-Joshua-
Joshua was drowning in the beigeness of his cubicle. Even the overhead lights rained down boredom and drudgery in equal measure to their diffused lumenosity. His inbox was so engorged the icon itself was swollen. Everyone was mad today, upset over things he couldn't fix. He wasn't responsible for it and didn't have authority over the others which made him safe for them to vent on. He did his best to ignore it, but eventually he employed his long proven coping mechanism.
He spun in his chair.
After a half dozen rotations the drudgery remained. It waited; unimpressed. He resorted to rearranging the printed papers on his desk. They were just static captures of dynamic data destined to be stored in drawers and never referenced again because that was the process. They were pointless. Everything was about the process and not the result. The process was worthless.
The weight upon him remained uneased.
He was only allowed to follow the standardized script that dictated how his cog functioned. It had been written by people who had never done his job and whom he had never met. It was done long ago, before the software updates and changes in business. Yet it remained. He could update the process but not change the process. He didn't understand how anyone could be fulfilled by the process. Yet there he sat.
His vitality traded for a salary.
When Joshua had logged off Life last night there had been several messages on his ISR account from Brandon. He hadn’t read them until this morning. He had felt some guilt for getting lost in the game, but he had been exhausted when he logged. From Brandon's messages he learned that there were no known comms in the game and the standard ISR account notifications settings were blocked in-game to prevent cheating. Only external local area emergency broadcasts were allowed for the sake of user safety. Brandon's ISR messages also contained an apology for not contacting Joshua in order to meet up as he had been caught up in things. Brandon’s failure assuaged some of his own guilt. Or maybe it was just relief at not having to explain his own failure.
The wireless messages he got later that morning though were hilarious to him. Brandon had met a girl in game and only after a long night with her had he realized her attentions were a paid for service and not actual interest. He was now in debt to an establishment and was being required to work it off the next night or two. Their joint adventuring would have to wait unless Joshua wanted to come help. Or, if he had the coin to aid.
Joshua passed.
In Joshua's estimation, Brandon was exactly the kind of guy to not realize the attention he was getting was a sales job. He had this carefree nativity that was as relaxing as it could be aggravating, but his life experiences outside of corporate accounting were woefully lacking. It was humorous to him as long as he didn’t think too much about the underlying issues there. The exploitation, the sale of attention, the intentional scam. Brandon hadn't said if it was part of the game, but after last night he wouldn't be surprised.
Brandon was arguably Joshua's best friend despite them having never met. They'd played game after game together, each driven to find the perfect experience. Neither could fully articulate what that was, but both were sure they understood it. A void unfulfilled and highlighted by nostalgia of shared experiences. For some reason the experience they sought was never the current attempt and the current attempt was always worse than the last thing. They always recalled the last thing fondly after, but would agree it was fundamentally flawed. Over and over they jointly experienced a cycle of virtual death and rebirth. They were fellow adventures in hopeful discontentment.
When the time to leave work finally came, Joshua left with all haste. The tension of the office served to propel him. He stopped to pick up dinner once more and ate immediately at home. It was just a bland dinner of what he always got, unremarkable and unhealthy. Despite his standoffish attitude towards the game, he found himself anxious to return. The first night had been crazy, but every discomfort left a burning question of its own.
Fed and emptied, he settled back into his recliner and slipped the fade. With the ISR locked and popped he waded into the stream of the system. Slipping through the logos flow he washed out into the dark aether. Floating in the nothingness of potential he called out to Life.
-Loader-
Life arrived in sensory waves, its layered awareness lapping on his nascent consciousness. Nothing waited for him in those serene, grassy hills. No monk of the system loitered. No new experience welcomed. Just himself and the solitary tree on the hill bathed in warm sunlight. He stared at the tree for a few moments; watching. It made no comment. But then, neither had he.
Why is there only this lonely land with a singular tree?
Unable to readily solve the mystery and eager to get going, he placed his hand on the tree. The bark was rough under his hand, but the sensation was transient. The false reality bled away in a transition that was much smoother than last time.
