(Heavy Woodlands trail – Occupation: None) (Zero)

  The Next Day

  "Walking for a day straight sucks. Sure the environment is beautiful, and if Zero wanted to, he could train on some high-level monsters around here. But the moment he attempted to nap in this ‘forsaken’ forest, a scream for help resounded from a nearby wood.

  Thinking it was a human being in need, Zero ran in that direction of the cry, only to be chased northward by a Skinwalker, miles off from his southwestern course. Zero could have fought the Skinwalker, but he hesitated, opting to flee instead. Skinwalkers are no joke.

  Zero couldn’t wait to make it to the Monk Clan and have Vodka convince them to let him sleep in a nicely prepared room, complete with food better than the scraps he’d ben subsisting on.

  Rubbing his head, Zero questions himself as to why he was in such a hurry. Usually, vital insights come to him naturally, but starting fresh with nothing but the clothes and weapons he could carry was different from the kind of ‘game start’ he was used to, especially in a game where he had everything he wanted and could travel anywhere with few issues.

  Suppose another clan blocks Zero and his clan members from an obelisk. That's no problem; he’ll kill all who occupy the area and reset the obelisk. Perhaps this opposing clan is after some expensive item? In that case, Zero would kill the clan members and take the item. If some other character or NPC looked at him the wrong way, he’d kill them too.

  Zero sighs. At this point, he can’t react in any of those ways. For all he and his companions know, killing off Dulman could have changed the whole game for the worse. Zero reflects. Does he need to start working himself into a better person? Presently, he doesn’t like what he can see of himself.

  “Okay, a new change… a nice Zero,” he mutters to himself. He smiles. Smiling is a good start, he thinks. A grumble in his stomach quickly changes that thought. “How can I better myself if I’m hungry?” After a forging session within the dark forest, Zero managed to get some lewd berries, enough to settle some both his hunger and his thirst for a while.

  Seeing sunlight remain bright in this small area of forest, compared to how dim it remains in the line of the terminator moving forward, creates an oddly specific feeling of loneliness. Under more ideal conditions, anyone vying to participate in the tournament might rouse a hundred thousand people to collect around them.

  It wasn’t until thirty minutes later that the first sight of the expectant crowd came into view. Most in its throng seemed to belong to a squadron of RoT members. Zero can tell if these onlookers are aligned with RoT; unmarked trench coats concealed their true affinities. The only other clan that relies on similar trench coats is the Sanity clan, and they reside on the other side of the world.

  Lowering his gaze, Zero wonders how Sanity would react to his clan’s arrival, assuming they had caused this influx of spectators. The reason they founded a smaller clan was simple: to put the largest-possible bounty on their own heads. Every clan worked this way – even RoT – but how on earth did Sanity manage to rack up a bounty of four billion on the second week? How did they get that much gold? How could their bounty be over four times more than the second-highest clan bounty, that of the The Trapline Army? But the biggest issue isn’t why they’re using smaller clans as meat-shields, but why they’re so desperate to put massive bounties on their heads when half the world already wants them dead. Zero can understand some clans' reasonings, but not Sanity’s. Maybe he should ask Vodka later.

  Zero passes by the squad of confirmed RoT members, identifiable by the same RoT tattoo on each of their wrists. Zero waves all but one of the sixteen past him, but freezes when he sees the last of them, his eyes widening.

  With a calm mouthful of energy bar he was chewing, the hybrid RoT’s eyes widen in response. “Hey Zero, been a while…” Without a beat, he drops his hand and continues walking straight as the rest of his squad freezes in place. “Whoa guys, what’s the hold up?”

  The leading RoT member does a one-eighty, his trench coat flaring, and marches up to the hybrid in the rear. Yelping as he spins, his trench coat swishes and opens up. “ZERO!?”

  Tilting his head, Zero ponders how he should handle the situation, but decides he’s too tired and hungry to be careful with words. “Am I that much of a threat to y’all?”

