The glaring white light of the portal contrasted starkly with Ryan's worried expression as he blurted, "Charlie, what's happening? Where are the Guardians?" Charlie didn't immediately answer. The absence of the Guardians was indeed unsettling; 'odd' usually translated to 'dangerous' in their limited experience with the dungeon.
Ignoring Ryan for the moment, Charlie's eyes were fixed on the perplexing notification floating in his field of vision. "The Conclave of Precursors has started—you have one week." A conclave, wasn't that some sort of gathering for electing religious leaders or something? Clearly, that wasn't the case here. It must be a meeting among these enigmatic Precursors, then. But what the hell did that mean?
"Charlie?" Ellie's voice cut through his internal debate. Her eyes met his, alight with something that seemed like relief, but laced with a tinge of apprehension. They were all on the same page: odd was not good. Pushing the notification aside mentally, Charlie broke his silence. "No Guardians," he finally said, his tone oddly flat. "But we have something called a Conclave of Precursors. Sounds like a big deal, but don't ask me what it means."
Carter, ever the joker, couldn't resist. "Damn, and here I was, all psyched to show off my new spear skills," he quipped, his shaky grin betraying his relief that they might avoid a battle.
By this time, his parents had sensed something was amiss and ambled over. Ellie quickly filled them in, their faces turning a shade graver with each word. Charlie's eyes returned to the portal. No point in dilly-dallying. He'd been prepped for the next dungeon stage, so why not this? "Right, let's get this over with," he muttered, grabbing the top of the barricade. With a casual hop, he dropped the eight feet to the ground below, landing with a surprising ease, even in his armour that stunned his friends.
Just as he was about to make for the portal, his mum's voice rang out. "Charlie wait! You're not going to that meeting looking like you just wrestled a pig. Over my dead body!" he rolled his eyes, but then actually looked down at his armour. It was a mess, still smeared with that mushroom muck from their last dungeon raid. He'd thought the ring would clean it or something, at least that's what he expected based on some of the books he had read, but real life it seemed would not follow suit. Stupid, really, but he'd been preoccupied with the anticipation of battle when he donned the armour a few moments ago. So he had to admit that his mum had a point. "All right, all right," he muttered, admitting the need for a change.
He headed back toward the barricade,. Ryan had already clambered down and was manually opening the gate for him "Can't believe you didn't break your ankle pulling that stunt," Ryan remarked, eyeing Charlie. Then he grinned, "But Ellie was impressed." Charlie felt his cheeks heat up at the mention of Ellie's name.
His mum, wearing an expression that suggested she was two seconds from bundling him in bubble wrap, proposed a new plan. "If this Conclave is some sort of diplomatic thing, you should wear a suit. Look smart." The suggestion was met with raucous laughter from Charlie, Ryan, and even their dad. A suit? In a dungeon? The idea was ludicrous enough to dispel some of the tension hanging in the air. Still chuckling, Charlie shook his head. "Mum, I need to be ready to fight, not attend a bloody gala." When they finally composed themselves, Charlie's mum seemed to accept the absurdity of her suggestion, but her eyes were still clouded with concern.
Instead of a suit, Charlie handed his armour over to her, as she insisted on cleaning it. While he busied herself with that, Charlie retreated to his tent. After stepping out of his tent in his newly chosen attire, Charlie took a moment to examine himself. Now, he looked the image of a competent Precursor, ready for battle at a second's notice and prepared for whatever this conclave might bring. The tan desert camo combat trousers and tactical boots were both functional and intimidating, while the black baselayer highlighted his newfound physical prowess.
He returned to find his mother still at work on his armour, futilely trying to buff the brushed steel to a polished shine. Reading the fear in her eyes, he realized that the cleaning was more about her need to protect him and delay the inevitable than about appearances. He moved toward her, enveloping her in a warm embrace. Sighing, Charlie walked over and wrapped his arms around her. "It'll be okay, Mum," he reassured her as she held on tight, her tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
"How can you know that, Charlie? How?"
"I can't, Mum. But being a Precursor, it's like I've been given a new lease on life. I can compete with my friends, surpass them even. I'm not embarrassed or scared to ask Ellie out because of my disability anymore. Now, I'm shit scared for normal teenage reasons." Charlie laughed. His mom's laugh was choked but genuine. She hugged him tightly. "You better come back, Charlie. Swear it."
His mother finally released him and took a step back. Before stowing his armour away in his ring, Charlie paused and sniffed it. "Lavender, really?" His mum blushed for a moment before recovering. "I just wanted you to look, and smell, nice." He chuckled. "I will come back, Mum. Smelling like a meadow, apparently."
Picking up his lavender-scented, brushed-steel armour, he stored it in his ring and took a deep breath. It was time to face his fellow Precursors.