-Harding-
"I heard that seventeen refugee ships came in yesterday, and yet we only have two new classes," lamented Brother Roberts to the group of students.
He sat with six other students in the grass of a small, walled garden. He had woken in his cell and dressed. Discovering the next class time was soon, Harding had explored the temple before coming to rest with the others. And now the old monk was grousing about his lack of students.
Harding looked around the small garden again. Brother Roberts stood sipping from a mug beneath a tree which provided much appreciated shade to the group. The mid-afternoon sun was potent and the temple robes were not that thin. Next to the monk was an off-white stool, leaning slightly on its imperfect legs. It bore an old crate made of darkly oiled wooden slats.
"People must not be interested in the practical foundations of magic," Brother Roberts surmised over the lip of his mug.
"Wait, a Spiritualist isn't a Cleric," asked a fleshy blonde girl who sat with the class.
The monk paused, lowered his mug and affected an enduring smile before answering, "It is not. This is a temple, not a church. We won't be teaching theology beyond what the subject requires."
"Screw this," carpped the girl, who then got up and walked out.
The monk passively watched her go for a moment, coolly taking another sip before he asked, "Anyone else?"
No one moved.
"Wonderful,” he stated flatly. "This course will cover the basics of Spiritualism. There is no commitment, fee or worship required for this course. Today's lesson will focus on understanding the concept of Spiritualism. After, we will get into practical ex-” he stopped suddenly and stared at a lean boy who was waving his raised hand. “Yes?”
The boy burst out in a single breath, "Why's it called spiritualism, are we working with the dead?"
"No. You are not working with 'the dead'. Spirit is the divine energy which exists in all things. All magic uses spirit energy subjected to Will and Authority. That which is and isn’t dead is an entirely different temple’s perview."
“Which?”
“Witches?”
“Which temple is for necromancers?”
The monk’s eye twitched, “No one said anything about necromancy. And no one will, this is a temple.”
The boy nodded gravely. “Because necromancy is evil.”
The monk scowled. “No. Because it is the pursuit of wizards. All tools given by the divine are inherently neutral. The fact that those scholars could animate their own pedantry, nevermind the dead, shouldn't be held against the blessings of the divine.”
No one dared respond.
"As I was saying, today we will end with a practical exercise. This course will not be covering history, text or theory. There is a library full of writings that you may read if you are curious, but we won't waste your time with…"
The boy had his hand up again.
"You have another question," questioned the monk. His pasted smile wavering.
"Yeah, so- like if this temple teaches magic then what do they teach at the wizard's college," the boy queried.
Brother Richards' mouth moved mutely for a second before he voiced, "What's your name, student?"
"Jas- oh, er, Arnold," the boy answered as he rocked in place slightly, his body as halting in motion as his answer.
"The Wizard's College focuses on the expression of spirit as spellcraft. When they deign to study other aspects of that effect chain it is only in relation to that goal," the monk soured. "They spend a great deal of time on approved history, accepted theories, and established practices. They are very, very academic about it."
He doesn't seem to like the wizards.
Arnold raised his hand again, a few barely covert sighs escaping from the class. Brother Richards ignored both.
"Okkor is the perfect patron to understand the potential of the spirit body as he represents the constant of change. All Okkor's monks are Spiritualists. By the end of the day you will have started to exercise that divine body and by the end of this course you will have learned the fundamentals necessary to manifest that gift." Brother Roberts sighed.
"You have another question,” the monk stated.
The boy had indeed raised his hand up again during the explanation and been waving it urgently since. "But isn't a temple for worship," he asked.
Students shifted and grumbled with irritation while Arnold remained oblivious. Brother Roberts tried a new tactic, "Does anyone know the types and purposes of sites that are dedicated to divine activity?"
No one responded, not even Arnold.
"Hmm, yes well, youth and all that I suppose. Can't be helped," acknowledged the monk. He took a long draft from his mug and set it on the grass.
