03 May

There is something troubling about the humans. We must keep a close watch on them. —Ionia Amyla.

I stayed up late that night.

Mum had long since gone to bed, but I remained at my computer, pouring over the Trials Infopedia.

I still had no idea what to make of Overworld, Duskar, Ionia, or the gnomes’ information. It all still felt like a hoax to me—I mean, who could believe the world was going to end in two weeks?—and the gnomes’ ‘data’ only deepened my belief that it was an elaborate lie.

But whether fake or not, the information contained in the Trials Infopedia was as fascinating as it was dense. The amount of data contained in the wiki’s webpages was more than enough to fill a dozen encyclopaedias twice over. It would take me months, I realised, to sift through the mountain of information. I started by skimming through the thoughtfully provided synopses.

According to the wiki, Overworld was a land controlled by a Game: the so-called Trials. Or at least, that’s how I interpreted what I read.

Overworld was supposedly filled with dungeons, monsters, resources, and regions called Dominions. Each Dominion was the territory of a specific species, and it expanded or contracted as that race’s players gained or lost ground, or factions within the territory revolted or joined other Dominions.

The Trials, it seemed, had no purpose other than advancing its players, both on an individual and species level.

But for all that the Trials was seemingly a game, it contained no game constructs, nor artificial intelligence. Every player was a thinking being, and every monster and beast a living, breathing creature, even in the dungeons.

The most intriguing aspect of Overworld though, was its levelling system. It was completely open-ended, with no classes, item restrictions, level caps, or even limits to the number of traits a player could obtain. And in that way, it differed strikingly from Earth games.

The game mechanics—or Trials as the overworlders referred to it—made no attempt at balance. It focused purely on measuring a player’s achievements and rewarding them accordingly with knowledge and physical enhancements.

And that was the extent of the Trials ‘interference.’

There were no system-generated quests or items. Everything was controlled by players and their struggle for survival, whether as individuals, nations, or factions. It was a player-driven world, and in an environment that sounded as intriguing as it did brutal and unbalanced.

I realised then there was nothing fair about Overworld.

Even the manner of humanity’s entrance in the Trials reeked of unfairness, and assuming that all of this was not some bizarre fabrication, then neither I, nor Mum, nor even humanity in its entirety, could expect any mercy.

Perhaps, Overworld is not a game, after all, I mused, rethinking my initial assessment.

Maybe the word ‘Trials’ was less a misnomer than I had thought it was, and more reflective of what Overworld actually was. And maybe, Ionia had spoken true.

Perhaps Overworld really is meant to be a training ground. But to what end?

“What will it take to survive in such a world?” I murmured, glancing again at the screen I had been staring at for the last hour.

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Depicted on the webpage in a single, succinct diagram was the Trials measurement system. There were four key aspects to it: Potentials, Attributes, Disciplines, and Techniques.

Disciplines were skills—knowledge that could be directly acquired from the system. There were hundreds of Disciplines, and seemingly no restrictions on which ones a player could learn, but there were three limiting factors.

One, a player was granted only five Tokens every level he advanced. These could be used to advance a player’s Discipline in whatever manner desired, but the limit of five Tokens seemed a hard restriction that could only be lifted by rare Traits.

Two, the effectiveness of a player’s Techniques—or abilities—was determined by both his Disciplines and the related Attributes.

Attributes enhanced a player’s physical and mental characteristics through the use of Marks, and a player only received two of them every level.

Three, and most importantly, Attributes were not freewheeling characteristics; instead, they themselves were limited by a player’s core nature: his Potentials.

All Potentials were locked from birth, determined by the die of fate. There was no way to change them. If you had no Potential for Magic, you could not cast spells. It was that simple. Your Potentials were what they were.

It seemed a needlessly cruel and arbitrary system for a game to have.

Yet despite its resemblance to one, I grew more sure that Overworld was not a game. It was a living, breathing world, and if by some madness I was forced to venture into its depths, then I would have to hold fast to that understanding, or face the consequences.

But I can’t enter Overworld.

The realisation came swift and sharp. Mum would not survive there, and she was my first responsibility. I looked down at my hobbled foot. I wouldn’t survive there either.

