A Shadow Weaver and a Dwarf Axeman sat in silence on the hard shoulder of the M6 motorway.
Okay. So that is not exactly a classic opening line, but let's run with it. If either of the two were currently in possession of a sense of humour, they might have ruefully muttered that it hadn't been all that long since they'd been in almost the exact same position after their ancient Ford Mondeo finally gave up the ghost.
But japes, jokes, and general tomfoolery were very much not on the cards right now.
Of course, Sylvie thought, pre-integration, they'd just been a hairdresser and an unemployed guy who did . . . something with computers. She frowned at that, glancing over at Rupert as if looking at his gormless face would help her remember what it was he had done for a living before all this shit went down. But no. 'Something with computers' was about the best she could come up with. Fuck it. She hadn't been interested then, and she certainly wasn't interested now.
There were far more interesting things to occupy her mind.
There was the briefest of moments when the weight, scope and horror of her behaviour over the last few days pressed down upon her soul - but then something shifted in her mind, and all guilt drifted away on a cloud of unconcern. After all, they might not have been quite wading through rivers of blood, but neither had they been keeping their feet dry on Altruism Beach, either.
After everything she had seen recently, she doubted whether anyone could have made it to Level 12 by playing nice. They had simply done what needed to be done in order to progress.
Well, at least she was Level 12. Rupert, for some reason, had stalled at Level 10 and wasn't he being quite the little pissant about it? It seemed odd to her that someone who had actively chosen to become a Dwarf should be displaying short-man syndrome, but hey, it would not be the first time in their relationship that Sylvie found Rupert's ways strange and mysterious.
In fact, she was probably going to have to kill him.
This wasn't the first time during their relationship that thought had popped into Sylvie's head. It was all well and good to choose a fuckbuddy guaranteed to cause Mummy and Daddy heart palpitations, but it was quite another actually to have to live with them. When the novelty of it all had worn off, even the way he breathed irritated her . . .
So, the prospect of bloody murder had been more than an occasional visitor to her mind. But it was certainly novel for her to have the means, method and strength to achieve it.
"It's fucking bullshit, I tell you!" Ah, the bearded moaner was whining again.
"What is?" she said. It was - all things considered - pretty impressive that she managed to keep the crushing weight of her boredom with him out of her voice.
"I have to work for my XP. Like proper fight for it. Up close and . . . proper." Rupert waved [Grumblecleave] - the axe he had been so proud of purchasing back at the Mystical Market - in what he obviously thought was a manly way. All Sylvie could focus upon was that if she were still tragic enough to be bearing Rare gear, she'd be a little more circumspect about displaying it. "All you do is sit here, and the experience just pours in within you having to do anything for it! It's fucking bullshit!"
Sylvie wrinkled her nose, irritated that he was actually making a somewhat valid point. The massacre of all those noobs that had tried to hide in the Cricket Stadium had pushed her Class past the Level 10 threshold, at which stage the
Much to Ruper's chagrin.
The only downside was that there didn't seem to be an auto-loot function for those her spiders killed, so they had to spend their time physically locating the bodies if they were interested in coins as well as XP.
"Look, dear, I'm sorry your Class is turning out to be everything you hoped. I am sure there will come a time when being short, hairy and belligerent will be exactly what is required for a particular situation. Perhaps we will need to negotiate with a group of Scotsmen, for example. However, for now, me being able to leave a bunch of deadly . . ."
Sylvie's voice trailed off as something popped in her stomach - like every muscle in her rigorously maintained six-pack suddenly exploded into shards of shrapnel. She would have screamed in agony, but the shock of the pain drove all the air out of her lungs, leaving her gasping like the freshest of servings in a sushi restaurant. The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life - and she'd experimented with self-waxing.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Sylvie collapsed to the ground, writhing around, leaving Rupert staring about for what hidden enemy had attacked them. But, as far as he was able to tell, their stretch of the motorway was completely empty.
Almost delirious with pain, Sylvie noticed her notifications were blinking and desperate to do anything else but suffer, she flicked it open.
Your summons - Shadowweaver Arachnis - has been destroyed.