He moved the crate off the stool and set it down on the grass. The man leaned against the stool morphing the motion into a practiced mount. Perched upon his miniscule ivory tower, he continued, "There are shrines, churches, temples and sanctums. A shrine is a place of functional worship, like an altar. A church is a place for the community to worship whereas a temple is a community of worshipers. And finally a sanctum is a place for a god to reside, in any form."
"The reason this is a temple," he continued pointedly, "is that all the instructors here are dedicated to Okkor and, as service, teach an understanding of his gifts to man. Being a follower of Okkor is not required of students, nor is it of any particular advantage in the practice of Spiritualism. As a part of our dedication to Okkor we become adept in Spiritualism and subsequently teach it. Other temples teach other disciplines per the dictates of their god. At the colleges, however, the instructors are dedicated to their own passions and teach for their own profit by requiring your payment."
Brother Richards arched his brow and waited for questions. None came. "Can anyone explain for the class what the spirit body is," he asked, returning to the so-far successful tactic of reducing questions of him through questioning by him.
Harding looked around, but the other students stared blankly, avoiding the older monk's searching gaze. The monk eventually gave up. "Within each living being is a collection of bodies. The physical body, the spirit body and the soul. The spirit body naturally maintains Spirit within you, absorbing and releasing the energy much like how you breathe," he explained, before taking an exaggerated breath in and out as a demonstration.
This fit with Kioski’s brief overview, though Kioski had been more focused on the physical. However, the system monk hadn't actually listed them all. Neither had he explicitly stated that the non-physical bodies lacked stats.
Damned monk…
"This energy body can be manipulated in many ways, both similar to and different from your physical body. Through these methods it can be strengthened, taught, and used to interact with the external world." Brother Richards glanced over at the crate and light suddenly poured out, growing ever more intense before it suddenly went dark again. He continued, "This practice of manipulating the spirit body, called Spiritualism, is the primary method of communing with the manifested divine."
No one responded. Even Arnold raised not a single question. A furious scratching next to Harding caused him to look over at the girl next to him. She had out a leather-bound journal on her knee and was rapidly transcribing the lesson.
I'll have to remember her.
The monk learned forward causing the stool to lurch onto its uneven leg. Brother Richards did not flinch, his shift an intentional act of physical punctuation. "Magic," he entoned dramatically with the first genuine smile creeping into the corners of his mouth. "All things are brought into being by the divine. The ability to affect them through the use of spirit energy is known as magic. The rock in your boot is the manifested divine, the ability to extract it without removing your boot is the most welcome expression of magic."
Nods rippled across the seated class.
The monk shrugged casually. "Knowledge is not necessary for magic, only understanding. If you want to know more on the matter, visit the temple library. My personal suggestion on the topic is Brother Renee's treatise called "Digesting the Truth of Being", however there is a lifetime of other suppositions to clog your mind with if you so desire."
There is that spark of animosity again.
“The spirit body houses junction points called gates, which interconnect the other bodies to tie the bodies together. The spirit body is vital to your existence here. If it is severed from the physical body, you die.”
Divine gates between bodies.
“Gates serve two primary functions,” he continued. “As well as bridging the spirit and physical realms, they serve as the foci of the spirit energy system. It is within these gates that many house what are typically called a “godseed”, though your Wizard's College compatriots will call them ‘powerballs’. No one else uses that term for obvious reasons." Brother Roberts' pausing for breath allowed Arnold's mind to catch up and he raised his hand.
"Yes, Arnold," Brother Roberts asked with barely suppressed exasperation.
"Why don't people like calling them powerballs,” the boy asked.
It's not that he asks questions, it is that the questions he asks just aren't important.
"Besides the fact that it is technically wrong? Because no one wants to chat about each others’ balls."
The class chuckled.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
The monk further illustrated the fundamental linguistic problems created by those wizards, "How would you refer to someone who, presumably like all of you, has no godseed? The common terms to differentiate people by godseed status are 'seeded' and 'unseeded'. What do you think the terms would be if you used ‘balls’ instead of ‘seeds’?” Brother Richards paused, eyebrows raised, and waited a moment. “Worse yet, the new generation of wizards have started referring to wizards who lose their powerballs as cast-trated..."