----------------------------------------
Sometime later Charlie stepped through the portal, bracing himself for combat or, at the very least, an imposing silence. Instead, a riot of noise slammed into him like a tidal wave. He found himself standing in a torch-lit hallway that extended in both directions. To his left, the corridor seemed to go on forever, shrouded in a gloom that the flickering light couldn't dispel. But it was the corridor to his right, awash in bright natural light, that caught his attention. A cacophony spilt down that hall, sounding like thousands of voices mingling, not unlike the din at a football stadium during a particularly intense match.
Just as Charlie took a step toward the racket, eager but alert, a jolt of searing pain lit up his upper right arm. It froze him in place for a split second before disappearing as if it had never been. "What the fuck?" he muttered, rubbing his arm. Glancing down, he saw a golden number '3' embossed over his t-shirt as though it were some sort of brand. He pulled up his sleeve to get a better look and found the number adhered to his skin like a fresh tattoo.
Shaking his head in confusion but grateful the pain had vanished, he couldn't help but let his curiosity lead him once again. Whatever this "3" was about could wait; right now, the source of that immense noise seemed like the more pressing mystery. Charlie moved cautiously down the bright hallway, his fingers only a thought away from summoning his armour and weapons. Whatever awaited him, he was as ready as he'd ever be.
Creeping toward the end of the hallway, Charlie took a moment to peer cautiously around the corner, unsure of what spectacle could generate such overwhelming noise. What he saw made his jaw drop. Ahead lay an open arena, the design resembling that of a Greek symposium. A circular main floor at the centre was currently a verbal battleground for 9 people enmeshed in a heated debate. Surrounding them, ascending rows of seats housed what had to be thousands of spectators.
Some in the audience sat silently absorbed in the drama below, while others engaged in animated arguments of their own. In a feat of architectural acoustics that baffled Charlie, the collective chatter of the crowd turned into a sort of droning hum, while the voices from the main floor resonated with crystal-clear articulation. Even if you were up here in the "nosebleed seats," you'd hear every word down there, he thought.
His eyes scanned the crowd, noting a blend of styles but most predominantly, modern fashion that wouldn't be out of place in 2023. However, it was the peculiar trio on the main floor that seized his attention.
Slightly awestruck, Charlie's gaze settled onto two Maasai warriors standing like stoic sentinels on the debating floor. Their heads were closely shaved, and their lean yet muscular builds seemed perfectly honed for battle. They stood in a posture that radiated both discipline and menace, holding traditional shields patterned in vibrant colours, and spears that appeared sharp enough to slice through the tension in the room.
Beside them, a towering Scandinavian man was a spectacle unto himself. He wore a battered pair of denim jeans and covering his torso was what looked like a sleeveless, leather-backed ringmail jerkin. Steel shoulder plates added to the impression that he was some sort of modern-day Viking. And if there was any doubt, it was erased by the sight of the two single-bladed crescent moon axes hanging from his hips. Intricate Celtic patterns adorned their surfaces, and they were sheathed in loops fastened onto his sturdy belt.
This guy was massive, 7 feet tall at least, and every inch of him screamed violence. His biceps looked like they could tear a phone book in half, and his expression could probably scare the paint off a wall. He towered over a much smaller Asian man who looked to be in his mid-40s and appeared as if he was the walking cliche of a Wing Chun Kung Fu master. Dressed in a dark green Cheongsam with black trousers, he looked entirely unfazed by the hulking mass of anger in front of him.
Charlie was just about to back away from the scene, the thoughts of updating his family and friends looming in his mind, when a soft voice broke his train of thought. "They've been like that for over an 'our," said the voice, its timbre an alluring blend of French and English accents that sent a shiver down his spine.
The voice belonged to a girl who looked to be around 18, slightly built, and noticeably shorter than Charlie. She had olive skin and wavy, dark brown hair that framed a face so sharply pretty, that it instantly reminded him of that actress from the Kingsman movie, the one with blade legs. The corners of Camille's mouth twitched into a subtle smirk as she extended a hand. "I am Camille Moreau, by thee way."
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Caught off guard by her subtle French accent, Charlie felt a blush creep up his neck. "I'm, urr..." His voice trailed off. A mental nudge reminded him that he wasn't the same awkward kid who, just a few weeks ago, struggled to form cohesive sentences around his one female friend. "I'm confident now," he reminded himself, cringing at the realization that he still hadn't told her his name. "Charlie. I'm Charlie Finn," he blurted out, regaining composure and taking her hand.
A radiant smile broke across Camille's face. "I saw you come in through that portal," she said, sweeping her arm toward the uproar below them. "The Big Ten are arguing down there, about what we should do next. there's some kind of barrier, it keeps us all from going down, so we must watch from 'ere."
