Conventional wisdom held that combat as a mundane against a player was impossible. That was true, if you were alone. Owen had to trust that Rebecca knew what she was doing. Or could adapt on the fly.
Owen picked up a small iron club from the table and hurled it at the small yellow… satyr? Hobgoblin? What exactly was it? That was going to bug him.
The creature dodge easily, apparently surprised at his own agility. The slaver’s body was clearly not built for combat. A grin spread across its yellow face. It dropped Rebecca’s wrist and advanced on Owen, who was already backing away and reaching for another weapon off the table.
The yellow goblin? Except it was too tall to be a goblin, and the coloring was bright. Maybe an imp? The imp dove forward. It brandished thickened, yellow fingernails like claws and strode forward.
A heavy sword hit it in the head from behind and bounced off, leaving the creature entirely unharmed. The imp whirled on Rebecca who swung again, this time releasing the sword early in the swing. It spun as it collided with the imp, crashing into his legs and tripping the imp.
“Don’t touch the weapon when it hits him!” Owen shouted. It was a simple trick. A sword held in the hand was a mundane’s weapon, while a sword flying through the air was a slave to physics.
“I know.” She seemed irritated, whether at herself or him, he wasn’t sure. “My reflexes are stiff. It might have something to do with you getting me killed for two years.” So probably irritated at him then.
She went for another swing. The imp swatted the sword away and dove at Rebecca, colliding with her and knocking her to the grass. One blow caved in her skull, the second was gratuitous. The victorious grin reappeared on the imp’s face, then disappointment as her remaining eye opened, and she swung at him. He pulled back, easily dodging the blow. The imp let the second blow land and cackled when the bones in her hand shattered. A fist came down on each shoulder, taking her completely out of the fight.
Owen took his time and lobbed another mace at the imp. He’d already missed two pitches, letting the urgency overcome his brain. This time he went for a nice easy throw with a high arc, the heavy mace swung in the air. He didn’t even intend to hit anyone, the end of the arc was sheer coincidence. Holding the innocent mindset may or may not have had an impact on the throw, regardless the heavy mace had an impact on the imp.
The handle struck the imp in the head, but the heavy end crashed into his shoulder blade, leaving a deep misshapen cavern in the flesh. It didn’t break the skin, but internal bleeding would still end the fight–if the imp didn’t end it first.
“This is why you don’t fight mundanes.” Owen taunted. “You can kill us all day, but there’s no juicy mana inside. It’s just a waste of good mana.” Maybe someone in the crowd would hear and take the hint. The imp didn’t seem to be in a rational mindset.
The imp tried to whirl around and stand up at the same time, but his low level revealed his terrible stats, which caused him to trip over Rebecca’s leg. The imps left arm dangled limp at his side.
Owen could see the realization of failure on the imps face. Its frantic eyes turned toward the crowded market. Even if it escaped this fight, it was already dead. Orcs were pushing through the crowd to break up this fight, but there was blood in the water now. If the orcs didn’t finish him off for interrupting the day, he was still fatally injured. Even if he tried to escape, someone in the crowd would see either an easy meal or easy mana. He was too injured to fight back.
The imp crawled to his feet and stared Owen down. Hate filled his eyes, contorting his face as it snarled and spat yellow-orange phlegm. Owen kept gathering weapon after weapon from the table, as if they’d do him any good against a player. The imp released a feral hiss and charged. “I’ll make you regret this!”
Few understood the ubiquitous rules of the game. A great many gamers and weekend tabletop gamers would have had a decent grasp of the basics. Fundamentally it came down to stats, like strength, intelligence, speed, or luck. The imp had some form of an initiative stat, determining how fast it could react to his opponents. Owen did not. He would always be reacting, any move he made could be countered. Any counter he tried could be overpowered. The imp had strength, speed, and the capacity to dodge. Owen had nothing–though that was exactly true. He had done this before–too often, and never truly successfully, but knowledge was power.
The common wisdom summarized it well. Fighting a mundane was ‘like fighting furniture.’
Owen had no agility, no dexterity, no speed. There was no way for Owen to dodge, so he didn’t try.