Arnold was silent though there was plenty of snickering from the others.
"Godseed, or ‘seeds’, are not our topic today. However, we will be working with voidseeds which are closely related. Whereas divine seeds contain divine Authority and color your spirits' manifestations, voidseeds are the vacant structure of a potential godseed. Spiritualism itself does not require any seeds, but seeds do make practicing much easier."
Brother Richards tapped the crate with his foot lighting it up again. "Which leads us to our first practical lesson. Manipulating your spirit. For that, we've got this box of voidseeds."
He picked up the wooden crate and approached the nearest student, a pleasantly plump, mocha-skinned woman who seemed a bit older than the rest of the students. From within the crate he withdrew a glasslike sphere a little larger than an orange. Holding it up for the class to see that it was clear, he explained, "A voidseed."
Turning to the woman, the monk asked with sincere politeness, "My dear Lady, may I have your name?"
She grinned warmly at him, "I am Sabina."
"A pleasure. This is for your use Sabina," the monk said as he handed her the voidseed.
He moved to the next student. "Name," he asked, a new sphere extended.
"Randal," was the terse reply. Randal was a thick, powerfully built young man with a slightly ruddy complexion and an unruly mop of brown hair. Randal reached forward and took the sphere before Brother Richard could press it into his hands.
The monk continued distributing the spheres. To Harding, to the athletic and note-taking looking female next to him named "Alina", to the overweight and sable haired "Ed", and finally to the notorious Arnold.
Brother Richard walked back to his original place under the tree and set the crate onto the stool. The monk explained, "The following exercise could be done with a godseed, but they have a market value about the same as my entire life's work. These voidseeds are considerably less valuable, however we cannot afford to give them out. Please do not take them out of the temple and turn them in when the course is completed. Does everyone understand?"
The class understood or at least didn't want to admit otherwise.
"Hold your voidseed in your hands near your heart," he instructed. "Contact with skin isn't necessary, just proximity. Now breathe in and out, deep and slow. Imagine your body growing bigger as you inhale, and then as you exhale that you are bringing everything back together. Do not have expectations. Do not judge your results. Just allow yourself to expand and contract and bring your hands to your chest as you absorb everything."
Harding closed his eyes and followed the instructions. The voidseed pressed hard to his chest, its round surface ungiving against his sternum. He focused on his breathing, slowly pulling the object against himself.
He pressed his thoughts outward.
Almost immediately a brightness burned through his eyelids. Harding opened his eyes, excited by his immediate success. Instead, he found that it was not his, but Sabina's, seed burning away the shade under the tree.
"Breathe Sabina, breathe. Don't forget to keep breathing," warned Brother Richards. “Relax, you have not changed, only your perception of what is part of you has been altered. All is as it already was.” The rest of the class spent a minute watching Sabina bring her seed under control. It dimmed from its overwhelming blaze to a warm brilliance as she learned to relax her anxious control.
"Very good, Sabina," Brother Richards affirmed. "Now cease completely and start over. Your goal is to be able to initiate flow without a pause, but that normally takes months of practice. Have patience, all of you. This is not a sprint."
It was a while before any other student's voidseed lit up. This time it was Arnold who had succeeded. His seed was dim and flickering, the opposite of Sabina’s advancement, but he had managed a response sooner than the rest.
"That’s good, Arnold. Release your worry. Neither entertain doubt nor exert force," the monk reassured with a calm voice. "Smooth and steady. Act without effort, Spirit resists command but delights in collaboration."
"At the College, they'd have you put your finger to it and have you imagine pushing your demanding finger into it. Their average time to initial success is measured in weeks," snarked the monk. "Relax your belief in the boundary of your selves. You do not end at your skin, allow yourself to flow outward."
Harding stopped pushing the glassy sphere against himself and just held it there instead.
Try to… not try.
