Games contained in this bundle:
Love under the Havoc Moon (SozliSoft, 928 ATR)
Let the Angels In (Mayin del Err, 1012 ATR)
My Cabin on the Beach and the Monsters Underneath (SozliSoft, 976 ATR)
BlueRed Interlock (Walton Imaginings, 981 ATR)
Inheritance (For Same, 1001 ATR)
Make sure to transfer this off the system as soon as possible :P Brinkmann'll flip!!!
Recovered File, Brinkmann Lab Private Network
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Pablo was beginning to think he was in hell -- but if he was, it was not an impenetrable one.
He'd gone through a couple different iterations of this world, and from that he'd managed to pull some information together. From what he could tell, this seemed to be some kind of romance story involving the dolt from the infirmary -- the man who’d given his name as Samuele. He was being prompted to go along with the story, to interact with this Samuele person and learn more about him, which would presumably advance the narrative.
As if. Pablo certainly wouldn't be going along with this farce.
He suspected that if he did, he'd eventually be freed from the grasp of this ability, but he wouldn't be lowering himself to that degree. He would rather die than submit to a shitty game like this. Besides, if all he did was escape, it would just mean resetting the situation back to how it was originally.
No… Pablo would accept nothing less than a counterattack.
He ran through the information he'd gathered from successive loops of the narrative. Killing Samuele reset the story, so Pablo had set a Remote Ant Pawn on his neck, ready to crush his throat upon command. That meant that, after exploration, he could quickly return to his starting point without having to make the journey back.
Pablo had spent the majority of the first iteration inspecting his surroundings, searching for flaws that he could exploit. That hadn't been especially fruitful. The setting of this story seemed to be an expansive private art academy, and no matter how closely Pablo looked he could find no logical inconsistencies to take advantage of. If nothing else, Isabelle Pi Testament had certainly put a lot of effort into this trash of hers.
Once he'd abandoned the academy itself as a point of attack, he'd discovered something far more interesting.
There was a train station near the academy, and no matter how far he took the train he didn't reach a boundary or stopping point. The endless city just continued to drift by, full of shops and homes and skyscrapers… but the interesting thing was that the city was so much less detailed than the academy itself. Not to mention, it seemed to be different when Pablo made the journey back.
His working hypothesis was this: Isabelle had personally designed the academy, but the surrounding city was procedurally generated in a radius around him to create the illusion of a consistent world. He didn't have an exact measurement of that radius, but he was willing to bet it covered at least his direct line of sight.
Once he'd determined that, he'd killed Samuele again and moved on to his next experiment. He'd summoned a Seeing Eye Ant, which he shared the senses of, and had it take a train in the opposite direction from him. The city had been generated just as it would have been for himself. What that suggested was that Pablo's Aether counted as an extension of Pablo for the purposes of this world.
That fact was the key to his escape from this place.
Ever since Pablo had been young, he'd enjoyed games. As a child on Yelden, he'd beaten all the neighborhood kids at Ant's Hive's Kingdom, scrounging through the garbage to find the best cards thrown away topside. As an adult, he'd turned his talents to producing reality show videographs, bringing together the dysfunctional to compete for the amusement of the masses.
But Pablo did not enjoy playing games. He enjoyed watching them break. He loved nothing more than to find the crack that turned a game into a farce, and wrench it open. As a child, he'd played cards for the sake of watching the tears in his opponent's eyes when they lost. As an adult, he'd enjoyed watching the anguish of the vapid troglodytes as they tore themselves apart for the public's mockery.
Games existed to be broken and to break others. Something like this world, a pointless game made only to satisfy some sentimentality, was nothing more than masturbation. It was disgusting to him.
He'd been playing the game called Giovanni Sigma Testament for quite a while now. He'd watched that man ascend to the rank of Apexbishop. He'd watched that man overestimate himself, overextend himself, overwork himself, until he was right on the verge of breaking completely. More than anything, he wanted to see the moment where something with a trace of the divine slipped and fell into the shit with the rest of them.
Pablo was damned if he was going to miss it, trapped here in this whore's fantasy.
