Sy curled his hands into a fist, trying to grab a feel of himself both physically, and mentally. Intellectually, he knew he was only a teenager. He respected his parents, the teachers, and any other adults he interacted with. The trouble he got into was childish, and sometimes, the lack of respect for the authority can be a bit... underwhelming.
Well, eventually, he did learn. Mostly, he got his ass beat by his mom. Lessons learned. Can't mess with mom.
And yet, he managed to talk with Solorteruiel Melwelyonnen, a woman much older than himself, and possibly even his grandparents, like an equal, if not her superior. He even referred to Alliea's friend as a young man, when he might even be as old as forty, maybe older.
It wasn't a conscious decision, really. It happened, because he followed his instincts, as naturally as they felt or seemed. Which was troubling...
The avatar was meant to be much older, at the very least in the mid-twenties, to the early thirties. He was still young enough to be considered a youth to these people, but Sy held himself such confidence that his previous teenage self completely lacked. Honestly, he loved it, and hated it, but couldn't fault it. It felt easier when dealing with people. The shyness was all but gone.
Possibly, the reason might be that his character belonged to a world where brutality was a common occurrence, and he survived by using both wit and bravery. The story was about a young man, lost in a world filled with violence, against the forces of... well, whatever that may end up opposing him, eventually triumphing against all odds. And yet, it wasn't as if he could remember the avatar's memories.
Also, the game was an MMO, but it also focused more on the linear storyline. The progression of levels and game mechanics helped in elevating the character into something of a nightmare to deal with, depending on the builds and equipped items, but ultimately, not really much of an issue. It didn't make them any stronger than the cinematics cutscenes you would see after every completed story arc. Still, there were some changes that might occur, due to the spells or techniques the characters might learn, depending on the classes, and depending on how you complete your quests.
Sy wondered if the body was affecting him somehow, messing with his brain chemistry. In fact, it might not even be his brain, to begin with. That kind of briefly really freaked him out... Sy shivered. It was messed up, but he remembered his own past, than that of his avatar's, and that was enough of an anchor to tie him down to sanity.
It felt weird, though. For one, he was more mature than he should be, with measured responses Sy knew he wouldn't have given under pressure. It was a terrible thing, to come to the realization that he might not be himself ever again. It was humbling, frightening. Where's the panic, the confusion when he found the refugees? He had no experiences in this. He was no medic, nor a peacekeeper.
He hadn't even thrown up when he carried the mutilated bodies of the dead to the graves.
What he did know, was that he felt calmer, more self-assured than what his teenage self would have been. Was he adjusting this much, this fast? A terrible question he felt he knew the answer to.
He needed a distraction. The anxiety was getting to him.
"Can you tell me more about the blessed ones?" Sy asked Solorteruiel when he found her again.
Her features morphed into one of confusion, then a thoughtful look. "You do not know of them? Are you not one yourself, my lord?"
"Pretend I'm a foreigner," He said. A small smile graced his lips. "Tell me what you can, anything that might be relevant, please."
Those slender, thin shoulders shrugged barely perceptibly. "Blessed ones, the golden blood, heroes, demigods, adventurers, nobles... they have many names, but they are mostly known for their heroic acts against otherworldly monsters and demons that plague the lands, or delving into dungeons of the great unknown, seeking glory and fame.
"Their strength is beyond compare... to oppose one is to fight against the world itself, a natural disaster," Sy looked surprised, which must have been obvious to her. Solorteruiel only smiled sadly. "Some have tried, ultimately failing. They are strong, and such strength allowed them to rule as lords of their kingdoms. Regardless if they were of noble or common blood, so long as they have been born with the golden blood, their strength and will are unquestioned."
"I see...," Sy really did see. So, strength was everything here. Without that strength, you're considered a second-class citizen. then? "These... would the children of the blessed ones inherit their strength?"
"More than likely," She said matter of factly, seemingly surprised by his ignorance. "The great noble houses are only lead by those children who have inherited the gifts. Those that have not, are usually abandoned, or culled,"
Sy figured he shouldn't be surprised.
And this was where it got tricky.
"What are the chances of such... adventurers," Sy grimaced in disgust. "What are the chances that they are the ones who wiped out your village?"