"Exit yourself to find yourself. The voidseed is already part of you, it will not resist you. Eventually you will be able to push, but if you don't learn to let go first you're essentially just creating spiritual constipation.”
Harding choked at the comment and his voidseed lit up for a brief moment. He failed to get another response after, but Randal got his to light up about five minutes later. It was nearly another half-hour for Ed’s steady success. He may not have been first, but his control and flow after was the greatest.
Shortly after that, Sabina began shrieking in panic. She kept repeatedly screaming, "Get it out!"
Brother Roberts rushed to her, mug discarded, and put a hand on her shaking shoulder. He placed his other hand gently to her chest, then slowly drew it straight back. Attached to his hand was the voidseed, lifting impossibly from out of Sabina’s chest. He smoothly extracted the sphere and it hung secured to his fingertips as if glued.
"You're ok dear, you're ok," he consoled.
"That was… it felt- ugh."
"They all feel a bit strange at first, but the voidseeds have a uniquely empty sensation."
"Will I be… ?"
Holding up the voidseed, Brother Richards put it to his forehead and sunk it smoothly into his skull.
Harding shivered at the wrongness of the scene.
"It is the normal function of all seeds," the monk explained calmly before extracting it again. "To be planted, buried in the fertile soil of the spirit body, in order to grow and manifest their potential."
I don't care, that looks wrong. Where does his brain go?
The monk put it to his head and pushed it in again before pulling it out. The hard body of the seed pushing through the space of his flesh as if it wasn't there. It was like an optical illusion with no actual collision. Two objects sharing the same space without complaint. A suspension of the expected rules regarding physical boundaries.
"Sabina, you did not do anything wrong. In fact you skipped ahead of the class by several lessons," he comforted, hand softly on her shoulder. He handed back to her the voidseed.
Sabina smiled, her hesitance buried under the weight of his praise.
"Perhaps now is a good time to end class," he announced as she took it back. With the class ending it left both Harding and Alina as the only ones who couldn't light up their voidseeds. "You two stay behind for a moment. The rest of you, I'll see you tomorrow. Keep practicing when you have time, you will want to be able to do this without thought."
Alina and Harding waited on the grass as the other students got up and walked back to the temple. Harding felt like a failure. His future as a Spiritualist already in doubt.
If this is the most basic magic, I'm going to end up a fighter.
"Don't feel as if you have failed," counseled the monk. "Go have some fun, get some food, relax. The problem isn't that you can't, but rather that you aren't letting yourself. Some of us grasp on tightly to our erroneous belief of self, others simply fail to construct the self at all. That brittle need for control is inhibiting too many things, but the presence of an obstacle does not in any way dictate lack of potential."
Alina was silent, her pale eyes burning coldly. Harding smiled weakly, "Did it take you long to learn?"
Brother Roberts chuckled as he leaned back against the tree. He was much more relaxed with class over, almost carefree. "Took me a week and even then I didn't do it until I gave up. Went out and got piss-drunk. Damn near blinded myself with it while I was puking my guts out. Mind you, I would not suggest that method but it worked out ok in the end. "
It can be done.
Harding felt something brush against and through him, a rush of coolness, a slight but deep chill. A presence in his periphery. The tree the monk was leaning against suddenly lit up as if it was a voidseed. Light emanated throughout all of its bark and leaves, solidly glowing. Alina's voidseed, along with his own, lit up in a seemingly sympathetic response a moment later. And then after a few seconds the lights winked out again with no perceivable cause.
"Hmm, odd," Brother Richards muttered. He took a moment before returning his attention to his students just to dismiss them with instructions, "Go get some food and have fun. Practice later, but not until you have relaxed."
Alina and Harding silently walked back to the temple in tandem. Alina did not acknowledge Harding, but she followed him. After a wrong turn led to backtracking, they found themselves in the dining hall. Supper was a simple beef stew with bread, which they gathered from a self-service and sat with their classmates.
"We are going to go explore the city," Sabina told them. "You are coming along, aren't you?"
