In the Core’s failing utopia, on the 26th floor of the gold-bricked skyscraper named Elysium Orchards #17, in the cheapest studio unit available at the time he had moved in, Nathan groaned and pinched the bridge of his snout with exasperation and foreboding.
“You don’t run toward the screaming woman, you gods-damned numbskull!” Nathan yelled, shaking the small screen in front of him, the danger of a potential explosion fading away alongside the digesting meal in his belly.
Samuel Cardwell's survival up to this point was nothing short of miraculous. He had endured countless trials and tribulations, and yet he remained tenacious and resilient. But it wasn't just his resilience that kept him alive; he had also been incredibly lucky. Despite his lack of a cohesive class with synergistic abilities, Samuel had managed to become a formidable fighter. Umbral Shift and fire magic didn’t exactly go together, and neither were promising long-range spells. Both demanded Samuel get in close—too close.
Nathan struggled with the camera controls on his screen, attempting to inch the perspective forward to see what unfortunate dangers lay ahead for Samuel. The controls, however, were unintuitive and frustrating. Despite the screens providing a semblance of omnipresence for those watching, the user interface was abysmal and made it difficult to gather any meaningful information. Nathan felt like he was trying to push a wet Bluindrix from behind. The harder he pushed it, the more it seemed to fight him, wanting to go anywhere but where he asked it to.
Finally, Nathan was able to pause the screen at a distance from the conflict Samuel was heading toward. Despite the screen's small size, he could see a trade caravan under attack by an overwhelming number of zombies. Nathan estimated that there were dozens of them, possibly even more. As he focused on the group of victims, Player ID #’s floated above two of them, but they were too small for Nathan to read and use their numbers to focus his screen on. He attempted to adjust his camera controls to get a closer look, but in his haste, his controls malfunctioned, and the viewing device snapped back to Samuel's position.
Bottom line, joining the fight would be suicide.
“Please don’t be a hero,” Nathan begged, watching his tag-along client—his last hope after his original lesser ticket client had died and changed into a zombie—run toward sounds of battle and of people dying. “I need you to live… Just a bit longer…”
If only Nathan had 10,000 credits, he could have projected his plea into Samuel's mind. But he didn't have that kind of money, so his words were only hot air adding to the stench of his apartment. He turned to his screen, searching once again for the potential winnings if Samuel were to die at this point. The numbers hadn't changed much.
PLAYER EMW35474-2: SAMUEL CARDWELL
CURRENT WINNINGS ON TIME OF DEATH:
SURVIVAL TIME: 125 CREDITS
FEATS: 375 CREDITS
Nathan did some mental mouth, counting sums against his deal with Danica, the beautiful Mataran that had sold him a portion of the ticket. If Samuel was about to die, and he very well probably was, Nathan would earn a whopping 100 credits. He’d be out 200 credits and not even make up for the money he had given the other Mataran. Oscar had given nothing for his abysmal performance. It felt a bit rude that The Core had kept the husk of Oscar and made him undead. It would be a terrible irony if Oscar were to dole out Samuel’s demise.
Every day that passed the survival time payout would rise on an exponential growth curve. If his fools for clients had listened, they would have made Nathan an easy return before either starving to death after a couple weeks or dying a gruesome death. Feats were a riskier endeavor with greater payout potential, but that was the path of numbskulls.
The crystal-clear image of Samuel running through the forest froze.
Frowning, Nathan smacked the side of the screen.
“Not again…” He muttered. “Work you stupid thing!”
The Core spoke into his mind.
GREETINGS, DENIZENS OF THE CORE. I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT THE INITIAL MORTALITY PROJECTIONS FOR THE 743rd ITERATION OF THE INTERSTELLAR GAMES HAS BEEN SURPASSED. THE PERCENTAGE OF REMAINING PLAYERS WITH GREATER, COMMON, AND LESSER TICKETS STAND AT 67%, 33%, AND 8%, RESPECTIVELY.
TO ADDRESS THIS EVOLVING SITUATION, THE SECOND VISITATION WITH YOUR CLIENT SHALL COMMENCE PRECISELY ONE HOUR FROM NOW. YOU MAY PRESENT YOUR CLIENT A SINGLE GIFT FROM THE CATALOGS AT THE CORE’S EXPENSE. FROM NOW UNTIL YOUR VISITATION CONCLUDES, THE GAMEWORLD HAS BEEN PAUSED TO ALLOW YOU TIME TO RESTRATEGIZE.
THE INTRICACIES OF THIS SITUATION ARE EVER-CHANGING, BUT REST ASSURED THAT THE INTERSTELLAR GAME’S PRIMARY OBJECTIVE REMAINS TO PROVIDE THE BEST POSSIBLE ENTERTAINMENT FOR ITS VIEWERS AND PREPARE THEM FOR THE MULTIVERSAL GAMES.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTINUED PARTICIPATION.
