Forger of Worlds Read online

  As Ozzy talked about the future of mankind, I made my way down the aisle toward the VR pod in the center. There was a big number nine stenciled on the side in blood-red paint, and as I moved toward it, I shut my eyes and inhaled. The smell of the arena, a mixture of sweat, pain, and effort, filled my lungs, and a smile crossed my lips as I reached out my hands on either side of myself so my fingertips could just brush the fence that separates me from the roaring fans. They were booing in earnest now, and it made my blood sing with excitement.

  Their boos made me want to show them just how great I was, to prove them wrong in a way I hadn’t been able to do in years. After all, when you’re an up and comer and a champ, people cheer for you.

  I curled my hands into fists, and my VR gloves tightened with the effort as I and opened my eyes and took a couple of quick steps forward. Then I whirled around on one foot so that I faced the crowd with my arms outstretched and bowed to the crowd.

  The boos grew in intensity.

  It almost made me wish I had a mic.

  So I did the next best thing.

  I flipped them the bird, spun on my heel, and clambered up the side of my pod. It was a pretty nice model, also made by NInaCorp, and unlike with the suit, I’d used it before.

  After all, pods were provided by the holder of the tournament. It was something my manager hated almost more than my sponsors, but I didn’t care.

  I loved the feel of the NInaCorp Mark two two three. It was classic in all the right ways. A big silver ball that would fill with Liquid VR goo that would interface with my suit and sense every movement I made while inside. No bells. No whistles. No mods. Just a man, his suit, and his bucket full of goo.

  Overhead, the lid shut with a pneumatic hiss of air, and as it did, the number ten flashed on the screen in front of me before starting to count down. As it did, the goo began to flow up from the floor. It was one of the weirdest things about VR pods. The goo. It was almost exactly body temperature, which made it feel both cold and hot at the same time.

  As the goo began to rise, I allowed myself to commit fully to the moment and, well, tried not to swallow my tongue, as the data receivers in my mask began to fire. The sounds of the arena outside washed away, replaced by the tuning rhythms of the sound modulators in my mask. As that happened, my vision began to flicker as it attuned to the new data being fed to it.

  Sure, they were basically VR goggles, but they were so much more, like contact lenses that fed images right into your optic nerves in a full-on explosion of light, color, and energy.

  This was always the worst part, and even with all my experience and training, I couldn’t help but feel my heart rate start to race. That’s when I saw my heart rate in the corner. Usually, I was pretty low at around seventy beats per minute, but at the moment, I was peaking at nearly a hundred more than that. I knew it’d fall, it always did, but right now, that wasn’t a comfort.

  Instead, as the goo flowed up to my waist, I tried moving my legs and found that while it was a touch less responsive than my Spensermatic 9000 VR suit, it was more comfortable. Like how wearing an old workout shirt was comfortable. Hard to quantify, but if it felt this good, and handled as well as the specs said it would, I might just have to tell my sponsor to suck it sideways.

  A few moments later, the goo filled the pod, and while I knew most people freaked out when their faces submerged, I never had, thanks in part to training with scuba gear. After all, there was nothing scarier than jumping in the fucking ocean out in the middle of nowhere with who knew what beneath the surface.

  So, I just took a few slow breaths and opened my eyes.

  It was no surprise, but I found myself staring at a special ability select screen.

  Now, normally, about ten well-paid strategists helped me decide on what to use for a match. That said, as often as not, I just went with what my own gut told me. I had in the last World Championship, anyway, and I’d won.

  So, I looked over the thousands of abilities. While I wasn’t one hundred percent familiar with them because I’d never been in this SimuGame before, I quickly realized that if I thought about what I wanted, the equivalent ability would pop up in front of me with a demo. Should I go for Crimson Blood Fist? It would combo well with Fire Enigma, and if I chained that with Soul Breeze, I could probably one hit someone. It would be similar to what I used in the finals.

  That said, there was another option that was way more intriguing, and I felt myself smile guiltily as I selected.