"Yeah, sure," Harding agreed, Sabina’s tone having made it clear that there was but one acceptable answer. Though his words had been distorted with the bread he was still chewing, Sabrina looked satisfied that he had spoken for Alina as well. The food was not unpleasant, but it was relatively bland.
The group swapped stories from their launch day experiences while they finished with their food. Afterwards, they walked out of the temple gates and turned south at the base of the hill. They found a cluster of shops there, still in the Two Brents district, which seemed to be of decent quality. From those shops Sabina bought a colorful dress in variegated yellows and a romance novel. When Sabina explained that she'd heard books were essentially interactive movies, mini games, or training guides, Randal bought three on "Combat". Harding wished him all the luck.
Those seem like action novels, not training manuals.
Alina bought a dagger that looked to be far more money than what Harding knew new players received. Its lines were clean and the craftsmanship apparent. Arnold bought a bag of assorted hard candies which he shared eagerly with the rest of them. Only Ed and Harding didn't buy anything.
I still need to figure out the monetary system.
The group was laid back outside of class and were already bonding, even Arnold. He was far less annoying when he wasn't overthinking and anxious. Only Alina was impersonal, but despite being outwardly reserved she followed the group intently. After a couple of hours and a handful of candies, the band of classmates found themselves back at the temple.
Once back, their group began to disband.
"I gotta log,” was Randal's excuse.
Sabina sent him off with, "See you tomorrow, don't miss class." Then with a guilty smile Sabina announced, "I'm going to try this book, see y'all at the next class."
It wasn't until after those two were gone that Ed asked, "Uhm, how do we do friend requests?"
"There isn't any. Weird right? It's intentional though," answered Arnold. "We can form a party though, and supposedly you stay in it even if you're logged off. It won't let you see who is on though and you don't get any comms," Arnold added.
"How do we do that," asked an interested Ed.
"Super easy really. Get out your journals." Arnold waited until everyone had, even the reluctant Alina. "I go to the Social page tab, then select "form party" and it creates it. Then you guys don't have to do anything but bump your journal against mine and then accept it on your alerts page."
They all did so.
"In your Society page you'll now see that you're in the group ‘Classmates’."
This seemed too basic to Harding. He asked Arnold, "What does a group even do if we can't chat or see anything about each other?"
Harding flipped through the tabbed sections again with a more critical eye while Arnold answered slowly, "Uhm, supposedly the group can bind to an alternate group location without changing your individual bind. But- I don't know how, they didn't have instructions on the page I found. So I guess it is something we just have to play with?"
Alerts, Calendar, Social, and Notes. And four blank tabs of nothing.
"Oh,” he added, “and it said we share some sort of xp but my tutorial guy said there wasn't really xp so I don't know what they mean by that." Arnold punctuated it with an exaggerated shrug.
Flipping back through this journal, Harding stared again at the blank tabs that shortcut to nothing before asking, "Is this expandable?"
"Yeah," confirmed Ed. "You can buy them at stores, we saw a few different ones in town tonight. Saw different maps and… a ledger, I think?"
Harding wrote down in his Journal Notes:
Ask about Groups.
Find Journal expansions.
Tired, Harding politely excused himself, "Cool. Well, I need to go practice. See you tomorrow."
And with that Harding went back to his cell. He undressed down to his undershorts, putting everything away carefully so that it would be ready for tomorrow. Then he laid down on the cot, clutching the voidseed in his hands and rested it on his chest. He relaxed and let himself breathe into it.
Breathe through it.
He adjusted.
Inhale.
He adjusted his attempt again.
He had meant to practice this for a bit and then log off yet his mind wandered with thoughts of the day. He refused to let this early difficulty alter his course. He didn't like quitting. The distaste of being beaten was greater than the desire to be a monk of whatever class-style this led to. As he kept trying unsuccessfully, time blurred away and with it so did his consciousness.
