In the grand scheme of things, Lorelei thought as the others fussed around her, this might not actually be a bad thing.
From the very first moment of the integration, her Guide had not exactly set out to make life easy. If it wasn’t negging her in a rather tiresome fashion, it was nerfing her abilities just as they might be situationally useful. Lorelei had lost count of the number of times she’d very nearly wiped because – “for shits and giggles” – the A.I, seemingly in charge of Earth now, had decided to take a personal interest in what she was up to.
“Are you okay?” Chrissy said, offering her a tissue to wipe away the blood spilling out of her nose and down her chin.
Lorelei nodded, accepting it and trying to wipe away the worst of it. “I’m fine. Just give me a moment.”
It struck Lorelei that there were surely not that many places in the universe where sudden and unexplained haemorrhaging could be so easily explained away. That the rest of her group just accepted it and began chatting amongst themselves about the loot good fortune again was. . . a vibe.
There was no getting away from it, though. Having become used to the constant picking of the A.I, it suddenly felt very lonely inside Lorelei’s head. So much so, she was doing her best not to draw any parallels whatsoever between the timing of her breaking up with her toxic boyfriend and the Guide’s immediate appearance in her life with a rather similar line in . . . banter.
Yeah, right now, she wasn’t touching that particular thought with a bargepole.
And, actually, the more she considered it, the more that – in the grand scheme of things – it was clear that the actions of her Guide had actually been more of a net win for Lorelei than it had been a complete wash. Sure, it had nearly killed her on more than one occasion, but the key word there was ‘nearly’. When the heat had been absolutely on, there had been more than one occasion when its advice and commentary – however biting – had probably saved her life.
It didn’t feel ideal to be in her current situation without that support. And, coincidentally, without a Healer on their team.
“Fuck,” Lorelei said, causing Zorrobar to wander over.
“You okay? You’ve got a lot of,” he indicated her face, “stuff spread all . . . well everywhere.”
Lorelei wiped the back of her hand across her nose. It came away red and . . . gooey. That wasn’t . . . brain matter was it? She hurriedly downed a health potion and resolved to find a Healer as soon as possible.
“Lorelei?” the big Fire Mage said again, looking really quite concerned indeed.
“Yeah, no worries. Honestly. I’ve just had a bit of an issue with my Guide.
Zorrobar’s eyes flew to the top of his forehead. “And it did that to you? Fuck, mine barely says two words to me!”
The rest of the group were aware that their leader had a slightly different dynamic at play with her guide than the rest of them did. However, they’d each rationalised it away as being part of her insane Class. They each had watched as Lorelei had done some fairly bonkers shit since she’d led them away from the Botanical Gardens.
Her Guide being more than usually chatty didn’t even trouble the top ten.
Don’t overly worry, said the voice that Lorelei recognised as being that of Fortuna. Whilst it is unusual for the A.I to switch off its personality profile in Week One, it’s not wholly unheard of. Of course, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it happen because it was triggered by a player, but all things are possible under the sun.
Which, Lorelei thought, was pretty much Fortuna’s motto.
“Is this going to be bad for us?” Lorelei thought, ignoring Zorrobar continuing to stare at her. If the lower half of your face being covered by blood was good for one thing, it was giving you a moment to collect yourself without people thinking you were being rude.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Probably not, to be honest. Although it was not actively inhibiting us, all the whinging, moaning and wringing of hands was getting on my nerves a little. The A.I will still complete all the same functions as it did previously but, perhaps, we may revel in avoiding the attendant monologues.
“I think there were a couple of times – more than a couple, if I’m honest – where it smoothed things out for me in the clutch. Is it not going to be a problem that I don’t have access to that anymore?”
Please do not forget that I have doubled your Luck stat. There was a slight frostiness to Fortuna’s voice at that.
Lord save me, Lorelei thought, from the fragility and self-regard of divine beings. It might be nice to think that, with great power, came a degree of chill. But apparently not.