“The fuck?” Nathan asked.
That was the most The Core had spoken. Ever.
“What are the multiversal games?”
For the last four games, the entire time Nathan had been a citizen of the Megalopolis that he now called home, The Core had never once changed its timeline on sponsor visits. And never once had The Core simply paused the entire gameworld. Nathan flicked through some of the popular Player’s feeds to confirm that everyone else was frozen, too.
“The fuck?” Nathan asked again to empty air.
In a little less than an hour, Samuel would be teleported back on top of Nathan. The Mataran giggled at his good fortune. Not only was the Core giving a gift from the catalogs pro-bono, but he also had another chance to convince Samuel to hunker down and hide. He was going to use whatever lie he could do to it, too.
The Core’s catalog held the entire list of abilities, items, spells, weapons, and more available in the game. There was only one problem, and that realization dawned on Nathan like a bad hangover.
The catalogs were only available at the bidding building.
“Not again…”
----------------------------------------
Samuel crashed to a floor made of marbled stone and skid to a stop. He groaned, feeling with trembling fingertips that the recently cauterized wounds all over his body had torn open and beads of blood were once again dotting his skin.
He surveyed his surroundings. The room he had been teleported to was nothing short of opulent; the grandiose space was filled with gaudy displays of wealth and extravagance. The marble tiles, each about a dozen feet wide, were held together with solid chunks of gold instead of grout. As he looked up, he saw columns composed of delicate sculptures of different aliens stacked on top of one another, rising some hundred feet into the air. The ceiling above was adorned with a painting so breathtakingly beautiful that it could have made Michelangelo cry out in jealousy. It depicted what Samuel thought could be the different interpretations of creation, where life began, as told by a hundred different cultures as strange as the last.
This was not Nathan’s apartment.
Four other humans Samuel did not recognize, a woman and three men, were also standing in awe in the open space. One of the men gripped a great battle-axe that should have been too heavy to wield. He was speckled with blood, as if he had been ripped out of the middle of a fight.
YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES WITH YOUR SPONSOR.
"You've got to stop teleporting me," he muttered, still reeling from the disorienting experience. The Core had given him some warning, but it hadn’t fully prepared Samuel for the sudden return to movement. He had been at a dead run in the forest when everything had frozen, and that same momentum carried him here. He stood up, suddenly embarrassed by the fact he was shirtless, ready to greet the four others, and saw a mass of blood and fur on the floor between them.
“Nathan?” Samuel asked, his echoing voice filling the grand space.
A wet cough answered with pseudo-assent. It was Nathan, and he looked as though he had fallen into a blender. Grizzly wounds laced the rat-man’s body and dark blood soaked his fur making it several shades darker.
Cautiously, Samuel approached and knelt next to his sponsor. He was aware of the eyes of the four others watching him, studying him, and just as unsure of their surroundings as he was.
“Nathan?” Samuel whispered, his hand hovering a few inches away from the ruined fur, afraid to touch the creature out of fear of contracting some disease or another. “What happened?”
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Nathan regarded Samuel with a beady black eye, his chest heaving with labored and raspy gasps. He licked bloody lips with a long tongue, causing Samuel to pull his hand away in revulsion.
The Mataran laughed and coughed bloody phlegm across the delicate marble flooring, one drop making it as far as Samuel’s leather shoe.
“Xæç…” Nathan breathed out.
“What was that?” Samuel asked.
“Xæç,” A smooth voice behind the four other humans answered.
From behind the legs of the four other humans a small blue alien right out of a bad 1960’s movie walked out. It had a head and eyes far too large, blue skin, a neck far too thin, and a tiny body, likely only reaching Samuel’s waist in height. The others didn’t seem put off by the alien’s appearance.
Samuel stood and drew Echoes of Umbra, surprised to find the dagger still with him. The promise of heat wanting release built up. Potential energy needing outlet. He wondered at why the magic hadn’t been stripped from him. Could he kill Nathan? Or this Xæç? Could they kill him? It seemed like a serious security risk.
“You’re a Martian,” Samuel stated dumbly.
“I’m not—” the alien—Xæç—started before stopping. “Doesn’t matter. I’m Xæç, and it is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
“Hello,” Samuel replied, eyeing the five-pronged whip Xæç twirled through the air, bits of Nathan’s fur and blood still clinging to its metallic ends.
Samuel shook his head and readied himself for violence, feeling renewed heat build in his chest.
“Now, now,” Xæç said. “No need for that. I’m not here to fight you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I have a proposition for you, something that I believe would be mutually beneficial.”