  The leading RoT member straightens out his trench coat. “Well, no, sorry about that. It’s just… seeing one of the three Notorious in person after so long... ” He reaches his hand out and closes the gap between them. “I’m Fractal, squad leader of the ninth squadron under General Copper. It’s nice to meet you again, Zero the Notorious.” A whisper, barely audible, drifts into Zero’s ear, as if the wind itself were speaking.

  “Kill him.”

  There is some hesitation before a switch flicks in Zero’s head, causing a smile to stretch ear to ear. Shaking Fractal’s hand, Zero readies himself for an ambush before realizing the whisper had come from… inside his head? He brushes the whisper away but keeps his guard up. “Right! Nice to meet you, Fractal!” Now for the awkward question. “I take it we’ve fought before?”

  The smile on Fractal’s face becomes disturbed, but his veneer of diplomacy holds it up. “Yes, we all have… A few dozen times, in fact.”

  Shit, now there’s over a dozen wounded egos Zero needs to patch up. Sure, it’s unfair to expect someone like Zero would remember everyone he ever fought, but a whole RoT squadron? Zero’s mind scrambles for an excuse. “Ah! Yes, Fractal!” Looking at the wide-eyed others, he nods, trying to remember even one of the sorry bastards, but no names come to mind. Nervous laughter leaves him. “You guys must be…”

  Everyone leans in a little closer, huddling together somewhat comically, their gear clacking and shuffling. Zero wracks his sleep-deprived brain. His empty stomach isn’t helping either. Sighing, he points at his head. “Nope, nothing. My bad.”

  Defeat washes over the visible faces of the squadron, those unconcealed by masks or helms. “We don’t blame you” one of them says from behind a Durmax mask, a cursed piece of gear that can freeze large areas at the cost of freezing parts of the user's body. The masked man shrugs and a few of the others chuckle.

  Zero can’t help but chuckle in turn; to think a bunch of people he once casually battled with and called his enemies are just as good natured as he and his clan (well, most of the time).

  “Thank god he’s in a good mood,” says one of the hybrids in the back.

  Zero waves them down as he relaxes his posture. “I'm all good, just tired is all. Trekking through this environment is brutal, despite it being open and bright.”

  “Let me guess, you can’t teleport?” says one of the hybrids, a burly fellow with crumbs of something in his beard.

  Tilting his head at the man, , Zero asks, “You are?”

  “Name’s Elton,” the hybrid says.

  “Right, Elton, what do you mean, can’t teleport? I only have a four Durmax teleportation scrolls on me, and none for the monastery,” Zero explains. “They aren’t easy to come by.”

  Elton approaches Fractal as a teleport scroll appears in his hand. “Let’s test something. Though it might cut our talk short, I’m almost certain it won't work.” He hands the scroll, tied with a note that reads ‘Monk Monastery,’ to Zero. “On our way back from one of our scouting missions, we found we had lost the ability teleport back to Durmax. That’s scroll’s useless. Go ahead, try ripping it up.”

  Zero stares at the scroll in his hand, confused. Why wouldn’t it work? Was this some kind of trick? In any case, the scroll would spare him a few hours of travel. “Thanks… Bye, I guess.” Twisting the scroll in his hands, Zero tears it in half. Nothing happens, not even the eerie high-pitched sizzle. Holding both halves in each hand, he glances between them before raising his head. “Did y'all just teleport block me?”

  Everyone takes a cautious step back with their arms raised. Fractal waves both his arms as a bead of sweat runs down his head. “No, no. That's what Elton was trying to explain to you. We were forced to buy a night at the Monk Clan because we couldn’t teleport. We couldn’t even communicate with our lieutenant. Shit is weird.”

  “I teleported to Durmax not too long ago. When did this start?” Zero asks.

  Elton scratches the back of his head. “We don’t know exactly. We can only guess that it started around ten last night.”