  “You have selected ‘Random,’” the cutesy voice of Nina, the small pink-haired spitfire who owned the company said. “Are you sure you wish to have all your special abilities randomly selected?”

  “Yes,” I said with a smirk.

  “You have selected ‘Random.’ As such all your abilities will be randomly drawn for the match ahead,” Nina confirmed. “Now, choose your advanced skill.”

  “Do random for that too… and for weapons and armor.” What can I say? I was feeling ballsy.

  A few more moments and I’d confirmed that I, in fact, was an idiot and wanted to have my abilities, weapons, and armor all selected randomly from a nearly limitless pool. It would all but ensure nothing I had would work together.

  That’s what made it even more fun.

  “All of your selections have been finalized,” Nina confirmed before smiling wide like the bloodthirsty bitch I knew her to be. “Go forth and conquer!”

  “I will,” I said as the world around me reformed into what looked like a giant roman gladiator arena. The marble stands stood high and were filled with screaming fans. Twin suns blazed high overhead, and I could feel the heat start to drip down the back of my neck. I tuned it out because it wasn’t real and focused on the arena itself.

  It was a standard no frills place. Just a giant oval maybe a hundred yards in diameter with no walls or other hiding places.

  Surprisingly, I wasn’t the first person here. Across the bloody sand of the arena was a man dressed from head to toe in what looked black metal armor, and if I had to guess from the glint of the sun on the plates, he probably had the Shadowstep skill. It was a common enough special ability and allowed the user to step through the shadows and appear behind his opponent. Classic, and easy enough to deal with if you knew it was coming.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked as his fingers tightened around the wicked looking mace in his hand.

  “Me?” I asked, confused.

  “You're dressed like a clown shoe.” He shook his head. “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not you specifically?” I shrugged as the counter in the corner of my vision informed me that the match would start in thirty or so seconds. “Is there a problem?”

  “The only problem is you’re about to get owned.” He stomped his foot in a huff. “Who the hell wears a chain shirt with cotton leggings and a Bartleby helmet?”

  “Me,” I said with more confidence than my gear should have given me.

  Chain shirts were notoriously heavy. Not as heavy as plate, but they also had a lot less protection. And cotton pants? That was just a terrible choice. Maybe if I were trying to be quick, it would be a good pick, but with the chain shirt, well, that wouldn’t be happening.

  The Bartleby helmet was interesting though. In exchange for randomly making me go blind and providing almost no damage reduction, it would allow me to use my special one extra time.

  Speaking of which...

  I glanced at my abilities as the rest of my opponents appeared in the arena, and my smile almost faltered.

  I had Diamond Punch which, while powerful, required a six-second charge to use, Quetzalcoatl that would let me cover my body in electricity while also dealing damage to myself, and Back Dash, an ability that would double my damage when used from behind, assuming I had a dagger equipped.

  “That’s not so bad,” I said as I checked my weapon. I had a fucking whip. It was so ridiculous I almost wanted to laugh.

  Still, I had the Bartleby helmet, and I could u
se my special twice. Specials were normally game changers.

  Only… as I looked at the ability, my smile finally died on my face.

  Cursed Soul. Passive. The more damage a user takes, the more damage a user will deal.

  “Well, fuck,” I said as the counter hit zero and a buzzer sounded.

  3

  There was a whoosh behind me, and I whirled around in time to see the black knight from earlier Shadowstep behind me. Or at least, it had been behind me. He must not have expected me to turn around because he hesitated for a fraction of a second before bringing his mace down in an overhead strike meant to smash my Bartleby-helmeted head like a casaba melon.

  I used his hesitation to kick him in the left knee. The move caused his leg to straighten, sending him off balance enough for me to step in, grab his descending wrist, and shift my hips to throw him to the bloody sand. He hit with a hard umph on his back, and I dropped my knee onto his throat with all my weight behind it.

  He gurgled, his hands flying to his throat as he thrashed for breath, and I used that time to pick up his mace and bash in his skull.