He stood in the infirmary, back at the start of the iteration, and pulled a card from his binder. The image on it was blank, and there were no attack or defense values either, nor a card effect. It was just a test card he'd made when he was first developing his ability, after all.
The only thing it was good for was existing. A thin, vicious grin spread across Pablo's face.
"Summon," he declared. "Test Creature."
----------------------------------------
Atoy Muzazi pulled himself out of the wall, dust and rubble cascading down around him, and fell to one knee on the cold floor below. His breath came out as wheezes. His hands shook from lingering impact.
If he hadn't been an Aether-user, that attack would have resulted in his immediate death. He'd been careless. He could never allow that to happen again.
He looked up at the source of the blow, his eyes narrowing. Jean Lyons was calmly striding down the boarding ramp of the shuttle, a serene smile on his face. Had Muzazi lost consciousness at any point? No, he couldn't have. Lyons would have already crossed the distance if that was the case.
"A swordsman without a sword," Lyons mused, reaching the bottom of the ramp. "Is rather like food without a drink. Both are unsightly. I don't suppose you have a spare? Then again… the one I just destroyed was your spare, wasn't it?"
His words were infuriating, but Muzazi had to admit they were also correct. He had confidence that his hand-to-hand skills were serviceable, but they were hardly his strong point. Atoy Muzazi worked best with a sword in his hands.
Still… that didn't mean he could give up.
He assumed the 'invitation' position of Hakam-Sho, one arm extended out to receive the enemy's attack and respond appropriately. With the distance between them, Lyons wouldn't be able to strike with his own body, but there was no telling what kind of ranged abilities he might have.
"It's heartwarming to see a loyal warrior of the Supremacy working so hard," chuckled Lyons, adjusting his tie. "And yet it seems your body has already taken quite the beating. I feel sorry for you. I'm so anguished, I think I'll give you a free shot. Come over here and give me your best."
Lyons spread his arms wide, a mocking smirk on his pale lips. Muzazi gritted his teeth in frustration. There couldn't have been a more obvious trap.
Muzazi ran through the situation in his head, stepping back to maintain distance as Lyons slowly approached. When he'd struck Lyons the first time, he was certain he'd put all his strength into the swing -- and yet by the time the attack had reached Lyons, it had been as gentle as an infant. It had slowed immeasurably down in the instant before it had made contact.
"There is a field around your body?" Muzazi called out. "That reduces the speed of any hostile attack to uselessness. Am I right?"
Lyons' expression did not shift. "I have no reason to answer that."
As expected. "You said you'd give me a free hit? That's a promise, I take it?"
"Of course," Lyons said. "If nothing else, I'm an earnest man of my word. Please, step over and strike me as hard as you like."
Muzazi stopped. "I think I'll take you up on that offer…" he began -- before planting his hand on the metal crate next to him. "But I'll be staying right here."
A thruster -- full strength -- flared into life on the back of the crate, and it went flying towards Lyons. This was an experiment. Lyons had demonstrated the ability to nullify close-range attacks, but did the same principle apply if Muzazi attacked from range?
The crate skidded across the floor towards Lyons, so quickly that it kicked up sparks --
-- and slowed to a crawl just before it would have slammed into him. Lyons, still smiling, moved it out of the way with his hand as he stepped forward.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"It's even more distasteful for a swordsman to start throwing things," the pale man said. "Is this some kind of tantrum you're having, Mr. Muzazi?"
"Please don't disparage my attack until it's complete."
Lyons frowned -- and then looked up, his eyes widening fractionally.
Muzazi had been hoping that the first attack would work, but it had hardly been his only bet. He'd moved a second crate at the first time as the first, only he'd used his thrusters to bring it up into the air directly above Lyons. In that way, the first crate had been a distraction as much as an actual attack.
The thruster holding the second crate aloft sputtered out -- and the crate plummeted down towards Lyons.
Immediately, Lyons leapt out of the way with catlike speed, the crate thudding down in the spot he'd just been standing. That settled it, then. Ordinary ranged attacks didn't work, but Lyons had a reason to fear attacks from above.
Muzazi didn't give him a chance to catch his breath.
