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CHAPTER 11: FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE VERY IMPORTANT
I watch with increasing confusion, yet also increasing interest—but mostly confusion—as the shield bearer continues his game of slow paddle ball with the dragon, with him being the ball and the dragon the paddle in this analogy.
Fly.
Wall crash.
Walk back.
Repeat.
“…What is this guy doing?” This has been going on for a while. If there is some secret strategy behind his actions, I can’t see it.
No, you wouldn’t.
Hey!
Your idea of a good plan is to fight an Ice Phoenix with pretzels.
It was an emergency!
And those pretzels were surprisingly effective…
So you admit it came as a surprise.
“………”
*BANG*
The tower shakes and I look back in the mirror. For the umpteenth time, the tall armoured player is rising out of a pile of rubble. You’d think the sight would lose its epicness after the first few couple times, but it really doesn’t. That guy’s stubborn resolve is really something to behold. On the wall above him, there is yet another person-shaped indent in the wall. It’s kind of funny, all these holes next to each other look a bit like a hieroglyphic mural…
...
……
………!!!
Is that his plan?!
To write runes on the wall using his own body?
How imaginative!
…I don’t think it is.
“Eh…” Scrunching my eyebrows, I watch as the player once again walks back to stand in front of the dragon. His steps are getting slower and a little shaky. Broken pieces of his armour are falling off him. I can’t see that well because of the darkness—night vision does nothing through a screen after all—but I believe those are blood stains he’s leaving in his trail.
Whatever he is planning, it better happen soon, because I don’t think he’ll be able to endure this treatment much longer.
…Maybe he’s just an M?
Don’t project yourself onto others.
HEY!! I’m not—
“ROOOOOOOAR!!!”
Kalameet’s angry bawl distracts me from my thoughts. I return my attention to the mirror. The dragon is again charging at the tank’s lone figure. No matter how many times I see this scene, it still sends shivers down my spine. I can feel my zygomaticus tense to the limit. I wipe a little drool off my chin while I stare at the scene unfolding, waiting for my wannabe hero to get ejected.
However…
*crrrrrrrrack-BOOM*
Because of the shaking caused by the soul dragon’s stomping, one of the damaged columns suddenly collapses—straight onto the beast! Hit on its back, Kalameet tumbles to the floor in another loud bang. Despite the weight of the stone, the inertia of its gargantuan body still carries it over several yards, stopping just a few feet away from the player.
It’s not dead, though—well, it is…but it’s not un-undead yet…you get it. The soul beast trashes and rises to its feet once again, shrugging off the heavy stone pillar like one would a large tree branch. The massive stone pole falls down, causing another minor tremor in the throne room, which hasn’t stopped shaking since Kalameet toppled.
The surrounding columns are slowly swaying, and only now do I notice that all the pillars around Kalameet’s summoning circle look much more damaged than those anywhere else in the room.
*crrrrrrrrr…*
A low cracking noise, like a raucous purr, comes through the mirror, and I think my heart stops beating for a moment as understanding strikes me.
“ROOOOOOOAR!!!”
Kalameet is obviously pissed. I see it opening its maw. Fire is rising from the depth of his throat. The player’s aggro just went over a dangerous threshold.
*…rrrrrack!*
At the same time, three columns collapse. One falls harmlessly to the floor, but the other two hit the dragon just as it was releasing its fire-breath. The torrent of purplish blue flames pours out of its open jaws, missing the player only by a few feet.
Yet the latter doesn’t move. Though, honestly, I’m not sure if he’s still capable of moving. In the light provided by the deadly fire, I can clearly see the large puddle of blood that has formed around his feet. The thick dark red fluid is trickling from every orifice in his damaged armour. It’s both gruesome and amazing. I almost can feel the warm wetness of the blood around me.
The pillars around the monster-warrior pair continue to fall. The tremors caused by the first and the falling dragon have started a chain reaction. Many miss the dragon but as many strike it. Miraculously, none falls on the bloody tank. Or maybe not so miraculously. Did he plan all this? Just how much is luck and how much is strategy?
I wipe my mouth again and squint as the mirror-screen. Clouds of dust have filled the room, making it hard to see what’s going on. Kalameet trashes and howls, but it cannot push the weight of stone than pins it to the ground. It’s kind of pitiful, actually, that a ghost-type monster cannot turn itself immaterial. Did I overestimate the level of this boss? Or is it a trade-off to grant Kalameet more physical power? It’s true that ghosts are easy to deal with as long as you have a banishment spell or artefact. On the other hand, physical dragons are a pain no matter what.
