pretending to do paperwork, Jonathan could see she was watching Rowan with that same calm and calculating expression. “You purposefully ordered extra-large, sharpened scalpels, didn’t you? Is this why you started working here at the start of the term?” How long had this moment been in plan?

  The memory resumed. Max yelled. Then Mrs. Bentley yelled and jumped from her seat. Her expression changed in a split-second from zero to one-hundred. All acting.

  Jonathan closed his eyes and steeled himself with his newfound inner-fire. “You are a criminal, Mrs. Bentley.” He looked at Max. “You are a coward and bully, Max!” To LeMort. “You are an evil monster, LeMort!” Finally, at Rowan. “You have sold your soul to that monster, Rowan Black, and you will be stopped from inflicting further pain on Aeon!”

  The memory did not loop at the end, and Jonathan knew this was the final end. He was at last remade and redeemed. No, not redeemed. It was never his doing in the first place. No wrongs had to be undone save for his own shortsightedness. He was as he is, and always will be: Jonathan Bladestrider, the bringer of justice.

  Color faded from the class room and desaturated until he barely made out the shapes of the three criminals and dead bully. It’s ending.

  Suddenly, a woman laughed from his side. “It is.” Her voice was smooth like running chocolate.

  A god was talking to him, he somehow knew. He straightened his back and turned with utmost respect as he took in the sight of her. She had blue hair with streaks of yellowy orange and blue cat-like eyes and blueish scaled skin. She almost looked like the flame of one of those science torches if he squinted. It wasn’t comical as one would think; the humanoid was rather attractive.

  Waiting for her to speak, Jonathan had no words. The goddess needed no introductions—she could read any and all minds from afar. The definition of omniscience! The pinnacle of godhood!

  “Hmmmm.” Her lips curled as though she were holding back laugher. She was, for whatever godly reason a mortal, such as himself, couldn’t possibly comprehend. She held out her leathery palm. “Yes. You’ll do. Take this.” In a flash of fiery-white light, one of those crystal dragon eggs, or resurrection stones, the size of a large watermelon, appeared in her palm. She tossed it to him as if it really were a watermelon. The crystal was warm to the touch, the baby dragon curling tighter within. “Bye bye.” And she was gone in a swirl of orange and blue flame laden with charry smoke.

  Not a god of many words. Jonathan’s jaw sank in awe while the scene faded to black. Two dialogs appeared.

  Path of Tribulation (Dragon’s Path)

  You have been given a Dragon Stone by the Red Dragons’ nameless god. Accepting it will activate the ascension process to a World Boss. Do you accept? (Warning: the Dragon’s Path is paved with hardship, and the soul-bond with your dragon will come at a monumental price.)

  World. Boss. And a soul-bonded dragon? For a player? It couldn’t be. Such a thing was unthinkably overpowered. How could he, Jonathan Bladestrider, hold the power of a World Boss and the support of a dragon familiar? If he were to ascend the tiers, he would one day be hundreds if not thousands of times more powerful than even Gabby LeMort.

  Jonathan’s chest heaved. What a rush! Can I be trusted with such power? What if I go mad? One player couldn’t possibly hold such an advantage over everyone else! There was a catch, no doubt. What this temporary? Or was he weaker than the NPC version?

  However, he understood one thing, one truth that resonated deep in his spirit: LeMort and Black needed to be stopped for the good of Aeon else it may fall into a pit of evil.

  With a shudder and a shaky breath, Jonathan cast his iron will into the darkness.

  Pain and heat like nothing else ripped through him. Seconds became minutes, and minutes became hours. Acid washed through every vein, and he would’ve clawed out his eyes if it weren’t for the Dragon Stone he knew he could not drop at any cost. For it, he fought the torture as his mind was ripped to shreds and pieced back together ten times over. With each shredding, a globule of knowledge about this ascension process implanted itself, and an extension of his consciousness sprouted and grew outward till it linked with the slumbering baby dragon’s in his arms. The ascension ended with an eye-blotching wave of burning pain from head to toe.

  Jonathan Bladestrider was level one again, Dragonic Initiate. Reborn in the fires of hell. Tier one World Boss as mighty as any other. And his unhatched dragon, whom he was now one and the same with, was hungry even in its sleep.

  Chapter 10

  Thirteen

  Darius Roth walked down a office corridor set aside for the game design department. Wayne Johnson, one of his long-time top lawyers, kept pace at his side while quite a number of unused offices passed by.

  Few game designers worked for him, less than a handful; the AI took care of most design work. Sound, graphics, game design, and more. All done by the AI—and the AI was both self-maintaining and self-improving. All it asked for was an occasional hardware expansion under the watchful eyes of the software and hardware engineering team. Most, however, worked on upgrades for the pods and VR tech. Mk2 was scheduled for Christmas. As for the marketing and support departments… over three-hundred labored in the lower levels starting from the first floor. They were the corporate masses, full of fat and peripheral incompetence that needed to be trimmed every quarter. They’d be replaced by AI in the coming years.