"A very small chances, but it's a possibility," Solorteruiel looked pained when she spoke. "If a few variean or even human villages were to be wiped out, they will not give it much thought,"
Sy nodded. "And... a personal question, if you're still willing to answer any more," Solorteruiel nodded. "Where are variean blessed ones?"
Solorteruiel froze. Sy stopped, instantly regretting his question. The rest continued on their way, though a more than few paused at their actions.
Solorteruiel looked into his eyes, searching. For what? He couldn't fathom.
"Do you truly not know?"
Sy sadly smiled, eyes downcast. He couldn't dare to look at those sad eyes. "I'm... sorry. I'm... new to the lands...," He said, lamely. Ah, now there was the uncomfortably awkward teenager fidgeting.
"The soldiers of Kiset takes them away," Solorteruiel's grief was melancholic. "Every year, they routinely check every variean village for blessed children. Should there be any, the family would be forced to give their children up,"
"Haven't they tried hiding them?"
"Sometimes. The family would take the child away, far from the village," She said, smiling sadly. "Sometimes they make it, sometimes they don't. For those who have made it, I don't know what happened. I'm sorry,"
Sy stopped with his questions, despite the many that seemed to crop up by the second. Those could wait. It didn't make him any less worried about Vánagandr. She would do fine, and he was confident in her abilities.
"Is this your home, my lord?" Startled, Sy turned, where Solorteruiel pointed. A large clearing opened up from the pine trees, and Alliea was already sprinting toward the door, her pace frantic with worry. And there, at the front of the entrance of his cafe, stood Jǫrmungandr.
"Yes, it is," Sy was oblivious to the awed stares and gasps that escaped the throats of the varieans. "I'll introduce you to Jǫrmungandr. He'll show you around the place, and where you'll be sleeping,"
Jǫrmungandr let the girl inside as Sy made his way toward him. The druid's eyes followed the refugees. "You've come, and with guests,"
He looked behind his shoulder, and at the few dozens of faces marred in dirt and blood. "Yeah...,"
"I do not see Vánagandr...," The druid looked worried.
"She's delaying," Sy didn't want to worry him, he didn't have to. Jǫrmungandr did plenty of worrying all by himself without Sy having to do it for him. "She'll be fine,"
Of course, she would be fine. Vánagandr was a Heracles-class for a reason.
----
The first tree fell from the air, crushing the ramshackle formation, and breaking bones. A dozen died instantly upon impact, incapacitating, and even crushing a few more when it bounced across for several yards more. Another dozen more died, perhaps more, when the second redwood tree fell. She gave them time, enough that the fleeing soldiers escaped from the pursuing forces.
Vánagandr wasn't quite sure what she expected when she went to confront the army that had been plaguing the grey-elven people. But rescuing them from a small army of fleshy monsters of various sizes and haphazardly grown limbs was not it. White flesh stretched tautly, mouths too large and uneven, teeth grown in wrong places, and bloody fluids leaking from every orifice. Sometimes, they had too many arms, or heads, or legs. They just were.
Her muscles strained when she ripped another tree from the root and stem and hurled the redwood into the air. It went off like a missile, meeting little resistance when it landed, and it splintered and broke upon impact against flesh. Their mad howls and blood-curdling screams of pain and rage reached her ears.
She turned around and ran. Normally, Vánagandr wasn't one for running. She would stay, and plan, and fight. If it meant using hit and run tactics, then so be it. However, she had no idea what those things were. They looked human, multi-limbed and disfigured into unsightly monsters, unglued from reality as it were. It was... horror imagined real. She had no information on them, other than that they could die just as easily as any other mortal, and that was a more comforting thought.
The soldiers, at least a hundred, raced toward her. The leader, a young man stuffed inside a heavily engraved and enameled armour, held out a hand. She took it and instantly leaped onto the back. His speed didn't slow. the horses were quite fast. So fast, in fact, she assumed the horses were moving at a hundred kilometers per hour. What manner of beasts have they been breeding them with? A unicorn?
They left the loping, howling monsters far behind them.
It was another hour before they cantered to a stop atop a hill.