He had no strength, no endurance, no vitality. There was no way for him to escape the grapple or endure the blow, so he didn’t try.
Instead, he became extremely dangerous furniture. While the imp had wasted time punishing Rebecca, Owen had gathered a dozen sharp things from the table, holding a particularly wicked spiked mace between, then adding any blade he could to his person, shoving them under his armpits, between his legs, and even into his pockets.
The imp collided with Owen and a surprising quantity of sharpened steel, impaling them both in a dozen places. Owen was immortal, not so the imp. The force of the impact carried Owen along the ground, and he felt his vision dimming. It was amazing how fast you could suffer blood loss with a dozen holes in your body.
He held onto consciousness, a tiny perk of a brain acclimated to not having blood. His synapses were burning mana, not oxygen, but they could function.
The imp squirmed on top of him, the round body of the spiked mace shared nearly perfectly between them. Half inside Owen’s chest, half buried in the imp’s.
Everything had turned out perfectly. Owen found himself chuckling in relief. He’d needed a pile of mana, a practically impossible task. And this absolute idiot had provided it. He just had to hold on long enough to claim the kill.
“I’ve got to start learning how to pun in these situations.” Owen sighed. “Mace to meet you? Nah, that’s crap.”
The imp’s body shivered and its head lifted, revealing a wide smile. Owen recoiled at the sight. Most of the flesh in its mouth had withered away, down to the bone in places. It choked out a reply. “I deal vengeance.”
The imp’s body vanished, burnt away in a flare of mana. Like the fire that burned away the tears in Rebecca’s clothes, this mana fire was a perfect white, but it consumed the body in less than a second, leaving behind a white crystalline statue of the imp, frozen at the instant of death. Pure mana, the fruits of victory.
“Guess we both suck at the witty banter.”
Owen reached up and touched the mana statue.
You have claimed this unclaimed kill.
Congratulations! You have killed1 a Venereal Disease Demon!2
This spiked mace has become Blessed!
Owen winced at the name, suddenly regretting touching the demon at all. Not that he’d had a choice in the matter.
And what was with venereal disease? That was almost as archaic as ‘social disease.’ Although It was better than STD demon, but not by much.
The footnote’s information flooded his mind. What the hell, he wasn’t going anywhere. Why not read the footnotes? He chuckled again. People were giving him weird looks again.
1 Demons are beings of hell and cannot be permanently killed, only banished from this plane. They will return for vengeance, now or in a thousand years.3
2 All over the world it has been understood that many diseases, particularly those of the mind and soul, come from demonic possession. While possessing a body, the Venereal Disease Demon can absorb diseases, later manifesting such diseases in its victims and spreading both its debilitating conditions and its corrupting influence through sexual contact. This demon may Puppet one infected body at a time. May evolve into a Plague Demon if enough victims are infected.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
3 This magical domain does not extend to the nearest region of Hell. The demon’s spirit cannot be banished. The demon’s spirit will remain.
A cloud of darkness grew in the air and then sank down into Owen’s body.
Warning: you have been possessed by the following: Venereal Disease Demon, Lvl 1.
Conditions received:
Puppet: You do not control your own body. Mind and Soul unaffected.
Weakened Immune System (Progressive): -10% efficacy/day
Rapid Weight Loss: -1.5%/day
Fatigue: -5% stamina/day
Diarrhea: 1-2 episodes/day
Owen felt himself sag in despair, but he didn’t move. He was no longer in control of his body. But the demon was back to level one. Without mana to give it stats, it was still possible to fight back. Now they both had no willpower. So Owen pitted his nothing mind against the demon’s nothing. He brought his will to bear on the presence seeping into his mind and felt its advance slow, but not stop.
The yellow imp’s cackling now echoed through his mind. Of course the demon had understood its own nature. Taunts began to batter his resistance. “Come now, even as a spirit I’ll need to rest sometimes. You’ll still control your body then–but not until after I’ve infected that pretty girl–”
Blessed weapons can absorb the demon or send it back to hell.
Would you like the weapon to send it back to hell? This will weaken the blessing.
Would you like the weapon to absorb the demon? This will destroy the blessing.