Damage Transfer: 10% of Player's total HP
Status Effect: Soul Wound
One of your creations is no more. You experience the magnified pain of the final moment of their passing for 10 seconds.
7/8 Shadowweaver Arachnis remain
Unable to speak whilst under the power of the status effect, Sylvie simply rolled on the ground, digging trenches in the asphalt with the strength of her Level 12 nails. But the second the countdown ended, the pain was gone as if it had never been.
"What the fuck was that!" Sylvie stood, hands clasping her midriff, certain her guts must have been ripped free of her body and turned into a pinata.
Rupert looked back at her blankly. It would be unfair to say he had found some pleasure in her discomfort. Entirely true. But still unfair. "What happened to you?"
"Someone killed one of my spiders."
"And I guess that hurt? Poor you."
Sylvie gave him the finger and summoned her Guide. Thus far, she had found it to be worse than useless, but she assumed there would be an explanation in there for what had just happened. From what she could tell, the System was great at explaining what had just occurred but not so much at warning about the consequences of actions. Yes, there it was.
***Help Message***
Be aware that should any of the creatures summoned be dispatched, commensurate damage will be caused to the Player. Extreme caution should be used when maximising the number of summons; damage is cumulative and can lead to a wipe.
"Fuck's sake!" Sylvie's face paled. That would have been the sort of information that would have been helpful before she threw eight of her spiders out into the world. If it wasn't such a dry and passionless entity, she could swear that it sometimes felt like the Guide was trying to kill her.
"What's wrong?"
"I've got seven more of the little bastards out there. If someone has killed one of them, then there's a chance . . ."
Sylvie collapsed to the floor again, this time soiling herself as great shudders wracked her body, her back arching and hands clenching tight.
Rupert cocked his head to one side, watching her spasm with a somewhat morbid interest. Since the deaths of Liam and Trevor in the alley outside of the Mystical Market, it had just been the two of them. Everyone else they had come across since was either too low a level to bother with - in which case they had relieved them of their money, their gear and their lives - or too high a level to risk approaching. And he was fed up with it.
Rupert knew Sylvie had always felt superior to him.
As if, somehow, having a 'daddy dearest' desperate to pick up all the bills for his 'sugarplum' meant her shit didn't stink or something. Well, looking at her now - or, more pertinently, smelling her - he was happy to report that clearly wasn't true.
In those first few hours of the integration, it had been helpful to have someone around to have your back—and to tell him, Liam, and Trevor what to do, to be honest. Agile and rapid adaptation to new circumstances was not really in their wheelhouse. Punching people until they stopped moving on the other hand . . .
The four of them had definitely torn it up through the early levels. However, ever since someone had fucked up his two mates, things had been on the slide. The fact that - since she had been able to make these fucking spiders - Sylvie could level up without ever needing to come into contact with other players was hardly an ideal choice of companion for someone who had all these cool buffs for being in melee combat.
In short, Rupert felt the usefulness of their partnership had come to its logical conclusion. The only thing that had stayed his hand from cutting the bitch's fucking head off and wearing it as a hat, was the abiding and realistic concern that she'd probably be able to rip him a new one.
Thus, watching her whimper and moan right now was hitting him right in the feels.
Raising [Grumblecleave] - and mentally crossing his fingers a Rare weapon would have enough oomph about it to pass through her neck - he prepared to formally dissolve their partnership.
But then the status effect faded, and Sylvie's eyes flicked open, and the moment passed. Well, at least this moment had passed, Rupert thought. After all, once you'd made the decision to kill someone, it wasn't really a ladder you then climbed back down. He would wait for another opportunity to present itself.
"You okay?"
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." Sylvie stumbled to her feet, dismissing the notifications about the further three of her spiders that had been destroyed. During the last two days, she hadn't taken so much of a papercut injury in her smooth ascent through the Levels. To suddenly have lost nearly half of her HP - quite without the excruciating effect of 'Soul Wound' - was having somewhat of an impact on her.
And that impact was rage.
"Get your fucking axe. We need to find who is killing my fucking spiders."
Rupert didn't need to be told twice.