He charged in, striking at Lyons' face with a kick -- and as he'd expected, the strike ended its flight with the strength of a feather. Before Lyons could grab his leg again, Muzazi pulled it back -- and leapt out of the way as Lyons pushed his flat palm forwards. A second after he dodged, a huge dent appeared in the wall behind where he'd been standing a moment earlier, like it had been punched by a giant's fist.
Noted. He didn't need to be touching something directly to unleash that attack. Muzazi would take that into consideration.
"Is this all you have to offer, Mr. Muzazi?" Lyons snarled, annoyance trickling into his tone for the first time. "The endless repetition of a useless assault?"
Muzazi did not answer. Words were this man's weapon. He would not expose himself to them.
He'd already taken the steps he needed, after all.
Thrusters burst into existence all over the crates that littered the hangar, and they moved as one -- spinning to form a circle around Jean Lyons. Muzazi clapped his hands together as a signal as he leapt backwards, and they converged upon the Director of the GID, concealing him from view. A final crate landed from above, forming the roof of the steel prison.
From what Muzazi had observed, Lyons drained the kinetic force of incoming attacks and then released it to retaliate. That draining effect slowed down objects, but it couldn't stop them completely -- and it didn't affect their weight, either, hence why he'd been forced to dodge the attack from above.
That meant he could be killed with this. Slowly, slowly, excruciatingly slowly, Muzazi could use the thrusters to bring those crates together -- and crush Lyons between them. Even if it took an age, he could win.
"You lost because you were weak, Jean," Muzazi declared, clenching his fist as the crates drew closer and closer, metal warping as they were forced into a single point. "Your power was in robbing others of their own strength. Without that, you're nothing but a liar in a cheap suit!"
For a moment, there was silence from within the crates, save for the groaning of strained metal.
Then, however, Jean Lyons spoke.
"Weak?" he hissed.
Despite everything he'd just said, Atoy Muzazi felt a chill go down his spine. In that one word, more emotional than he'd ever heard from Lyons, was bottomless resentment and bitterness. It was the voice of a great beast, slithering through the darkness of the earth, noticing the light for the first time.
It was the sound of utter malice.
Bang.
The crates exploded outwards, smashed into tiny fragments from the force of the explosion between them. Muzazi's hand whipped out, driven by reflex, and seized a jagged shard out of the air in the instant before it would have speared through his eye. He tossed it aside, a cold sweat coating his skin.
Jean Lyons descended the wreckage of the crates as if they were a staircase.
His suit had been shredded by the impact of his last attack, revealing a body that had clearly been honed for combat. His face, for the first time, was twisted in rage. One hand was limp at his side, while the other was raised up -- and if Muzazi looked closely, he could see that it was holding something near-invisible, a rippling of the air that looked something like a gargantuan club.
Pure force, he realized. Lyons' weapon was sculpted directly out of the energy he'd absorbed.
"Weak?" Lyons repeated, spitting on the ground. "As if I'd employ a subordinate stronger than myself. You don't understand a thing, Atoy Muzazi. So I'll educate you now…"
He pulled the tremendous club back --
"...body and soul!"
-- and swung it.
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Isabelle Pi Testament had come to know games before knowing people.
It had been decided quickly into her life that she was a failure, but not to such a degree that she should be recycled. As such, she'd been employed as one of Brinkmann's aides for a time, assisting him with his experiments and serving his needs. Each day had stretched on and on like so much cold clockwork, and Isabelle's heart had frozen with it.
Until she'd found them.
It had been an utter coincidence, a bundle of files on the mainframe left behind by a previous employee. A number of classic narrative games, collected over many years. Isabelle had found them during routine maintenance.
She'd been enthralled.
For the first time, she had a glimpse of the world outside the lab. She'd learnt that people were meant to have relationships with each other, family and friends and love. She'd learnt that there was more to the world than the walls she knew. She'd learnt there was another life that she could live.
A few weeks later, she'd left the lab and joined the Superbian sect proper. Brinkmann had been furious. It had taken months to get back into his good books.