Eventually, it gives up on getting up. Instead it turns its efforts to trying to reach the player with its long serpentine neck. Its head snakes towards him at an impossible speed and lethal jaws snap shut just a few inches away from the armoured figure, who again continues to remain completely still. With a roar, the dragon opens its maw again and the glow of fire starts rising from its insides once more.
But, as if on purpose—though I refuse to believe this one is anything but pure dumb luck—one last column falls, straight onto the dragon’s neck, choking it. Kalameet’s eyes bulge out and his neck suddenly balloons ahead of where the pillar has fallen on it. The neck soon deflates and smoke seeps between the monster’s fangs with a hissing noise of a flattening tire.
Kalameet’s head drops to the floor with a loud crashing noise and doesn’t rise anymore. Although, faint twitches along the dragon’s body shows it still isn’t dead…re-dead…whatever.
Silence falls over the destroyed throne room, along with the cloud of dust that slowly floats back down. The armoured warrior, as if the pain has finally caught up to him, trembles and drops onto one knee. Zooming in, I can see his shoulders shaking with each ragged breath he takes.
After a small eternity, during which I wonder if he isn’t just going to collapse and die, the player eventually painfully stands up. He takes slow steps towards the still twitching ethereal dragon. Stopping by the side of its head, he raises a fist and he punches down. The metal of his gauntlet impacts the scales of the monster with a resounding sharp noise, but there is no visible damage to Kalameet.
Not letting this discourage him, the tank raises his other fist and punches down again, with no more result. He pauses, shaking and even through the mirror I can hear his wheezes. He made it look like he was shrugging those deadly blows like small taps from a child, but in truth, I reckon the inside of his armour resembles some kind of soup right now.
Another sharp noise breaks the silence, then another, and another. Slowly, but surely, the player’s punches are gaining in strength. The sharp noises are soon replaced by a rhythmic pounding. A yell reaches my ears through the mirror. Low at first, it rapidly grows in intensity, until the tank is screaming his lungs out while raining blows onto the immobilised dragon’s head.
Kalameet doesn’t die in a gory festival as its head gets bashed open. Eventually, the damages are just too high to sustain. The summoning breaks and so does its body. Shattering in thousands of little orbs of lights that fast fade to nothingness. At the bottom of the throne, the large magical circle from which the beast had emerged stops glowing.
The warrior is left standing in a desolated room. Again, he isn’t moving. I don’t know how much of this is due to his injuries, and how much is due to being stunned that the battle is finally over. I can relate. It’s sometimes a bit hard to actually accept you’re still alive after a violent fight.
*clap-clap-clap-clap*
Also alone in my bedroom, high above the throne room, I slowly clap my hands. There is no irony in my gesture. I truly don’t know of many players who have managed to kill a grown dragon. And I can count on my fingers how many did so one-on-one.
Moreover, all of those who did belong to the top tier players, all above level 150. I myself am a bit of the exception to the rule, having been “only” at level 127 before this curse dropped it down by more than a hundred, but this is only because I tend to die more than average and lose levels as a result.
I don’t believe this guy is above level 150. Maybe not even above level 100. I don’t follow everything that’s going on in the game, but Dan, as guildmaster and one of the major players, likes to keep tabs on all the strong people. He also likes to keep me up to date—mostly so that I don’t piss off someone I can’t handle. That’s his way of taking care of me. Not that I ever listen to his advice, but I appreciate the intention.
Yasmin also contributes to keeping me informed, mainly by boasting about all the strong players she crushed…which is basically the opposite of what Dan is trying to do. These siblings are cute that way.
Point is, if there was such a high-level tank, I would have heard of him one way or another. His crappy gear—except the shield—also suggests he should be rather low levelled, at least relatively to the players I know.
While I ponder on his identity, the warrior has recovered his senses and has already crossed the room to the formerly secret entrance of the tower. I say “formerly” because the throne that used to hide the secret tunnel is in pieces and doesn’t hide anything anymore.
I watch the tall frame of the guy disappear into the tunnel and then continue staring at the screen for a good minute.
…so…
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
I blink, coming out of my daze. “Yes?” I’m still a bit out-of-it and reply out loud.
What are we doing now?
Hum? ‘bout what?
Well, that guy’s coming up now. What do we do about it?
…
……
………OH SHHHHHHHHH-ugar!!
“He’s coming here? YES! He’s coming here!! NO!! He’s coming here!?!? What do I do?! What do I DO?!?!”