The Senior Partner before the Prick with the Prick had been Horace Lynd, an institution at Glyde and Glyde. To hear colleagues tell it, Lynd was a master tactician in the courtroom, “the kind of lawyer who could make a jury cry over contract law,” apparently. However, from her vantage point in HR, she had other descriptors for him: volatile, egotistical, and absurdly thin-skinned.
The most infamous incident connect with him had started with an innocuous email. A junior associate had dared to reply-all with a typo in Lynd's name, accidentally addressing him as "Horse Lynd." The mistake was manifestly harmless, but Lynd had erupted like Vesuvius, demanding an all-hands meeting to "reassert the dignity of the firm's leadership."
Over the next week, he subjected HR to an unrelenting campaign to find and terminate the “offender,” insisting it was an intentional slight. She had spent days convincing him that a formal witch hunt over a typo in an email might not project strength to clients. He only relented when an intern mockingly whinnied outside his office, at which point he became so incensed he accidentally broke his Montblanc pen—a limited-edition one gifted by his late father, as he loudly lamented for days before being persuaded to move into a “consulting” role for the sake of his health.
In her previous job, she would have described both Fortuna and her Guide as displaying BLE – Big Lynd Energy. This felt like a potentially worrying situation.
“And I’m very glad for that,” Lorelei said. “And I’m sure it’s going to come in hugely useful. However, I am a little worried about how our next Round is likely to go.”
Funny you should say that, Fortuna said, because they’re doing the draw right now . . .
***
The room held its breath as the Second Round matchups were drawn.
Well, no.
Not really.
As the ‘room’ consisted of Colin and his Tiefling NPC Marie and, at this stage of proceedings, awe was very much in short supply, that would be overselling things a touch. The emotion they were feeling, however, was something akin to watching a slow-motion train crash.
In theory, the draw for the Second Round was where the fun would really start. The algorithm they were supposed to be using, blessed by the machinations of the A.I, should have ensured that the strongest contenders – those who absolutely kicked arse and took names in their first victory - were nowhere near each other until the very end.
Instead, however, an unfortunate byproduct of the personality module no longer being installed, the algorithm appeared to have have coughed up . . . a big flaming turd ball.
Writhing with maggots.
That repeatedly exploded.
Seeking for a moment of zen, Colin closed his eyes and took a deep breath—which was pretty impressive considering his cognitive toolkit wasn’t exactly brimming with spare energy right now.
As far as he could tell, all the real movers and shakers had not been seeded in any way that made sense to him. Instead, the biggest of all the hitters were now taking each other. It was Liverpool vs United. City against Arsenal. Tottenham . . . well, no, let’s not go too far, Colin thought.
Nevertheless, the upshot was that, rather than the Second Round being a fairly straightforward progression for all the big dogs, it now meant that many of those teams that could, realistically, be targeting the latter stages of the tournament were now about to . . . well, wipe.
"I can’t see any way this had happened," Colin said, looking up in the hope that his Guide would hear and feel some sort of shame. Spoiler. It did not.
Outside his window, the audience—composed of rival teams, sponsors, and a worrying number of people in bloodstained fan merchandise—reacted with a mix of disbelief and glee. This was the kind of mess that fueled gossip streams and meme cycles. People might love an underdog story, but they loved a trainwreck more.
Tickets for the Second Round were actually quite reasonable compared to the Final Stages, and this meant those who might have expected to simply watch a few moments of casual slaughter, were in for a treat!
Colin reached for the manual override, but his hand hovered indecisively. Unravelling the brackets now would mean admitting the system had failed, which meant admitting he had failed. And he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
No, much better to let it all play out, he decided.
He looked at the final spot on the bracket system, there were just two teams remaining to be drawn. The Useless Drags – why did he know that name? Oh yes, they were the lucky bastard whose opposition in Round One had all wiped themselves out. And now they were about to be slotted in against a party reduced to one battered survivor from the last round.
And this poor bloke was a Healer? Fucking hell, talk about all the luck . . .