  Zero drops the scroll halves along with his hands, letting them smack against his plated thighs. He sighs. “I'm not surprised by anything anymore, especially with what’s happened over the last few weeks.” Shaking his head as his hopes for an early meal and a comfy nap fade, Zero just starts walking, as if the RoT group wasn’t even there. The RoT hybrids follow him like an odd band of groupies. After a moment, Zero slows his pace until he’s walking alongside the others. “You guys said you were scouting? Why way out here? You’re a long way from the shared borders, so you can’t be levelling.”

  Fractal glances back at his squad, glances at Zero for a moment, then stares ahead as he speaks. With a hesitant sigh, he explains that multiple reports of dead bodies hanging from trees, along with roadside robberies, had come from stretch of road that ran through a forest a ways ahead. After receiving a rundown of these reports from his lieutenant, Fractal and his squad had agreed to scout out the area before dealing with the killers. After examining the injuries on a few of the hanged bodies, the RoT squad determined that each of them had died fighting. They had been hanged after the fact. One scout from the RoT squad – while remaining undetected – came across a small clan of thirteen people camping in a boss cave. Based on the scout’s intel, the RoT squad estimated the small clan could be trying to gradually seize control of the area, using scare tactics to nudge out any other small clans that challenged them. There was no other reason to go to such lengths (no pun intended) unless the clan was a group of sick fucks that got off on that sort of thing. They won’t know for sure until they send a whole platoon to confront the clan and warn them to stop.

  “Why don’t you guys just kill them?” Zero asks.

  Fractal’s head jolts back, meeting Zero’s gaze. “Hey, now. Not everything has to end in killing. We won't know what’s going on in the area unless we get their side of the story. It’s no secret our clan has a reputation for killing and conquering, but in this case, we don’t have enough information to just run in, weapons drawn. There’s also this… feeling… I’ve had in my gut for a while now, something I can’t explain without sounding nuts.” He breaks Zero’s gaze and swallows, staring forward again. A faint grimace lowers the corners of his mouth. “I feel like whoever we kill in here, we kill them for real. Maybe I’ve been playing too long, but it’s made me more… discerning about picking battles.”

  Zero suppresses a frown, turning to look ahead. In the distance, the scarred brush and rocky fields give way to a dark line of dense, spindly trees. Not knowing what else to say, Zero mutters “I’m sorry,” as if to apologize for killing off the Dulman clan, despite no indication anyone in the RoT squad even knows Zero was involved. As for that feeling, well, what more can he said? He turns back to Fractal, who nods in silent acknowledgment of Zero’s apology.

  “I should be on my way,” Zero says, turning and quickening his pace.

  “Wait,” Fractal says as he grabs his chin, thinking deeply about what he wants to say. Zero stops. “About two days ago…”

  There it is. Zero has been waiting to hear this talk since he bumped into the squad. Threatening to leave has finally drawn it out of Fractal. “Yeah?”

  “Our squad is more or less neutral on the topic of assassinations,” Fractal starts off, trying to mutter his words carefully. “Killing is a business, after all. Even though we’ve fought battles in the past, we draw our strength more from respect than from rage, or from the call of profit. That being said, there are rumors of assassinations having taken place within our own ranks, even among the bigwigs. Strange disappearances, random attacks that don’t seem to make sense, that sort of thing. According to General Copper, every time the topic is brought up, Ruto and Feef immediately try to dismiss the rumors or shut down the discussion altogether.”

  “And you're bringing this up why?” Zero asks.

  “Our clan is becoming divided. People are frustrated, and scared. With Dulman gone, war with The Trapline Army is likely,” Fractal says, his voice heavy with concern. “But what the RoT bigwigs don’t seem to understand is that trying to take your clan out of the picture would likely spark a war with Lit… It’s all fucked.”