“Propose away.”
Xæç tilted her big head to the side and raised a hairless eyebrow, as if studying Samuel. The gesture only made Samuel wonder how she didn’t tip over.
“This isn’t widely known, largely because sponsors don’t want it to be and The Core actively limits your options for gaining knowledge, but clients have the option to submit a formal petition to The Core for a new sponsor. If you feel Nathan isn’t fulfilling his responsibilities to you, you can… sign yourself on with another sponsor.”
“Uh huh, and how exactly does this help me?”
The four other humans looked nervous, bored, or irritated. There was no emotional consistency between them, so Samuel was unsure how to take the situation.
“As you may have noticed, a Mataran is a disgusting and untrustworthy creature, unworthy of any respect. He’s likely lied to you. Told you your best path to simply survive as long as possible, right? That’ll extend your lifespan to a point, but it is a recipe for inevitable death. The only way to protect yourself and actually survive is to fight and get stronger. He probably told you to steal anything and everything you can from people, stab them in the back, right? You are better than the life of an untrustworthy loner.”
Samuel tried to hold a neutral expression, but he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment and anger. He was equal parts put off by her wanton display of xenophobia and put on by how accurately she had described Nathan’s suspect advice.
After consideration, Samuel gave a small nod to confirm her words.
Xæç continued. “If you were to petition The Core for Nathan’s removal of sponsorship and request that I take over, I will purchase an item of your choice for you to help you in your journey. Anything you want. Another magical ability, weapon, armor, or familiar, it’s yours.”
The man with the battle-axe cleared his throat. “What about us?”
“Yes, obviously for you too, Henry.”
A wet gurgle came from Nathan as he tried to say something. Xæç cracked her whip in the open air and Nathan quieted down to a whimper.
“Why not just kill Nathan?” Samuel asked.
“Because then your sponsorship ticket would go back into official bidding for a random sponsor to buy you, and I wouldn’t be able to afford you. I’ve also exacted payment from Nathan and he is no longer in my debt. I may be… unyielding, but I am not a murderer.”
“I appreciate the candor.”
“Zænûthîns are known for their honesty,” Xæç said, inclining her head.
“Why’d you have to beat him half to death?” Samuel said, gesturing at Nathan.
“He made collecting more difficult than it had to be.”
A silence hung in the air between then.
“Well, think it over,” Xæç said. “I’m going to purchase gifts for my clients now.”
Xæç walked over to a terminal in the far wall and opened up what looked like an online store on the screen.
Samuel turned his attention back to Nathan. A single black eye looked up at Samuel with resignation.
“You going to die?” Samuel asked.
Nathan wheezed. “Probably.”
“Think she’ll actually buy me a gift?”
“The Core…” Nathan said, a bit of blood dribbling from his mouth onto the marble floor. “Is giving a single item to every client for free. She lied.”
“And Zenathi-whatevers are known for their honesty... What would you do here, if it was you?”
“I’d leave you.”
“You want to live?”
“What?”
“I asked if you want to live.”
“I do—”
Samuel sheathed his dagger and swiftly pressed a flaming thumb onto Nathan's wounds, cauterizing them with a searing heat. Despite the rat-man's writhing and groaning, Samuel worked with a cold efficiency and turned his nose up at the putrid stench of burnt fur.
As he worked, Samuel pondered his motives for helping Nathan. Was it a matter of his moral code, which prevented him from standing by while an intelligent creature died? Or was it because Xæç, with her lengthy diatribe and obvious prejudice, had been even more unappealing than Nathan's open belligerence? Perhaps it was the sheer satisfaction of watching Nathan suffer, even if it was for his own good in the end.
Regardless of the reason, Samuel was struck with a sudden idea after sealing the last of Nathan's wounds. The thought danced at the edge of his consciousness, teasing him with its implications. With a faint smirk, Samuel turned to Nathan and leaned in close. "You owe me now," he said, the hint of a threat lurking in his words.
Nathan let out a wet laugh, gritting his sharp teeth against the apparent tormenting pain of his recently blistered skin.
“Join the line,” Nathan said.
“You’re bleeding internally,” Samuel said.
“Yep.”
“Do you think I can access that terminal over there? Pick an item for myself?
“No idea…”
“Worth a shot,” Samuel said, standing and walking over to Xæç and the gaggle of humans.
The battle-axe wielder was drinking from some kind of animal’s horn. It was curving and ornate and faintly glowing. When the man finished, the horn crumbled to dust, and he staggered back, clutching his stomach. His already taught skin grew tighter as the man’s muscles grew to visible degrees. Stretch marks appeared along the man’s bicep and he stood with heaving breaths. He swung the axe in great arcs, making it seem as though it were now as light as a feather. The other gifts Xæç had “purchased” for her clients were equally as promising. A supple short bow made of an otherworldly white wood for the woman, a sword with a jagged edge and rubied pommel for one of the other men, and a small glowing blue stone for the final man—possibly something like the firestone.