First, calm down.
“I can’t ‘calm down’! Some guy is coming up to ‘save’ me, the princess in the tower, after defeating the scally-butt dragon! It’s obvious what he’ll want! Everybody hates that Links never gets to do Zelda in the end! And ‘that’ is all that men ever think about!!”
You are a man yourself.
“That’s why I know it!! Men are perverts! Every single one of them!” I jump off my bed, with the intention to start pacing furiously in the room, hoping to somehow stimulate the blood flow in my brain and give me a miracle answer to protecting my innocence!
But…
*crack*
…That was my ankle, wasn’t it?
Yep.
……I’m falling, ain’t I?
Yep.
………Going to split my head open on the comer of that chair over there?
Likely.
“……………………Oh, bloody hell.”
*BANG-CRACK*
Head trauma [–141HP]
*tutu*
You have died.
Darkness envelopes me and I start floating in an endless void. I sigh. I really need to get a hang on psychomotricity in this body, otherwise, I can give up walking down stairs ever again.
Now, what do I do? I hope I’ll respawn before the guy reaches my bedroom. I never actually bothered timing how long it took me to revive. An oversight, in hindsight, but no use crying on spilt blood.
Looking around, I see only black everywhere. Unlike other games, Untold Tales doesn’t straight out eject players in the event of death. Instead, it sends them in some kind of limbo, where they can still interact with their interface. The chat and PM options are inaccessible, though.
Makes sense, though. Can’t allow players to communicate with “living” party members and tell them of an ambush even after that very ambush succeeded, or allow a lookout to warn his friends of an attack even after having been taken out. Of course, there are ways to circumvent that by exiting the gamepod and physically going to warn your friends, but with the time differential between real life and the game, it’s usually too late by that point. It’s not perfect, but that’s where a little honesty from the players comes into…well…play.
Some players get really worked up about these issues, but I don’t really care. Like I always say, it’s just a game, don’t get your panties in a knot. Well, I usually play alone, so I guess it doesn’t impact me as much as larger parties involved in complex quests.
Ah. Another point of this black space is also resurrection spells, I suppose. Would be stupid to get thrown out of the capsule when you’ve got a priest in your party that can patch you up for another go.
But…again…solo player.
Anyway…this is all well and good, but isn’t it taking longer than usual? This curse should exempt from the ban, no?
“Hoy! Interface! What is going on?!”
To my surprise, a window actually appears.
*ting*
Due to quest event in progress, the instant revival privilege has been temporarily suspended. Resumption will depend on circumstances.
“OH, ISN’T THAT SO DARN CONVENIENT?!” I get the feeling this game is playing with me. Even for me, this is too backwards.
“Well, in the first place, you were only exempt from the 24-hour ban because of your status as a quest reward. So it’s basically the same, but just not the same stage of the quest.”
Hearing a nasal and high-pitched voice behind me, I spin around. As I pivot, the blackness in my surrounding is suddenly replaced by a vast empty field of clouds. Above my head, I see a sky of lush blue grass where yellow lamas covered in red dots are busy mating in a concerto of bleating. Of course, from my perspective, the lamas are upside-down.
It’s…well…If I hadn’t been in Chaos’ domain a couple times before, I would have been rather taken aback. Now I just roll with the randomness. Although, I still keep my guard up. The first time I came to this “world”, I got cursed with baldness by a three-winged owl in a field of noses.
I quickly spot who had spoken—who I think had spoken. One can never be sure here. But the top hat is usually a giveaway. And, sitting on a fluffy cloud cushion, near what looks like a pond, is a fat purple cat wearing a top hat and a manacle. A fuming cup of tea is floating in the air near its face. Tea is another telltale sign of Chaos. Don’t ask me why.
However, the God of Chaos is not alone. On the woolly ground, a small distance away, I spot the back of what appears to be a little girl. She is crouching down, swaying back and forth, her long white mane pooling around her feet, and she is gnawing at her fingers, bright red blood slowly trickling down her pale wrists. A small whispered litany pours continuously out of her lips. I can’t see her face, but I have a distinct feeling on who this is. After all, from what I’ve gathered, this is some kind of spiritual world.
I look back at the cat.
“Chaos?” I ask, just to make sure.
The cat raises a paw in greeting. “Yo. Wassup?” It pats the cloud it’s sitting on. “Come on. You’ll miss the best part.”
“What part?”