My crippling was courtesy of a drunken driver who’d failed to keep his car on the road. The bones in my left ankle and foot had been crushed in the accident and had never recovered properly.

Despite running herself ragged, Mum had not been able to afford anything more than the most rudimentary of surgeries to mend the damage. Now years later, the bones had fused together, leaving me hobbled for life.

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In many ways, the accident had been harder on Mum than me. I knew she had never forgiven herself for not being able to provide me with the care I needed. And if I had to guess where her slow decline of mental health had begun, it would have to be there.

I swallowed back the memories. My handicap did not bother me anymore. I had been living with my hobbled foot for so long, I could barely remember a time when I could run or even jump as freely as I once had.

But crippled, how would I ever survive on Overworld?

Duskar’s ultimatum had to be nonsense. Didn’t it? Regardless of everything that happened, the notion that the world would end in two weeks was still preposterous.

It has to be.

No, as exciting as Eric and my other gaming friends likely found the prospect of Overworld, it simply wasn’t for me. Stifling yet another yawn, I got up and headed to bed.

✽✽✽

I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and bloodshot eyes. I glanced at the clock. It was seven AM. I had only managed four hours of sleep.

With a groan, I flopped back onto my bed. Why did I go to sleep so late? I groused. Determinedly, I closed my eyes, and tried to let sleep claim me again, but it was not to be.

The honking of a car horn, the calls of a bird, the streaming sunlight, and the sounds of Mum clattering in the kitchen all served to defeat my attempts.

Accepting the inevitable, I sat up with a groan and limped to the bathroom. I leaned over the sink and stared at my haggard face. It was a face with far too many age lines for a man just twenty-four years old. Too many responsibilities, too many bills to pay, and not enough hours in the day.

At least until a few days ago.

Now it seemed I had more time on my hands than I cared for. “What do we do today, Jamie?” I asked my reflection. My hazel eyes stared back at me, no more enlightened than I was. I rubbed at my chin. My dark-brown stubble was beginning to look ragged. I needed to shave soon. But it could wait.

Tomorrow, I decided. Or the day after. It was not like I was going anywhere.

After finishing my morning rituals, I tottered back to my room and surveyed its contents. My gaze drifted from my computer to the columns of books stacked from floor to ceiling.

No games today, I decided.

None of the hundreds installed on my machine sparked my interest, not after reading the Trials Infopedia last night. Tilting my head to the right, I studied the pile of novels again. Perhaps, I would read today. It had been a while since I’d lost myself in a good book.

“Jamie!” Mum called from the lounge. “Is that you? Are you finally awake? Come see what’s on the news!”

I groaned quietly. I was damnably tired of hearing about the artefacts. What now? I wondered. But I didn’t let any of my ill-humour colour my voice as I called back, “Coming, Ma. Be there in a minute.”

Grabbing a well-worn copy of a favourite book of mine, I made my way into the living room. “What is it, Mum?” I asked, seating myself beside her on the couch. I glanced at her as I did. Her colour was better today—her face was not as pale and her eyes actually sparkled with interest.

Contrary to my expectations, yesterday’s news seemed to have raised her spirits. Perhaps, I can even return to work tomorrow, I thought with cautious optimism.

“It’s the New York gate. Something is coming through!”

“What?” I asked, my jaw dropping open. I swung around to face the television. It was true. Reporters on the scene were gesticulating wildly as they filmed a small column of orcs making their way through the gate. The orcs carried a cloth banner bearing the insignia of a single fang. Duskar’s men, I guessed.

Federal agents and military personnel rushed to surround them, guns drawn and pointed at the self-declared enemies of humanity.

I for one was simply amazed that the artefact really was a gate. If the orcs were here—on Earth—they had to have come from somewhere, and where else could that be but Overworld.

So it really exists.

And if the aliens were not lying about Overworld’s existence, it was possible the gnomes’ description of the Trials system was correct too. I pushed down my trepidation, and the excitement I sensed worming through.

It is not for me, I reminded myself. Or Mum.