Samuel grinned. His biggest problem so far in the game world had been his near constant injury. A sprained ankle. Punctured skin. He was battered and bruised and ready for some magical relief.
YOU HAVE TWO MINUTES REMAINING WITH YOUR SPONSOR.
“Shit,” Samuel muttered, breaking into a run toward the terminal.
The buff axe-man stepped directly in front of Samuel, causing him to stop suddenly and stumble backward. The man had to be taller than six-and-a-half feet. The horn had made him wide, too. A wall of flesh. He held his great-axe in one hand, resting the heft of it on his shoulder. It would be terribly easy for the man to tip it forward and onto Samuel.
“I just need to use the computer-thing!” Samuel said, desperate. “I mean you no harm.”
“Okey-doke,” the big man said amiably, all previous menace disappearing as he stepped to the side to let Samuel pass. He kept a hand on his axe, though.
“What are you doing?” Xæç asked, affronted by the interruption.
Samuel ignored the little alien, poking furiously at the terminal. To call the interface unintuitive was an understatement. While he was glad that the script appeared as English, the buttons were placed in odd locations, making the process to navigate the catalogs laborious and slow. He scrolled past a sea of weapons, searching, searching. The page listing magic had only twelve spells. He scanned them and saw nothing related to healing magic.
“Shit, shit, shit,” He muttered, turning to Xæç. “Is there a search function on this thing?”
Xæç shrugged. “Could be. I’ll tell you if you have your sponsorship transferred to me.”
“Uh huh,” Samuel said, turning to the screen.
The big man with the axe leaned over Samuel’s shoulder and tapped on a small icon resembling a spiraling line. I search bar appeared and the man grunted with satisfaction.
“Thanks,” Samuel muttered. He typed [HEALTH] into the screen.
[NO RESULTS]
He tried typing [HEAL].
[NO RESULTS]
Time was ticking. He typed [RESTORE].
[NO RESULTS]
He needed a goddamned thesaurus.
“Try ‘Life’”, the woman Xæç had given the bow to said. All four of the other humans were leaning over his shoulders now, peering down at the screen.
Samuel typed [LIFE] and a single item appeared on the screen.
ITEM: SAPPER’S EMBRACE
TYPE: BRACER
RARITY: EPIC
COST: FREE
THE ‘SAPPER'S EMBRACE’ WAS CREATED BY A CABAL OF MILITARY WIZARDS DURING A TIME OF WAR. SEEKING A WAY TO LIMIT CATASROPHIC LOSS OF LIFE, THE WIZARDS DESIGNED THE BRACER TO GATHER AND STORE AMBIENT LIFE FORCE ENERGY FROM LOCAL FAUNA.
OVER TIME, THE SAPPER'S EMBRACE BECAME HIGHLY SOUGHT-AFTER, BECOMING ITSELF THE VERY REASON FOR SOME WARS FOR ITS UNIQUE ABILITY TO HEAL CRITICAL WOUNDS AND INJURIES. DESPITE BEING ORIGINALLY DESIGNED FOR HEALING, THE BRACER—
Samuel stopped reading and punched the [PURCHASE] button located on the top left of the screen. Time was running out. The bracer materialized in front of Samuel and hovered in the air.
The wrought iron that composed the bracer had been forged hastily and without care for finer detailing. The rough texture of the metal bore witness to the urgency of its creation, individual hammer strikes still visible. Nevertheless, the craftsmanship was not without its charms. Intricate, silver metal runes encircled an oblong, opaque white gemstone embedded in the center of the bracer. Samuel had never seen a stone quite like it before, and he found himself staring at it momentarily.
Samuel snatched the bracer out of the air and ran for Nathan.
“See you down there, maybe!” The big man called after Samuel.
Samuel pushed Sapper’s Embrace onto his left forearm—the arm opposite his mark from the firestone—and tied its leather straps hastily. Just as he had with Umbral Shift, he willed his intention into the bracer. The gemstone blazed a brilliant white light and a single particle of white energy holding itself together like a droplet of water in space escaped Samuel’s palm. He pressed it into Nathan’s side and the Mataran shuddered with visible relief as the magic made his rough skin and fur glow a pale white. The stone embedded in the bracer had grown visibly clearer, it’s former opaque whiteness giving way.
Sparks of blue and gold popped around Samuel, signaling his time was at an end.
He caught Nathan’s eye and whispered, “You owe me.”
Samuel disappeared from the space.