  Zero nervously chuckles as he ponders whether to tell Fractal the truth. It’s bad enough that Lit might also turn their backs on his clan. Now practically every other clan wants to bust a bullet in their asses. Zero hopes to god Hypno manages to convince the RoT clan to remain allies, at least.

  “What is it?” Fractal says as he tilts his head.

  “Nothing,” Zero lies, “Thanks for the heads-up. Is that it?”

  Fractal nods his head. With a few goodbyes, Zero and the RoT squad part ways.

  About a mile later, Zero reaches the edge of the forest and the first of the hanging bodies: swaying three feet off the ground, yak hair ropes around their necks. Their faces are covered in maggots, their eyes and much of their soft tissue eaten away. Zero’s hunger vanishes. His stomach turns and he dry heaves.

  Fractal’s odd feeling rises to the surface of Zero’s mind. How many people have died so far? He’s killed four already. How many more were going to die by his hand? He has no right to feel sick at the sight of death. He should feel sick at the thought of his murderous acts, but he feels nothing. After passing the fetid bodies, Zero makes a promise to himself, resolving to kill only if his friends are in danger. In any other case, there would be no debate and no more senseless death.

  Monastery – Occupation: RoT(Zero)

  Three more hours after being chased by another damn skinwalker, Zero makes it to the foot of Monk’s Monastery. Passing the wooden fence at the base of the hill below the monastery itself, Zero notes the lack of guards, or any defenses whatsoever. There is only an open view of the winding path leading to the enormous Monastery. The building must be three times the size of WAL’s manor. The Monastery’s odd architecture makes it seem as if the main building is split in two, each half connected on the second floor of the entrance half, and on the third floor, before the roof folds into something like the top of the Notre Dame Cathedral. The back of the second half of the main building connects with a large stadium. The grounds at the top of the hill mark the highest point for a few miles, and should provide a good view of the mountains, maybe even as far as Wolfpass. Sadly, as soon as Zero makes it to the top, hanging a right to take in the view, the density and height of distant trees block his view of the city. He can barely make out the glow from the world portal to the planet Nanium.

  After taking in the scenery, Zero makes his way back toward the monastery. Approaching the entrance from the side of the building, Zero hears a faint clamor of sounds from inside, including a voice he recognizes. As he passes a tall stained-glass window, from the corner of his eye, he notices some girls walking down the hall. He rounds the corner to the entrance. Placing his hand on the mahogany double doors, he halts his movement as he hears the same, familiar voice rose above the others.

  Zero opens the door slowly. In front of him are at least a hundred white-haired Monk Clan members, doing push-ups to the count of Vodka’s numbers. Vodka, positioned at the front of the room, is training along with the rest, somehow barking out each number while keeping pace with his brothers. Their heavy breathing, sighs, and grunts of exertion mingle with Vodka’s counting, echoing off the monastery walls. No one notices Zero as they continue focusing on their exercises. It’s such a vast room, yet the glass is slightly fogged up from their collective workout.

  Two brown-haired monks shuffle in from the back of the room, quietly joining in the group exercise without noticing Zero at all. One is older, veins popping out of his lean yet muscular arms. He begins sweating almost immediately, his face taking on a grimace of focus. The second is much younger, without sweat or struggle. His boyish face is oddly calm, almost stoic.

  Zero smiles as he quietly sneaks up behind them. “You won't improve if you cheat yourself, Carp. Turn off your Strength skill.”

  Both Carp and Smokey turn to Zero with shocked expressions. Carp jumps to his feet, hugging Zero as Smokey lands on his side with a sigh.

  Rubbing his face in Zero’s chest, Carp’s ensuing cry causes several monks to stop and glance back at the two. “Brother Zero!”

  Zero laughs. “Been a minute.” He turns his gaze to the older man on the ground, who looks up at him while wiping sweat from his brow. “Smokey.”

  “How yah doin’, Zero,” Smokey asks from the floor, with a delighted chuckle.