Wrenching my thoughts away from Overworld, I studied the orcs through the dozens of government personnel around them.

The overworlders were green-skinned giants. They were half-again as tall as the average human and had hands as large as most men’s heads. Each was covered in a mountain of steel and carried an arsenal of weapons: swords, axes, hammers, and the like.

Their attire did not surprise me. I already knew from my reading into the Infopedia that Overworld was a technologically backward world—and one supposedly with magic too. The wiki’s claim of magic hadn’t shocked me either, not considering everything else that had occurred. How else to explain the gates appearance?

Given the orcs’ stature, it was easy to understand why they seemed one of Overworld’s dominant species. They must make fearsome warriors—on Overworld.

But they would stand no chance on Earth. The armour each behemoth wore wouldn’t protect them against the fury of modern weaponry.

I leaned forward in anticipation of the upcoming confrontation. The orcs were about to be taught a lesson, one they wouldn’t likely soon forget.

An army colonel was yelling at the orcs to drop their weapons. The green-skinned giants ignored him. Forming into twin lines, they marched forward.

I noticed they were making directly for the largest concentration of defenders. The colonel shouted more orders and his soldiers pulled back.

The orcs kept advancing. The human officer yelled at them to stop again, but once more the overworlders ignored him and with flagrant disregard for the weapons pointed their way, ploughed through the defenders’ barricades.

The colonel had had enough. Giving up on his attempts at reason, he ordered his men to fire.

Chaos ensued, and the broadcast devolved into blurred scenes of half-caught movement, smoke-filled fury, screaming civilians, and unintelligible commentary from the reporter.

I clenched my hands and waited for order to be restored. Finally, after ten more seconds, the camera’s field of view cleared.

My eyes widened in disbelief.

The orcs were standing unharmed beneath a transparent ruby dome. The force field—because that what it surely had to be—seemed to originate from the raised wooden staff of the lead orc.

That orc, while steel-clad like his fellows, bore only one weapon: a wooden staff. His armour, too, was different. Where his fellows’ breastplates were plain, his was adorned with strange runes similar to those inscribed on the gate.

A mage?

The warriors behind the mage stared in angry confusion at the soldiers, who after observing how little effect their rifles had, backed further away.

It was evident the overworlders had never seen human weapons before, but it was equally clear, they were unimpressed. The largest orc raised his massive two-handed axe and bellowed in fury, causing the remaining civilians to flee.

The warrior stepped forward, probably with the intent of charging the soldiers, but the mage placed a hand on the axeman’s arm, and he fell back into position.

The colonel, however, was not done yet. Speaking rapidly into his radio, he called in the waiting armoured tanks. Their turrets lifted and rotated into position, but before the final order to fire could be given, the orcs vanished.

The colonel and the reporters scratched their heads in confusion.

I did likewise. Where’d they go?

✽✽✽

It did not take long for the world to find out.

Contrary to the media’s military commenters who were vocal in their opinion that the orcs had fled—scared off by humanity’s might—the orcs had not retreated. Instead, they had teleported themselves to an apartment a few blocks from the gate, where for some inexplicable reason they abducted its sole occupant.

News crews rushed to the scene, but they were too late. The orcs were gone long before the cameras arrived, leaving the unhappy reporters with nothing to film but the destruction the orcs left in their wake.

And there was a lot of it.

The green-skinned invaders had made no attempt to disguise their presence. Bodies of innocent bystanders cleaved in half, broken walls, and busted doors all bore testament to the orcs’ proclivity for violence.

I gripped Mum’s hand tightly. Staring at the orcs’ gruesome handiwork finally drove home the reality of the last few days.

Earth had been invaded by hostile aliens.

And it seemed we were helpless to stop them. I glanced at Mum. How was I going to protect her? Only now did I realise that I might need to physically shield her from the violence the invaders brought. But how? Guns were of no use. The military had already proved that. I stared down at my arms.

Once, I had prided myself on my athletic ability. But since the accident, I had shied away from all physical activities, turning my mind to purely academic pursuits.

And now, I thought bitterly, I am in no condition to protect myself, much less Mum.

What do I do?