  “And at three seconds into the match, the first KILL goes to ‘The Main Event.’ Kaiser has been eliminated,” the announcer’s too loud voice called as the man’s greyed-out picture appeared overhead in the air. “What a shame, he was a fan favorite.”

  I didn’t have much time to celebrate my victory because that had made almost everyone else turn toward me.

  I felt six, no, seven pairs of eyes instantly fall on me. Yep, that was all of them. No doubt, Kaiser was good at picking someone off initially, and that I’d thwarted me had brought me some cred or something.

  Who knew?

  One thing was clear, though. While there was a big, behemoth-sized dude in the back looking bored and a smaller looking girl clad in what looked like mage robes, the rest were just straight up brawler types, and they all looked more surprised than scared.

  That was good. I loved to brawl, and I didn’t want to spend my time chasing them around the damned arena. That was why I usually picked some kind of distance attack, but that said, while I could hurl lightning and whatnot in most matches, there was just something satisfying about punching someone in the face.

  “Well,” I called as I eyed them all, “bring it.” I held my hand out and curled my fingers toward myself.

  “Oh, it’ll get brought,” a spear user to my left said right before he charged me. Literally Charged me. I could tell because of the blue haze around him.

  Didn’t he know that move’s fatal flaw? Well, I would show him.

  With an almost casual effort, I sidestepped his spear thrust and kicked him in the side of the knee. There was an audible crunch as his joint shattered and therein was the rub. He was Charging, so the momentum of the move combined with his suddenly useless leg sent him careening face first into the dirt at breakneck speed.

  He hit so hard that I actually felt the shockwave of the impact.

  I barely heard the announcer as I bent down to pick up the fallen man’s spear. “The second KILL, at seven seconds into the match goes to ‘The Main Event.’ Randolpho has been eliminated.”

  I wanted to take advantage of the collective shock of the group. After all, who knew what abilities they had? Speaking of which…

  I flung the spear at the robe-clad mage girl, and I was about to turn away when the air around her blurred, and she vanished from existence.

  “Jumpport mage, clever,” I said as I spun around, my stolen mace already coming up in a deadly arc. As she reappeared behind me, the head of my mace caught her under the chin with an audible crack that damned near took her head off.

  “So, you were, like, that totally didn’t work the first time, let me try again?” I asked as her lifeless body collapsed to the ground, and I helped myself to the twin daggers clutched in her twitching hands. I wasn’t paying attention to the announcer as he told everyone about my new kill at nine seconds into the match because I was already sprinting toward the other fighters.

  Only they were standing there stock still. Were they still scared now?

  I might have been in their shoes, but I’d have still fought.

  I used the daggers to kill the next two before they even realized I was past them, and as their bodies collapsed to the ground, I found myself staring at a paladin-looking dude with a giant tower shield and a huge morning star.

  “By the light, I shall put a stop to your cursed existence, fiend!” the paladin yelled as he activated what seemed like Holy Radiance. If he were doing that, it would double the damage of his Smite skill, and there would be no surviving that.

  So, I did what any self-respecting person would do.

  I flung my dagger at his face.

  Now, he managed to block the blow with his shield, but that interrupted his cast.

  Which was pretty much what I thought would happen, and as the backlash of his interrupted spell hit him like a freight train, I threw myself into a tackle as I activated Quetzalcoatl. Electricity enveloped my body, and as a surge of pain threatened to undo me, my shoulder struck his metal plate armor, and I wrapped my arms around his waist and drove him to the ground.

  I’m not sure who screamed louder, me or him, as the electricity covering my body cooked him inside his stupidly conductive metal armor. Either way, I barely had time to avoid a giant two-handed sword that was meant for me but found a home in the paladin’s chest when I rolled away. Blood spurted from the wound as I deactivated Quetzalcoatl and reversed the grip on my remaining dagger.

  Then I activated Back Draft.