Still… the humanity she'd found was still there. That was what was stopping her from going along with what Giovanni wanted. That was what drove her feet now, as she ran through the halls of the Deus Nobiscum.
That was what made her hand tighten around the pistol she held in her hand, as she made her way to that person's location as quickly as possible. The only way to end this would be to kill them, to remove them from the head of the…
Wait.
To kill who?
Isabelle skidded to a halt in the middle of an abandoned amphitheater, looking down in confusion at the weapon in her hand. She was going to use this to kill someone, but who? And why? It had completely slipped her mind. She'd taken this gun from Pablo, but… why had Pablo been after her? She couldn't remember.
Alarm spiked in her chest. Something was wrong.
Crack.
Isabelle fell to her knees as a surge of pain exploded into her brain, forcing her to let out all the air in her lungs. Slowly, she looked at her reflection in the window.
A human arm was protruding from the back of her head, framed by noxious yellow Aether, slowly pulling itself out more and more. The impression was slipping, but she recognised Pablo's arm and his Aether. He'd done something. He'd done something.
"I'm guessing your ability was meant for your own use?" Pablo laughed. A second arm emerged from her Aether, joining the first, causing her to fall completely to the floor and scream. "That's why the defenses were so awful. There's no way you'd try to break out of your own little paradise, right?"
Isabelle gasped through the pain. "What…what did you…"
It wasn't just pain that made her words slow and halting. It was like the memory of how to speak was slowly breaking apart inside her head, disintegrating into nothingness at a horrifying speed. It was all she could do just to hold onto her sense of self.
Another spark of Aether, another blast of pain, and Pablo's head sprung out of her Aether as well. He pulled himself further out with his hands, his upper torso coming into view.
"You picked the wrong enemy, ma'am," he giggled with mocking etiquette. "That setting generates itself around the player, but I have the ability to spread my Aether out over a very large area."
He pulled himself out up to his hips. With one hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a blank trading card.
"You see this?" he asked, even though he knew she couldn't. It was all she could do just to remember how to understand him. "This is a test card I made when I was developing my ability. It makes a tiny little ant, no different than a normal one. Can't do anything to attack or defend. Can't do anything except exist. That's all I needed in this case, though."
He freed himself fully, his legs popping out of his Aether as well. As his foot came out of Isabelle's head, he gave her a little kick, rolling her onto her back. She could do nothing but breathe and stare up at the merciless ceiling. Anything else was fog.
Pablo cracked his neck as he stood free, grinning down at her. "I flooded that whole world of yours with my little ants. Took a lot out of me, but it seems it was effective. I guess your ability can only handle generating so much environment, huh? And since Aether is linked to consciousness, this is what the backlash looks like once your ability crashes. Hm, what's wrong? Can't hear me anymore?" He tapped her head with his foot. "Having trouble? Huh? Huh?"
She had to do something. She had to stop someone. She had to go somewhere. But what, who, where? It all escaped her. What was she doing? Who was she?
It
all
escaped
her
She
She
She
She
She breathed in.
She breathed out.
She breathed in.
She breathed out.
She breathed in.
She breathed out.
The face of the person above her twisted into a sneer. "Guess you really can't hear me, huh? Well, good luck. Maybe someone will find you and you can be hooked up to a feeding tube for the rest of your life." He turned away and began to leave, but…
Bang. Bang.
No thought was involved with the woman's action. She did not consider them at all. It just seemed as natural as her breathing to take hold of the gun, point it at the person who was leaving, and pull the trigger twice.
That was the last thing she did. The pistol slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor.
Twin plasma shots thudded into the man's back, and he staggered forward. Slowly, as if in disbelief that such a thing could have happened to him, he turned to face her. He reached for his wound with one hand, looking uncomprehendingly at the blood and soot on his fingers before looking back at her.
"You…bitch…" he snarled, just before he fell to the ground as well.
For a short time, there was silence in the amphitheater, the two of them just laying there -- one dead, the other little more than a doll. Aether spluttered weakly around the man's body, running through his spreading blood and shining inside his open mouth. Slowly, silently, it began to brighten…
…as something awakened.
Then there was the sound of skittering legs.