"You've saved us," He said, letting her off down, and quickly followed suit. He took his boxy helmet and strapped it to his waist. The blue-eyed young man stared back, with short cropped blond hair, and a charming smile, glanced down at her. Yes, he was taller than her, which rankled her slightly. It would mean she would have to look up. "It was only a matter of time they would have caught up to us, if not for your intervention,"
Vánagandr watched him bow to the waist, and he said, "You have my gratitude. Whatever favour you may ask of me, please do so. I am Peter Ignatius, and as the heir of House Ignatius, I shall do whatever it is within my power to grant it,"
"What were those things?" She nodded toward the distance, where the monsters were.
Peter's visage turned grim, and turned to look toward the horizon. "Those are the children of the God of Life. A once divine god, perverted by the unholy abomination sitting beyond the edge of the Abyss. We call them the daugron. They breed, consume, and cannibalize their own kin, in order to survive. To fight against them, we would need an army to completely eradicate them."
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"I... see," Vánagandr did see.
"Milady, you are that of a noble blood, but I do not recognize any sigils upon you, nor of your esteemed presence from any noble house," He said, nodding politely. "If I may presume, to throw such trees requires incredible strength. If I may ask, what level, and class are you?"
Vánagandr hadn't a clue what the hell he was on about. She gave him a blank look, which only seemed to frustrate this Peter, though he didn't show it. "No idea," Before Peter could respond, she continued. "Oh, also, are you the people that have been killing off the varieans?"
The soldiers around her, at least the ones close enough to hear, stiffened. Peter narrowed his eyes, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword just a tad tighter.
"I had no idea my esteemed lady had such... concerns," Peter replied, gracing his pink lips with a charming smile. "You need not worry over the serfs, milady. They are of little concern to us noble of blood."
She shook her head, frowning. "I don't think so. It concerns me, because-," Here, she decided she didn't two shits about her boss's orders. "My boss wants you to stop hunting them. And if you do, he ordered me to stop you. Permanently."
Peter stilled, and the soldiers straightened. Some, if not all, bared their weapons at her. Still, there was caution in his eyes, and one that still remembered the flying trees. "I... see. It is an unfortunate situation that I hope would be ratified through a peaceful conference. May I know of whom you speak for?"
"A shop owner," She simply answered.
Peter looked like he had no idea how to take that. A shop owner, to demand something of him, to the heir of the noble House of Ignatius, one of the hundred towers of Kiset? It was laughable, and yet it was obvious the employer behind the woman was something far more than just a humble shopkeeper. To take in the employ of a powerful golden blood, one that stood seemingly at the pinnacle of her race, which possibly could even rival that of those personal guardsmen that protected the king himself, was unsettling, to say the least.
"I'll... do as you ask, milady," Peter conceded, nodding politely. He chose to pick his battle, which disappointed her. The young man decided to pick his battle, and it would only give the time necessary for him to find out who she was, and who she worked for. "It was a pleasure, milady. Again, you have my gratitude for saving me and mine soldiers,"
"Wait...," Peter stopped, just as he was about to hop onto his horse. "I do need something,"
Peter raised a brow. "Of course, milady. Anything within my power, I shall grant,"
"Your armour looks nice," Her eyes drew to the many enchanted armour the knights were wearing, both inventive and expensive, enough to possibly buy a few war galleys. "The clothes, too. They look expensive."
When the soldiers behind him bristled with anger, Peter instantly held his fist up, quieting his soldiers. "A small price to pay, if that is all you wish,"
He proceeded to strip himself of his armour. The weapon dropped to the ground, sheathed. The others watched their lord, angered over the woman's transgression.
Vánagandr hummed, then shook her head. The boy, barely on the cusp of adulthood, narrowed his eyes. "You mistake me. A small misunderstanding, I assure you," The bartender smiled with amusement. "I meant, all of your men,"
"You are making a mistake, milady. Tis' a grave insult to my character, and of my noble house. Think before you speak of the favour I so generously granted,"
Vánagandr raised a brow. "Did I say you could talk?" Peter's eyes narrowed. Of what, she didn't know. "The strong rule, as I recall. They take what they want because they can. That's the rule of this world. Of any world. Tell your men to strip, before I take it from all the corpse."
"Are you so confident, that you'll challenge us all?" The sword raised just an inch from his sheath.
She sighed. "Too slow."