Owen almost sent it back to hell. Except apparently there was no hell? Instead he mentally selected the second option. His felt his will losing control, and if he lost control of his body, he’d lose access to the weapons and their ability. He struggled to hold on.
Select weapon to become cursed:
Blessed Dagger
Blessed Mace
Blessed Axe
Owen opened his eyes, checking his body. The mace was largely inside his chest. The axe, he thought, had been in the crook of his left arm, and there was definitely a sharp pain there, but there was pretty much a sharp pain everywhere. He chose.
Congratulations! You have banished the spirit of a Venereal Disease Demon!
You have been blessed. Blessing reduced. Non-players cannot receive the full bonus.
He felt the demon’s spirit scream as it was pulled out of his mind. For a second his head hurt worse than his body as its phantom claws scraped and pulled at him trying to retain its place, but the spirit was pulled from his mind. The demonic spirit became a cloud of black that was sucked toward his crotch.
Owen tried to scramble back, but his arms and legs didn’t work. He lifted his head. The black cloud flowed into his crotch. Shit.
This weapon has become cursed!
You have slain a demon of disease. Your attunement has been alt–
Owen closed his mind to that. He had two years of experiences to sift through before he allowed his attunement to shift, or he’d lose what meager control he had over his fate.
Owen closed his eyes and waited for unconsciousness. It didn’t come. Owen groaned. He didn’t actually have control of whether his mind shut down from pain and exhaustion. No, that would be asking too much. So his brain continued to burn valuable mana, so he could stare at the mace sticking out of his chest.
Everything ached, but he could only lay there and look around. One orc was poking at Rebecca who couldn’t get to her feet. How much of her brain was even working with half of her skull concave was a serious question. The other orc was waving everyone back, including the two irate guards who were trying to retrieve the enchanted weapons Owen had borrowed.
Owen turned back toward the table and found the massive eye once again inches from his face.
“You take our things.” The voice boomed from the massive body, a car length from the eye. “Must be ‘halance.”
Balance. Some thought that was their aspect, but Owen’s personal theory was that it was more a component of their nature obsession. Nature requires balance. Otherwise, how did they turn the suburbs into a giant jungle? Other than magic, of course. But they couldn’t be wasting mana on maintaining a tropical jungle in Nebraska. No, juma operated on balance. For them, a ride on their carts was barely an effort, so a minimal effort on his part–watering a few saplings–created a balance. This juma now though, he just wanted to be paid.
What did enchanted weapon rental cost, anyway? Was it by the hour? Because he’d only used them for a few seconds at most. Could he get a prorated rate? At least this time he kept the smile from his face. The single eye staring at him with palpable anger made that easy.
Where had the mana from the demon’s body gone? Maybe after he paid his debt, there’d still be enough left over for him to ascend.
The juma ripped the mace from his chest. A lot of important parts of him seemed to go with it. Owen received the unique sensation of nausea apparently emanating from an empty cavern in his chest. Owen forced the feeling to the back of his mind. There was important information to gather. He pinged the mace.
Additional mana absorbed during blessing! Blessing enhanced!
Blessed Spike Mace with Terror Enchantment– Temporarily reduces target’s Willpower in proportion to damage. Blessing: effect against demons +50%, effect against evil +25%.
Owen clenched his fists. He’d forgotten the first rule of claiming mana. There was a hierarchy, and ‘furniture’ was always paid last. As an enchanted weapon it was already a part of the game, and it had still been in contact with the mana crystal ‘body’ when he’d claimed it. So the stupid mace had received the bulk of the mana.
Owen checked his own mana reserves.
System Integration: 46.4%
Owen closed his eyes and held back the despair. This was a step forward. It really was. Sure, he’d only received what was left over of probably one or two thousand mana. He should really be grateful. Ten mana was enough to afford healing. Twenty mana for both of them, and he’d still have 26.4%. This was a step forward. It was. The words rang hollow, but he clung to them.
The juma’s massive claw held the weapon and gave it a few experimental waves. “Holy Terror Claw.” The juma’s voice was quiet, for a juma. The eye stared at this mace in awe.
Owen sighed and pinged the weapon again.