He slowly realized that he was standing in the loader world of grass. It was dark, as if it was night, yet he could still see fairly well. Clouds he shouldn't be able to see roiled in the black, moonless sky. Everything else was muted and hazy though, as if vision rapidly diminished over distance. A short ways off, a white horse had its head down eating grass. It was the first animal he had seen in this place. He had heard birds and insects, but not seen them. The air was so bitterly cold his skin felt brittle.
A glance down revealed that he stood there in just his undershorts.
He looked back up to the horse to find it watching him passively as it chewed. It took him a moment to realize that a strip of dead animal and white fur hung bloody from the side of its mouth. He could see now that the pale horse had been feeding not from the grass but a small mound of dead rabbits, all of them torn apart and their entails spilled out.
[YOU WILL DIE.]
"You better run, kid," called a familiar voice.
He looked up to see Lon hanging upside from the tree, suspended by rope from a single ankle. "You've always got to pay the price, but I think he wants to make you his," Lon laughed, his voice edging on maniacal.
He turned and ran.
He could hear the thunder of hooves behind him as the horse gave chase. He ran harder. Up and down the hills. Panting. The thud of the hooves closing. The house snorting. Closer and closer and yet never quite catching him.
I need shelter.
And as suddenly as the thought surfaced he was standing in a river with no shores in sight. The water was slow moving and only up to his waist. A thick fog rested upon the surface.
I escaped!
The water rippled and a giant koi the size of a fishing boat surfaced. Its head out of the water, a single black eye larger than his head stared at him. The immense barbels jiggled as the fish moved its lips, the audible speech delayed a second behind the movement, clearly out of sync. "Horses can swim," it told him matter of factly.
From behind him was a loud snort. He twisted his torso slowly to look behind himself. His vision was filled with bloody horse teeth. A snort blew the stench of raw meat into his face. From inside the horse's mouth came a blinding white light, a growing funnel of light so intense the heat of it evaporated the water off his skin. The horse reared up and struck him in the chest with a hoof.
He was knocked backwards into the turbid water. He instinctively gasped for breath, but only filled his lungs with water. Chest caved in and drowning, he slowly sank into the river as the silty water glowed white.
He stared up at the unobtainable surface less than a foot away from his outstretched fingers.
And died.
He gasped awake. He was reclined in his chair, the ISR powered off just like his apartment lights.
The system must have powered itself down…
Reality popped.
Harding awoke with a start on his cot.
I'm still in the game? But that was my apartment. What… Shit!
He was back in the world and it was full of pain. Disorientating brightness stung his eyes and the scent of burning flesh filled his nose. His chest hurt where he had been kicked with a terrible pain. It felt like a branding iron was being forced against his chest.
The light in the room was coming from his chest… no, it was coming from the blazing voidseed sitting on his chest as it seared through his skin.
Harding reached up to knock it off, but the moment his fingers touched it the thing exploded. The thick glass, shattered into jagged pieces, tore into his chest and face. Between the explosion and the glass, it opened him up. He tried to scream but he couldn't. He tried to move but his body wouldn't. Once blinded by the light, the sudden darkness was absolute. He was in complete darkness, eyes blinded by the change in light. Overwhelmed by the pain and nausea, he was unable to call for help. He felt himself suffocating. He felt the thick rivlets of blood pumping down over his skin.
Reality burned with a terrible wrath.
System: Force Exit
-Joshua-
Joshua found himself back at the Infinity System home screen. There were messages and alerts, but he ignored them.
What the fuck kind of game is that?
Desynced, he roused himself in the recliner. The lights were on but dim, as they were programmed to be when he was using the ISR. It was almost three am. He stumbled, feeling shaky and exhausted, through the mess of his apartment turning off the lights as he went. After taking a much needed piss he fell into bed, still subject to the faint psychosomatic echo of pain from Life.
That night, Joshua dreamed only once. It was just the typical work-based anxiety dream. There was nothing unusual about dreaming of the very same cubicle that haunted his waking hours, it was a familiar hell. The dream was unremarkable in all aspects except one. Everyone, including him, had been wearing white rabbit suits.