The heir had little time to comprehend what she meant, and before he could react, her hand clasped around his pink neck like a vice. A crack sounded like thunder, and the soldiers of House Ignatius watched in stunned disbelief as the body of their charge slumped to the ground, dead. Horror crept into their eyes, then howls of rage rang across the field.
Their swords and bows, warhammers and glaives were unsheathed; magic thrummed in the air from the various weapons, and Vánagandr cracked her knuckles. "I'll leave a few of you alive, to return to your lord."
That was all she said before the trample of horses and rage came upon her like a small tsunami.
---
"Oh no," The monotone voice of Hel reached him across the hall. Though the volume was not quite loud, he heard the alarm in his tone enough to make him pause in his track. Sy quickly changed direction. "Oh dear. That was the essence of Lady Luck herself. You have consumed it. Oh dear, whatever shall I do? Master will not be pleased,"
Oh. One of the children must have gotten into Hel's stash. Again.
Hel was a special case. He was... well, he was supposed to be an undead NPC, but Sy later replaced the lich skin with of a futuristic robot from another franchise. As he recalled, he won it at an annual Christmas event, which made for a pretty cool change for his NPC.
Now, normally, Sy wouldn't have cared about it as such. Normally. Unfortunately, this wasn't a normal situation. Despite his appearance of a glass humanoid golem, however, he was a walking Dyson sphere of astronomical size. Complete with a functioning biosphere of its own, and powered by a sun, Hel housed a planet the size of a small dying star. A virtual god in his own right, entire races have evolved and died off on this planet, by the time Sy could finish his coffee.
The amount of space that existed within the robot-cum-god was easily several hundred astronomical units in length, and his weight should have cracked open the planet he was standing on like an egg. And yet, he weighed about as much as an average man, lighter even.
Whatever Hel was, he was simply a five-foot humanoid shaped black glass, with fingers and hands and everything in what a human should look like. As far as perception goes, there was no expression to mark his features, and nothing to lessen his frightening appearance any less... frightening.
In terms of gaming skins, it was just that, a cosmetic change to fit a personal gamer's taste. It had no barring on the state of game mechanics, nor the story arcs whatsoever. One could buy such skins in the official online store, as others have done countless times, involving everything from demons and gods to aliens from outer space.
Sy shuddered.
But that changed when everything became real. How did it affect his spellcasting? His abilities as a wizard?
This... was so beyond his comprehension it wasn't even funny. For gods' sakes, this kind of technology leaped past the theoretical sciences and jumped right into the science fictional platforms and creativity. This is the kind of technology scientists would sacrifice their firstborn sons for just to have a poke at Hel.
Magic. Everything cycled back to magic, in the very end, he realized.
Sy turned a corner and arrived into Hel's personal kitchen, and there Hel was, with his immaculate wizardry blue cloak. And there was the child, hugging Hel around the waist, with his big wide eyes staring at the wizard with hope. Or was that excitement.
"Ah, master," Hel said, not quite pleased. "You have come. Please, remove this child from around my waist, and away from the kitchen. I have much to do, and many guests to serve."
The child, well, was clutching on to Hel like a lifeline, his eyes as big as saucers and hope and filled with wonder. There was the curiosity in those child-like eyes, purely innocent and powerful enough to even make himself smile.
"Why don't you take in an apprentice?" He suddenly asked.
Hel didn't quite look disgruntled, but it was there. "I am not disinclined at the idea. If the child shows potential, I shall take him as my apprentice."
Sy couched down beside the boy, now looking quite curious at him. "What's your name, kid?"
"... Simmeludrach Polencauion," Sy didn't even bother trying to memorize that. Frankly, the name gave him a headache. His quiet, squeaky voice echoed aloud, hopeful. "Can I really apprentice under him?"
Sure, why not? "If you listen to everything he says, and worked really hard, you could be the future chef of this cafe," Sy replied with a smile.
Hel's expression, or lack thereof, soured into a pout. That was a sad face. He couldn't see it, not with those featureless glass pane for a face. He doubted anyone could, but the slight slump of his shoulders brought a grin to Sy's face.
The walking Dyson sphere opted to keeping his mouth shut.
Sy mussed the boy's clumps of dark hair, electing a giggle. "Do you have your parents with you?"