“Why? But the part where the dashing hero claims the lips of his sleeping prize, of course!” This fat feline sounds far too smug for its own good.
“WHAAAAAAT?!” I shout.
“Oh! I want to see! I want to see!”
My brain freezes for a second when I hear another voice coming from right beside me. It sounds familiar, but it’s odd to actually hear it with my ears and not just echoing in my mind. Before I can take the initiative to turn to have a look at who this is, a blur dashes past me.
I can only stand stunned, rooted on the spot and blinking slowly—probably looking like a retard—while staring at the young woman who comes to a stop next to the fat cat. She is now looking intently into the pond with a smirk that I can only describe as “playfully evil”. Her hair is bleached white and comes down to her shoulders. Her eyes are red. Her face and overall appearance had some obvious likeness to Victoria Sangbleu, which causes me to briefly glance back at the little girl hugging herself with bloodied fingers and muttering to herself.
What doesn’t fit with the persona of a medieval princess, however, are her clothes. The young woman is wearing black jeans with chains hanging from her belt, a dark red tank top baring her midriff, and a black jacket with small spikes. All completely modern-looking. If I had to make an anime parallel—which I have to, obviously—I would say she looks like the wild-older-sister-former-delinquent archetype…if there is such an archetype. She has sort of a Saeko Tanaka meets Lelouch feel to her…
Does this make any sense?
With my brain still unable to process what the fuck, I blink in direction of the fat purple cat…which now is a fat orange dog. This is not helping.
The dog meets my confused gaze and casts me a doggy smile. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“You.”
Its smile broaden, digging deeper into its cheeks than it should be possible. His face splits in tow in a torrent of neon pink blood, revealing seven rows of bloody teeth inside, between which I can see small people noiselessly screaming in agony.
I don’t let the unsettling spectacle affect me. Chaos has a knack for going from cute, to disturbing, to plain weird, and back to disturbingly cute via cutely disturbing.
“I’m not sure—”
“Hey! He’s there!”
“WHAT?!” My muddled brain suddenly snaps back to attention, pushing any complex thoughts aside. I stride to the pond. I distractedly notice I’m back in my former, male, tall, muscular—and bald—body, which makes sense, oddly enough.
Looking into the clear water, I see not my reflection, but my—or Victoria’s—bedroom at the top of her tower. This point of view should be from above the archway leading to the stairs.
There is a tall figure standing in the middle of the room, seeming to slowly take in the sight. This should be the warrior who was battling Kalameet just now, but he has changed out of his tattered armour and is now clad in a simple leather coat. There is no blood, so I can only assume he used some kind of healing potion. But, from this angle, I can only see his back. It’s certainly as ripped as I imagined it, but something in his silhouette is bothering me and I can’t put my finger on what.
“Can’t we change the point of view a little?”
“Yes.”
“So—”
“But that would be no fun. So no.”
I cast an annoyed glare at the smirking fat purple zebra standing next to me, but don’t pursue. Instead of trying to convince a whimsical god, I focus on trying to pinpoint what’s bothering me. Unhelpfully, the woman next to me is sniggering while throwing me mocking side-glances.
It’s difficult to tell with the red lighting in the room, but doesn’t this guy have rather dark skin? I place my money that he’s not human. That would explain his height too. Except the barbarian clans, beastmen, and orcs, I can’t think of a playable race which would have this kind of physique. Maybe golems.
Before I can delve more deeply into that line of reflexion, the player suddenly takes a decisive step towards the bed. Only then do I notice my—Victoria's—body, lying on said bed in a Sleeping Beauty pose. The only missing item is a rose held on her chest.
Hoy, hoy, hoy…don’t tell me…
Without pause, the tall, muscular, strong-looking man leans down over my small, vulnerable and sexy frame to take my lips, though now his body is obscuring my vision.
I think I snap a little.
“GOD DAMMIT!! GET YOUR MOUTH AWAY FROM MY VIRGINAL LIPS YOU BASTARD!!”
“No need to be aggressive. I have nothing to do with this,” says the zebra. “And that body was married. She’s far from a virgin.”
“I DON’T FUCKING CARE!!”
“I’m starting to wonder if I ain’t a bad influence on him.”
“Oh, you are. But it’s far funnier this way. Might be the hormones, though.”
“Well, fuck. Is it ‘that’ time of the month?”
“STOOOOOOOOOP!!”
I’m not sure at whom I am screaming at this point.