  A gold plaque with Derek’s name glinted in the evening sun. Darius knocked twice not too loudly, the varnished wood gentle on his aging skin.

  “I’m still picking out which pieces of footage are the best to showcase!” Derek called from within, a little too much enthusiasm. “Don’t worry, it’ll be phenomenal stuff for the next trailer. And when’s my next interview?”

  Very fascinating.

  Darius turned the silver knob, and in they went. Derek’s… vibrant office assaulted Darius’s senses. The smell of coffee was overpowering among the hand-written notes, pencil sketches, printed diagrams, and LitRPG novels. Shelves of other gaming media packed the office to the brim. The many gaming-related posters were mostly obscured by the organized chaos. It was clear where the man found his inspiration.

  The two suited men accepted seats without further time wasted, and a momentarily surprised Derek deactivated his Holo Computer with a wave. “You’re here about Jonathan? Or about the anonymous leak? Rowan and Gabby?”

  “Jonathan. What’s his current status? Did Edgar provide a tracker feed to you?” As I asked?

  “Mmhm!” Derek reactivated his computer and made a series of gestures. Lines of holographic text in front of a beige, easy-to-look-at background scrolled before his eyes. He peeked at Darius for a second. “Have the legal troubles been sorted?”

  “No, he hasn’t responded yet.”

  “Fiddlesticks. Unlucky. Too busy playing Aeon Chronicles!”

  “The mail wasn’t even opened,” Wayne added, “and I’m positive the tracking script wasn’t blocked. It says the kid has a cheap older model Holo Phone. The chances that he finds out we breached his privacy are slim to none.”

  Thank you, Darius thought dryly and resisted an instinct to roll his neck. The day and previous night had been long and arduous. Issues and heated over-the-phone meetings had plagued the roll-out of the impromptu patches. Now, he only wanted to call it a job well done and take a day off tomorrow. Or a half-day. A full day was too much of a risk, leaving the company running without their leader for so long.

  “Have you found him?” he asked Derek. The feed was a deluge of information containing the readings of every player of interest determined by the AI. It wasn’t guaranteed Jonatha
n was currently in it.

  Derek sipped from his coffee mug. “Mmmmm.” He nodded energetically, then he slammed the mug onto the glass and ruptured with youthful laughter. “He didn’t read the patch notes!” His voice boomed in the office, not echoing thanks to all the filled shelves. “Didn’t. Read. Patch. Notes,” he wheezed.

  “That shouldn’t have any legal ramifications,” Wayne said. “But if—”

  Darius waved him off, the beginnings of a headache at the back of his neck. “So…” He sighed. “Are there any indications he is going to cause a problem? Do we have to pull him?”

  Wayne hummed a breath. “Possibly. The alpha and beta tester contract gives us full legal authority to deactivate his pod. It’s a gray area and—”

  “Thank you,” Darius said, chuckling. “Firstly, I’d like to hear what the AI’s report feed states.” Though Wayne was a good lawyer, he was rather gun-ho. His style: Make legal threats and sign contracts now, then deal with the consequences later.

  “The AI isn’t very detailed, but Jonathan doesn’t seem like he’s going to announce his ordeal on the forums or in-game.”

  “Why?”

  Shrugging, Derek continued scrolling as he drank another sip with a quick swish. The volume of coffee decreased by quarter of an inch. “I don’t know. But it’s not because he’s traumatized. Or it’s because he’s way, way, way past the point of being traumatized. He’s one crazy kid, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “We should issue a directive for more accurate monitoring.” Wayne coughed. “This lack of information on our part may one day lead to legal consequences.”

  A fair comment. Darius considered it, and decided it wasn’t worth the investment. He shook his head. “Unnecessary.” The surveillance system, which interfaced directly with the central AI similar to how the directive system functioned, already weighed down the server infrastructure disproportionately to its utility. Edgar had mentioned any upgrades would be exponentially expensive. That was the downside of working with an autonomous, evolving AI. It was difficult to sway and monitor from the exterior.

  Wayne said after an extended pause, “Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Draft up additional legal padding in the player agreements if you’re concerned.”

  He shook his head. “It’s already airtight. Any more would be superfluous.”

  Darius stared him down with a challenging eye. It was always beneficial to push employees and expect more. “There could always be something you missed. Last year, you—”

  “Ah!” He slapped his knee. “That was a—”

  “Oh man!” Derek shouted. “He’s a level one again! And he’s a World Boss for the light side! I didn’t think it’d happen so soon, but this will for sure placate a lot of the complaints.”

  Unease rippled up Darius’s spine. Not excellent. Not excellent at all. As the first light-side boss, the kid would be a shining beacon of attention that the masses were going to swarm around. The risk of him making a dangerous speech regarding his recent experience was far too high, if he hadn’t already. “How long has this been?”

  “He ascended literally ten seconds ago.”

  “Is he still in Purgatory? Are his communication features still disabled?”

  “He…” Derek swiped hastily to keep up with the data feed. “Should be exiting any second. Oh wow. He met one of the dragon gods.”