Simmeludrach bowed his head, now looked especially sad. "No... bad men came and took away my papa and mama,"
It was the reality of the situation, one he hoped to fix. If not, the best he could do is ensure they have a brighter upbringing for their children.
"How are the guests holding up?"
"They have managed themselves quite well. Their politeness is quite appreciated, if a little jumpy" Hel motioned vaguely toward the guests, in their bedrooms upstairs.
Sy nodded. He hesitated, but had to be asked. "Do you... know what class and level you are?"
There was a period of silence. "...I have no idea what you mean? What is a level, and class?"
Of course, he wouldn't. In-game, Hel and the others were over level ninety, nearly at the level cap of a hundred. Whatever missions he sent them on, they complete their quests and arrive back with the payment, whether they be items of dubious nature or coin.
"Nevermind that," Sy took to his feet. "I'll-"
A commotion startled him, and it came from the main hall of the establishment. The elves poured out of the front door, cooing and petting the giant warhorses that seemed to somehow materialize in the front of their shop. In the middle of the commotion, Vánagandr stood an uncaring statue given life, drenched in blood. She was giving orders to some of the elves, prompting her brother to help guide the horses away.
Sy sighed. He had no idea what happened, but seeing all those sets of armour strapped to the still-harnessed horses, told him everything. Angry, he should be. But he didn't have the energy to really put any effort into it.
"These horses will come in handy," She said quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I have to ask if any of them have experience in breeding horses. If not, my brother could teach a few. We would need to build a ranch if selling them gives us a hefty profit."
Sy sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I suppose the armour and weapons would come in handy, as well. Hel could examine the enchantments on it, and replicate them if possible." Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised by her actions. "Any survivors?"
"No." She answered confidently. Sy narrowed his eyes at her, then sighed again, groaning, when she continued. "A few might have escaped. Maybe. Can't tell. Too many learning to fly."
It wasn't what he wanted to hear, and it made him slightly ill at the thought of actual people being killed off by a subordinate of his. There was little he could do, and Vánagandr was her own person with dubious goals and powerful abilities. "Anything I should worry about?"
She shrugged, yawning. "A noble of some house. He wasn't any trouble."
His brain felt like it fried, and he felt like weeping right then and there. "I suppose it was inevitable. Unless you have something else to say?"
"They're strong," There was a contemplative air about her, disquiet and focused.
"As strong as you?"
Vánagandr snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. They had numbers, that's all. But, they were skilled enough, and strong enough to challenge me. Even make me bleed."
Sy glanced at the number of empty armours and weapons. "And they had numbers."
"Yes, that too."
A sigh of fatigue escaped him. "At least word won't reach back to their kingdom. It should keep us safe for a while. I'm... going to bed. Wake me up if anything happens."
"Sleep tight," Was her last response, before Sy strode off back into the cafe.
--
In the fields, where the dead resided, Peter gasped awake. His hands grasped his neck, then his face, hysterically and in shock. Breath came out fast, ragged, and uncertain. The neck felt sore, and he could still feel the purple bruising around his neck, where the woman's hand clenched her fist.
His fingers reached into the folds of his coat, where a small pouch threaded within the needlework. Emptying it out, a small stone the colour of blood red the size of fingernail fell into the palm of his hands.
"The blood of the Phoenix," Peter muttered, then watched the stone disintegrate before his eyes into dust. It wasn't every day the son and heir were ever in need of something as valuable as this stone. Gifted to him by the prince of Kiset, he treasured it for the last decade. And now, it was gone. And his life, spared.
He didn't think it would ever be used, and he would have to give something of equal value to the prince for it. It gnawed in his stomach that the price was something beyond his station to acquire. Yet, he had no choice. And now, he would have to return him, and explain to his father, why a hundred of his most elite warriors died.
It was only luck that Peter found one of his men's horse a mile away. The gods were with him, it seemed. He could still hear the mad howls and screams of the daugron in the distance. He then looked toward the tracks that led west, where the woman went. The sun fell over the horizon, when he finally left for home. There was a lot of things to do, and little time to accomplish. What he witnessed today, Peter came to appreciate.
Vengence was the last thing on his mind, as he sped across the landscape.