But in either case, I scream in vain. Like the memory of a touch, I faintly feel coarse lips settle on mine. It only lasts a fraction of a second, however, before unbelievable pain explodes in my whole body. I scream. The little girl behind us screams in unison. I am only vaguely aware of the woman by my side bursting into bubbles.
Then I fall forwards, straight into the pond.
I don’t feel any water, or any resistance really, only an instant of disorientation and nausea as the world abruptly fades back to black. I couldn’t tell how much passes in this void, because the pain is so intense. My only conscious though is that the pain levels in this game should use some recalibrating.
Then, abruptly, as abruptly as it had started, the ungodly pain stops, though I’m still fighting off a splitting headache. My eyes flutter open, and I find myself staring into the golden red fiery eyes of an orc.
An ugly, scary, and mean-looking orc.
An orc leaning far too much into my personal space for comfort.
I thus do the only sensible thing in this situation.
I release an ear-piercing shriek.
“IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHH!!!”
My own high-pitched scream nearly bursts my eardrums.
It certainly must have startled the orc, because it yells in surprise too.
“AAAAAHHHH!!”
I scramble backwards to get away…and, of course, fall off the bed.
*bam*
Back injury [–59HP]
Somehow—miracles do happen—I don’t insta-kill myself like I’ve grown used to do. And, somehow, my fall transforms into a backwards somersault. By some improbable law of physics, I even end up standing on my feet.
Of course, not stable on my feet—this world is not so kind.
I stumble and lose my balance, falling backwards—again—and I…tumble out the window.
…
It takes a couple second for the fact I’m dropping to my death to register.
When it finally does, several thoughts cross my jumbled mind:
1. I AM FREE!! If I can go through the window, it means the barrier has been broken and I can leave this tower!
2. I am obviously still in Victoria’s body, as demonstrated by my brilliant performance of athleticism just now.
3. I AM FALLING TO MY DEATH!!!!! Something tells me the instant revive left with the barrier
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” I scream, again, this time for very different reasons.
Nick! Nick!
What?? Use the force?!
No, you moron! Turn into a bat!!
…Oh. Riiiiiight.
Teehee~
As soon as I recall this useful power of mine, I invoke the skill. I feel my bones creak and my skin pull in weird places as the transformation takes place. It itches too. It’s not exactly fast, but thankfully this tower is ridiculously tall. As for my dress, it’s magic, so it disappears somewhere. I don’t know where. It’s convenient, so I don’t question it.
Still, this is a bit dangerous. With the speed of the transformation, I am about three quarters down when the shape-shifting eventually concludes. I have now turned into an albino bat, a rather huge one at that.
That is because the shape-shifting partially follows the law of mass conservation.
It’s not because I’m fat, okay?!
I immediately start flapping my wings wildly. I still haven’t completely mastered flight but somehow, I manage to regain altitude. Laboriously, I make my way back up.
Why not simply glide down to the much closer ground, you may ask?
Because there are zombies down there and I am the girl who gets killed by falling off a chair…or by a chair.
I continue “flying” up. Eventually, through probably the most exhausting and nerve-wracking experience in my entire life, I manage to reach the height of my window.
But then, my transformation suddenly ends.
Why, you may ask?
Because at my level, I can only stay in bat form at night and only one hour at a time. I don’t think I passed the hour mark, so I guess the sun came up. I say “guess” because it’s always super cloudy around here. But just because there is a lightning storm going on and it’s as dark as can be, doesn’t mean this counts as night. I call this a rip-off.
Oh, and also because the God of Irony loves to see me suffer.
For some reason, the transformation back to humanoid is much faster. Back as a young girl, my vertical inertia causes me to experience a second of zero gravity, during which I meet the gaze of a flabbergasted orc leaning over my windowsill.
Then I start falling again.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—ow!”
However this time my dive ends rather abruptly by means of a sudden strong grasp catching my ankle. Unfortunately, because I was a good foot away from the tower, I make a nice arc and get forcefully acquainted with the exterior of the tower.
Hello, tower.
*BAM*
Damn you, tower. We could have been friends.
Body-slamming a wall [–80HP]
“I have no idea how this game calculates damage,” I mumble disgruntledly, my face pressed against the stone, while hanging upside down. I push myself away from the fall a little.
Suddenly, a soft white veil passes in front of my eyes. “What the…”
I only understand what this veil is, when the cold wind causes me to feel cold in places I never felt cold before, and a loud raucous voice echoes from somewhere above me.
“You…You…WHY AREN’T YOU WEARING ANY UNDERWEAR?!?!”
“…please let me die.”
* * * * *