Holy Terror Claw– Temporarily reduces target’s Willpower significantly in proportion to damage. Blessing: effect against demons increased significantly, effect against evil increased moderately.
The juma had imposed its own interface on the object when he analyzed it. As a mundane, even such menial feats were beyond Owen. He had to wonder if the effect was the worse for the change. His instinct said that since he had been involved in the blessing, his own mark on the item would have been better, but he didn’t really exist in the ‘game.’
Still, Holy Terror claw would probably sell better than Blessed Spike Mace with Terror Enchantment.
“That’s gotta be worth more than before. Does that pay off my debt for ‘borrowing’ your weapons?” Owen grinned through the pain.
The juma looked at him. “Let us see.” The claw came down again and again, pulling weapons from his flesh, and sometimes finding one that hadn’t pierced him. The claws didn’t spare his flesh as they searched, but the first time a claw settled on his crotch, Owen’s scream of pain caused the eye to flinch. “Apologies.” It avoided that area going forward, for which Owen was grateful once he’d stopped groaning and cussing.
“Two weapons credited with kill. Two weapons enhanced. It is enough.” The juma wavered and then reluctantly admitted. “More than enough.”
“More than enough? So am I owed a debt?” He only needed fifty four mana. That would put him over the top, and he’d start absorbing mana at a player’s rate. In a few hours he’d be able to afford their healing, and Rebecca would be safe.
Owen let himself hope. A magical weapon could have paid for a hundred people to ascend to player status, Nikolai’s sword could finance thousands. Whatever he got paid for enhancing the weapons, it had to be enough to put him over the top.
The juma was not in a hurry to pay out. The eye scanned the table though, searching, but there was no way Owen could have damaged any of the items. “A dagger is missing. A very valuable dagger.” Owen pinged his pocket before the eye turned to him.
Cursed Dagger of Fire – Inflicts moderate fire damage. Curse: wounds from this dagger will release the captured Venereal Disease Demon’s spirit into a living target.
Owen sighed. “Heal me up, and I’ll get the dagger from my pocket myself.”
“I cannot.” But the juma turned to the crowd and called for a healer.
A large man stepped forward and was immediately pinged by everyone, the orcs, the juma, its guards, and about half the crowd. Owen didn’t need to ping the Saint. He’d been one of the few sources of healing available to mundanes. The juma paid to heal them both, thirty mana each, either the price had risen or the Saint was milking the situation. He bowed over Owen first and bellowed his prayer for everyone to hear.
“Oh, God heal your servant injured by the hell spawned creatures. He is yet human, and may be saved from these abominations. Amen!” The final word echoed with power and the healing mana poured out onto him. The saint’s mana was tinged with pink. It seemed out of place with the massive manly man, but it showed his power had grown considerably. The healing was incredibly effective, it suffused his body, empowering his natural healing.
Healing enhanced by blessing. 2% mana refunded.
Owen gratefully absorbed the excess mana. Every little bit helped.
System Integration: 46.8%
Every very little bit helped.
Owen pulled himself to a sitting position and thanked the Saint. The Saint gave a curt nod heaped full of his casual disdain for a weak little mundane, and went to help Rebecca. The Saint was a dick, but he’d work with anyone for mana–anyone still fully human, not too morally dubious, and not too ‘gay looking.’ But not a racist, so really just an all around great guy. Still Owen closed his eyes, appreciating the pain-free body, and kept his mouth shut.
The juma offered a paw with four long sharp claws between him and the palm. Was there a threat hidden in the gesture? Oh, right.
Owen retrieved the dagger and went to place it in the juma’s paw, but the arm pulled back. “It’s cursed, not blessed, but I’m sure someone will still want it.”
The juma hissed. “You return it cursed. I cannot sell.” The juma rose to its full height, dropped to the ground with an earth shaking slam, and rose again as it screamed. “With this, I cannot return. Soldiers kill us! This is theft!” The final words boomed in wrath and judgment. “Theft earns its reward.”
The crowd scattered, their screams drowned out by the enraged roar of the massive beast, and drew their swords. But even the orcs backed away rather than face the enraged giant beast. Owen was on his own.