  Swirling golden winds enveloped my blade as the big barbarian with the giant sword struggled to pull his weapon free of its fleshy home. Too late, he realized what was going to happen, and as he tried to turn toward me, I rammed the blade into his kidney.

  His eyes widened in pain, and he screamed a second before the light of my dagger flared like a fucking star and a tornado-like gust of wind blew a hole through his abdomen that sprayed blood and thicker bits across the sand.

  I didn’t bother to watch him die as I turned my attention to my final opponent, the huge dude in plate mail with the giant double-bladed axe.

  “And ‘The Main Event’ has killed off seven other combatants in less than a minute,” the announcer called, clearly excited. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It might be a Trash House Record.” He continued on, and it was a bit strange because it seemed like the match was winding down instead of revving up like it should have been.

  Maybe they just expected me to be crushed?

  I wasn’t sure, but as the announcer continued to speak, I pointed at the big man across the arena.

  “Let’s dance, fat ass,” I called, and almost curiously, my opponent cocked his head like he was listening to something. Then he began to laugh.

  “Seems it is your lucky day. Come, little man,” he said in a Russian Dolph Lundgren-Ivan Drago voice. “Let’s see if you can put a dent in my armor.”

  “That sounds like a challenge,” I replied as I curled my hands into fists and smacked them together. Then I dropped into a fighting stance. “Come on, let’s dance.” I threw a punch at the air and was met by more laughter.

  “Oh, ho, ho, you think because you beat these pissants, you can take me on?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Of course, I want to fight Gilgamesh, and that pathway is through you.” I smirked.

  “It seems today that wishes are horses,” the big man exclaimed as he tore his shirt to reveal a tattoo of a coiling snake around his chest and neck, “because I am Gilgamesh!”

  He must have taken my surprise for fear because he continued, “Did you not notice how no one attacked me? It is because, if I were to enter this battle at the start, it would be a foregone conclusion.” He clapped his hands together. “I merely wished to watch, but the boss outside has given me permission to hurt you good. Seems the match has ended too quickly for his liking.”

  “And now, you will fight.
” I nodded. “Unless you’re scared.”

  “If it is death you desire, then it is death you will receive,” he replied simply and unslung his now-glowing axe. That was a weapon imbue, Wind element if I had to guess, a damage buff that let him fling ranged blasts from his axe. Then he took a step forward and the ground beneath him cracked. Stone Step, a strength doubling move.

  He pointed the weapon at me. “Come.”

  I felt a wave of anger sweep over me. The Taunt skill, no doubt meant to make me reckless.

  It would have worked, but I'd been hit with more than a few Taunts in my time. Still, he didn’t know that, so, with a wordless cry of rage, I charged with my fists raised, and as I got closer, my vision went completely black.

  Fucking Bartleby helmet.

  Part of me screamed at myself to stop moving. To retreat until the effect wore off. To play it smart. The rest of me called that part of myself a fucking pussy.

  You can guess which part I listened to.

  Without slowing a step, I kept going forward, and as I did, I opened myself to the sounds of the arena. Not the crowds, but the wind, the crunch of gravel as the big behemoth took a few steps forward.

  He couldn’t be far away, and as I focused, I heard something whistle through the air as it came toward. It was so fast I almost didn’t believe it was the energy attack from his axe. Only I knew it was, and everything in me said to jump back, to run away, to do fucking something.

  And if I’d listened, I would have died.

  After all, he had reach on his side, and I didn’t even have a weapon. I’d need to get close to take him down.

  No. The only path to victory was by moving forward, so I did all I could do. I activated the charge on Diamond Punch and kept running toward him, pausing just enough to sidestep by his wind slash from his weapon imbue. I felt the force of it rip at my clothes, and I knew instantly that if it had hit me, I’d have been super dead.

  “Even blind, you come forward,” Gilgamesh roared. “I must admit, I thought you’d run away or be taken down by my attack. Maybe you are something after all.” He snorted, and the sound let me knew exactly how far away he was because yes, I’d trained blind, deaf, and dumb more than a few times.