"The Big Ten?" Charlie echoed, visibly puzzled.
Camille facepalmed lightly. "Ah, oui, you do not know yet." She guided his gaze toward one end of the forum, where a list of names floated mid-air, begging the question of how he'd missed it earlier. The names were divided into three sections: the first five in gold, the next five in silver, and the last ten in bronze. His eyes widened as he spotted his own name, glittering in gold, placed at number three.
Charlie’s heart raced as he fixated on the gold lettering that displayed his name. His placement on that list felt surreal, a beacon amid thousands. There was an innate part of him, the quieter side, that yearned to melt away from the spotlight. An avalanche of anxiety seemed to be overtaking him, not felt in weeks. The nervous tremors characteristic of his cerebral palsy returned, ravaging his hands and causing his legs to wobble beneath him. While caught in this personal storm, he barely registered Camille's voice, laced with her soft French accent, trying to get his attention. The confusion was thick in her words, "Charlie, are you alright?"
Disoriented, he was grateful when she gently gripped his arm, guiding him through the distracted crowd and away from the intense atmosphere of the forum. They settled on a cool stone bench nestled in the hallway's quiet. Her almond eyes studied him with concern. "What is happening? Talk to me." Unable to immediately respond, Charlie's gaze was drawn to a sudden digital notification, materializing in the corner of his vision. It read:
Condition Surge
The human brain consists of approximately 100 billion neurons firing simultaneously. Cerebral palsy results from brain injuries that can occasionally cause these neurons to misfire, leading to paroxysmal neural hyperexcitability.
During such surges, you experience a debuff, diminishing up to 80% of all attributes.
CURRENT DEBUFF: 53%
CURRENT SURGE TIME REMAINING:
1 MINUTE 37 SECONDS.
Charlie blinked, processing the information. He took a deep breath, mustering the courage to explain his situation to Camille.
Charlie sighed, gathering his thoughts. "Listen, I've got cerebral palsy," he began, his voice tinged with the kind of resignation that comes from a lifetime of explaining himself. His hands, shaking despite his attempts to still them, seemed to emphasize his point. He opened and closed his fists, exasperated when the tremors only worsened. "Ever since the Protocol went live, I've had this bloody debuff next to my attributes, showing me how shit I was."
He looked away, trying to find the right words. "When I started levelling up, getting those extra attribute points, I thought maybe I'd managed to game the system. Thought maybe I'd balanced things enough to finally be...well, 'normal,' I suppose." He paused, a crooked smile forming. "Then this bloody 'condition surge' notification just popped up. My stats have just plummeted by 53%. That's why I'm shaking like a leaf, and why my head's all foggy."
He glanced at Camille, making eye contact for a fleeting second. "Thanks for getting me outta there, by the way. No one else seemed to give a damn."
Camille looked at him with a poignant mixture of sadness and understanding but Charlie also caught the curiosity in Camille's eyes as she asked, "But 'ow? 'Ow did you manage to get past that first dungeon?" For a moment, he just looked at her. There was something about her expression, the way she tilted her head, that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he could trust her with more than just words.
Decision made, he activated his ring of holding. Like a magic trick, he never got tired of, liquid metal flowed smoothly from the ring, sheathing his body until it solidified into a polished set of armour—helmet, breastplate, shoulder pauldrons, and a shield. "My brother sorted these out for me," he said, a blend of pride and gratitude lining his voice. "Taught me how to use them, too. The hardest bloody thing I've ever learned, but it saved my arse more than once. Still, that first bloody bunny almost killed me," he added, grinning at the absurdity of his own statement.
Camille remained silent for a second, her eyes scanning the details of the armour as if trying to read a story written in each etching and scar. Finally, she looked up, locking eyes with Charlie. "'Ow come you 'ave my armour? Wait, your brother, is he Ryan?" Her voice dripped with confusion that quickly turned into a sudden, widening understanding.
Charlie was taken aback. "Your armour? My brother bought it from a mate he competes with. But she's from Worcester, not France."
A peal of laughter escaped Camille's lips, rich and infectious, imbued with that same subtle French lilt. "Ah, Worcester 'as been 'ome for me since I was thirteen. My father remarried, and we moved. Ryan wanted my old armour, I sold it for new weapons." The sense of bewilderment gave way to a newfound clarity between them. Camille's ensuing smile was disarmingly radiant. "Seeing you wear it now, I am very glad I did."
She paused, her eyebrows knitting together for a moment. "Wait, did you say bunny?" Then she burst into laughter. "My first enemy was a zombie!" Charlie felt a pang of embarrassment, but it was short-lived. "Yeah, bloody Unibunnies led by a UniHare boss. Nasty buggers, they were." He delved into the details of his opening dungeon, sparing no detail about the struggles he'd faced and the injuries he'd received as a result.