  “We might have to pull him,” Darius said.

  Derek’s thick brows contorted. “Are you sure? The feed says his psychological state is stable and fiery, and he’s most likely not going to tell anyone, and even if he does yell Rowan’s a murderer form the rooftops, it will help paint Rowan as a the game’s ultimate villain. Everyone will overlook that he was in Purgatory. Actually, I don’t even think people will care about that at all. Hundreds of games have a version of hell, and this isn’t even the worst.”

  Wayne grunted in agreement. “He has some points. It doesn’t sound as though much harm has been done to his mind. We can let it blow over.”

  Darius mentally whirled, considered the strategic lines of action from this juncture. No flaws in Derek’s reasoning arose. Most people were emotional beings, and that which has the most emotional shock draws the most attention in any set of simultaneous events. Always. The masses wouldn’t give a single damn about the in-game hell if they knew they were playing with a real-life murderer. Although the Dubois kid was supposed to break the news of Rowan-the-murder, this Jonathan fellow could be used instead. Yes, it’d all work out and fall into place.

  Perhaps Darius was overreacting to the existence of an in-game hell. He was growing old. Not too old, but older than Derek by a couple of decades.

  Also, a lingering thought was irking Darius, curiosity brewing at the back of his mind. He had to meet this Jonathan and find out why he had willingly jumped into the game’s hell. Was he a masochist? Or was this corporate sabotage? Vincent would request an extended psych-report, and Darius hated disappointing his brother. The family and Order oaths mattered above all. The Roths were a united force. Together with the other twelve families they ruled society without challenge.

  Taking everything into account, the conclusion was unequivocal: Jonathan couldn’t be pulled. Right now, that world was his reality, especially in his current psychological state. He was a wealth of priceless data that Vincent would murder for. The scientific knowledge to be gained from Jonathan’s mind was possibly significant. Any unneeded disruption to his immersed state would only be detrimental, which included that real-life mail explaining the sudden addition of ten thousand credits to Jonathan’s real-money market balance.

  Darius sighed. “Very well, I’ll meet him at some other date.”

  Wayne coughed.

  “You’re going in person?” Derek asked incredulously. “You almost never make public appearances.”

  “I have a feeling Jonathan will be a very interesting young man.” Darius slipped on a face hinting that was the most he was going to divulge. “Derek, Keep an eye on him, please. Wayne, rescind the mail. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see why—”

  “An experiment.” Darius stood with a polite smile and turned on his heel, leaving the two men speechless.

  Chapter 11

  Six of Six

  A thick fog shrouded Gabrielle’s town in the outpour of Rowan’s necromantic powers. Seven Ice Drakes circled the spire, danced with a growing swarm of crafted Undead. Ranged Pigeons and melee Gargoyles acted as both fodder and the majority of his air force’s icepower; the Drakes principally acted as frontline fat scary targets that’d draw attention from dumber players. Their machine-gun spray of Tainted Frost Bolts was the equivalent of fifteen to twenty Pigeons, and close to a thousand Pigeons flew above. Maybe two or three extra Ice Drake wouldn’t hurt.

  Rowan waved his wand and conjured two chunks of bone each the size of a marshmallow. Crafted Undead couldn’t be all mana; they needed at least some flesh or bone. This was the minimum.

  Someone tapped his shoulder.

  “Mr. Necromancer.” Ambiguous Pain. “I can’t read through all this mist.”

  He huffed a humid breath. “Think of it as a fog of war. We wouldn’t want the enemy seeing our army composition and size.” All that ambient mist spewed by the dark-ice mana-based Undead turned out useful. How lucky.

  “I can barely read anymore.” She fanned her hand glowing with dark-arcane magic, cleared enough, and forcibly activated her Mana Shield. “There.” She looked back down to her book of Undead lore. It was one of two relevant books in her library of thousands.

  Gabrielle, quite hesitant on spending a Divine Intervention, had divulged the problem regarding Redwing’s new body. Naturally, Ambiguous had all the answers in her library.

  And in the search, a few lines of fine print had popped up. These icy Undead lacked the necessary mana regeneration to support their own bodies of ice, which decayed—or melted—at a hastier rate than bones and flesh. They’d l
ast at most four or five hours in a desert. And lacking in armor and resistances, they were also brittle. The shield augmentation that the eagle generously had coughed up saved this air force.

  “Found anything yet?” he asked, a hint of meekness leaking into his tone. He was going be reliant on the girls for a long time to come. Their sheer experience dwarfed his.

  “Not really.” Ambiguous hummed in thought, her thin grayish-pink lips twisting. “Did you know your World Boss bonus skills aren’t unique?”

  That was new. “Others can have them? This would solve so many future problems. A Lich could learn the skills.”

  “Hmm. They’re apparently legendary-rarity scrolls.” Her sleek gray eyes glanced up to him. “Your design library, craft-a-minion, and construct-a-design skills are called a three-piece, in case you didn’t know. Useless without one another, it makes the overall power that much rarer.” She flipped a page. Back to reading.