Camille's eyes widened, and she let out a soft shudder. Camille visibly shuddered, her eyes widening. "That sounds far worse than my sluggish zombies. they were like those in an old Romero movie, easy to dodge unless you're stupid enough to get cornered."
The conversation turned towards their experiences in the Level 2 dungeons. Charlie listened intently as Camille began describing her own ordeal. "I was stuck in there for over a week. Dark tunnels everywhere, filled with these nasty goblins. Finally, I stumbled upon this destroyed Kobold settlement. It was 'orrible, kobolds torn to shreds, unidentifiable. And this terrible screaming in the distance from something huge. But there was an activated exit portal right next to me."
Charlie's eyes narrowed, the gears in his head spinning at full speed. The details were uncannily similar to his own experience, and when she mentioned the ruined kobold settlement, he was almost certain they'd been in the same dungeon. "So, I had to make a choice," Camille continued. "I was close to Level 3 but low on supplies. I figured, whatever is making those terrifying noises, I don't want to meet it. So, I took the portal and never looked back."
"Bloody hell," Charlie finally muttered, his suspicion turning into near certainty. "Camille, that kobold settlement you found torn to pieces? I think that's the same one I barely escaped from. I had to release a bloody Leviathan to get out, and it sounds like it might've done a number on your side of the dungeon too." Charlie then told Camille of his own time in the dungeon and what he had done at the end to seek an advantage and escape, how it had almost cost him everything.
Camille looked at him, her eyes widening in disbelief before she burst into laughter. "Charlie, you are mad!"
They both paused, absorbing the weight of their shared realizations. "If we were in the same dungeon," Charlie speculated, "and we're only 30 miles apart in the real world, imagine how many others might be connected in there." Camille nodded, her expression more serious now. "Oui, it raises a lot of questions, doesn't it?"
Inhaling deeply, Charlie felt the strange tingling sensation that had overwhelmed his senses fade away. All his stats, unnaturally screwed by the condition surge, had now recalibrated to their normal levels. He exhaled a contented sigh. "I'm alright now. Just give me a sec, I've got a new notification popping up."
Flicking through the floating interface that only he could see, Charlie's eyes landed on an unfamiliar alert directing him to a new section of his status page. Ah, it was the leaderboard he'd seen earlier hovering above the forum. But there was an additional gut punch at the bottom. The stats numbed his mind. Out of an initial two hundred and fifty thousand Precursors, after just over a month, fewer than seventy-five thousand were still breathing.
Precursor Leader board
1. Li Wei
2. Bjorn Eriksson
3. Charlie Finn
4. Emily Harris
5. Olengunin
6. Kiprop
7. Sofia Rodriguez
8. Dmitri Volkov
9. Ayesha Patel
10. Hiroshi Tanaka
11. Ana-Maria Popescu
12. Ahmed Al-Sayed
13. Gabriela Silva
14. Michael O'Donnell
15. Julia Schneider
16. Benjamin Clark
17. Zhang Xiu
18. William "Will" Thompson
19. Amara Keita
20. Camille Moreau
Precursors remaining
74 212 / 250 000
Charlie's eyes snapped to Camille, his face a canvas of horror "Holy shit, are you telling me there's less than seventy-five thousand of us now?"
Her eyes met his, shadowed with the same dread he felt. "Oui, and even if by some chance all of us survive until this whole thing ends, well, more than one hundred and seventy-five thousand dungeons will still be bursting at the seams in about deux months."
The weight of her words crushed Charlie. In a split second, his world imploded. Everything was fucked. Truly, utterly fucked. The grim realization settled over him like a shroud; there was no salvation, no deus ex machina that would swoop in and set things right. All they could do was buckle up, survive, and grow stronger. "Right. We're on the same page then. The world's fucked, and all we can do is level up and get stronger or die trying," Charlie said, his words tinged with a fatalistic resolve.
She nodded, her expression unflinching. "Exactement. that is more or less what the 'eated debate downstairs is all about. One group thinks we should collaborate, and pool our skills for these dungeons. the other lot? They are talking full-on revolution, taking over governments to grab whatever resources we can."
Camille's eyes suddenly glazed over, as if she'd tuned out. Charlie knew that look; she was navigating through her own heads-up display. He briefly wondered how daft he must look when he did the same, eyes unfocused while scrolling through invisible menus. A moment later, Camille snapped back to reality, her eyes locking onto his with an unexpected urgency. "Charlie Finn?" she questioned.
He nodded, puzzled. "Yeah, that's me. What's up?" "Ah, 'ow could I be so stupid not to connect the dots?" Before he could react, Camille grasped his right arm, twisting it gently to reveal the number '3' branded on its side.
"Charlie," she implored, "you 'ave to go there. You must do something, oui?"