  Vodka, his white-hair gleaming in the light filtering through the windows, stops counting for a moment and gets up. The monks in the room freeze, some in mid-pushup, others so close to the floor that they let themselves collapse a moment. Sporadic wheezing punctuates the brief silence. Vodka walks over to a nearby monk, his palms and belly planted on the floor, and bends down. “Excuse me, Viktor, I must take care of something. Take over, will you?” Vodka asks.

  “Right,” says the monk, readying himself to continue. “Alright, continuing from forty!”

  Groans sound as the monks get back into position.

  Vodka swipes a hand across his face and flicks a spatter of sweat onto the floorboards. He makes his way over to the three, his stern expression giving way to a smile as he closes the last few steps between himself and the others. “You look terrible, brother,” Vodka says.

  Zero scans Vodka up and down. “Says the one that’s drenched in sweat. I wouldn’t be surprised if you drank nail polish remover again.”

  Rubbing the back of his head, Vodka chuckles. “No such luck. Good to see you again.”

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “So…” begins Zero, glancing around the room. “Is there food? I’m starved.”

  Another chuckle leaves Vodka. “Aasha and the other girls just left practice to get an early start on preparing dinner.” He gestured at the monks. “It’s no small task.”

  Zero grabs his stomach, “I don’t mean to be a baby about it, but, uh…”

  A sigh leaves Vodka. “Right, I’ll bring you to the kitchen, then.”

  Carp, realizing he was still embracing Zero, breaks his embrace and whirls to face Vodka. “I’ll come, too.”

  Vodka plops his hand on top of Carp’s head. “No you won't, little one. You’re gonna finish the workout with your brother.”

  “Yeah, and do them right,” Zero says sternly. “Don’t cheat yourself, or I’ll dye your hair like theirs.”

  Carp frowns. “You wouldn’t.”

  Zero drops to a knee to meet the youth’s eyes. “You’re right. I’d shave your head, then you’d be a real monk.” With a sadistic smile, he ruffles Carp’s hair. “Imagine how the girls would react, hm?”

  Stepping back from Zero, Carp grabs his hair. “Okay! I get it.” He rushes back into position next to his older brother. Smokey offers him a smirk.

  On their way to the kitchen, located down a hallway off to the side of the entrance to the building, Vodka offers Zero a tour of the Monastery. Zero nods. At the end of the hallway, Vodka looks back at Zero with a grin before opening a rough wooden door, revealing at least a dozen women cooking. A wave of savory smells washes over Zero and he feels his stomach muscles writhe in response.

  “Question: why don’t the girls have to dye their hair?” Zero says as he follows Vodka into the kitchen.

  Vodka weaves past a few girls, each one carrying an armful of a different ingredient, before opening a side cabinet containing a meat smoker. “The Monk Clan is strictly a male clan, and white hair is expected only from the men. If you are wondering, the white color of the hair represents neutrality and openness.” Vodka tosses Zero a stick of jerky. “The girls are here by choice, or else they’re family. A few are in relationships with the monks, which is not forbidden. Wahetevr they case, if they choose to stay here, each one must contribute to the monastery. Many choose to do so using their culinary skills, while others perform other tasks to keep the monastery running. Before we had this many volunteers, we had mostly men working in the kitchen, not to mention the gardens.” Vodka smirked. “The food wasn’t nearly as good back then.”

  “So who do you…?” Zero cuts himself off before his mind wanders somewhere uncouth.

  Vodka gazes at him, raising an eyebrow.

  Zero slowly brings the jerky to his mouth and struggles to gnaw off a piece. “Never mind.”

  Vodka shows Zero the rest of the building, along with the room he will stay in during his visit. The quarters are modest, as to be expected. The room consists of little more than a bed, a chest, and a small table with a candle, but it is immaculately clean. Sometime later, the duo come across the infirmary, its entrance situated opposite the kitchen.

  “Come in, I'm going to check on Shizer,” Vodka says. Zero enters, and Vodka quietly closes the door behind them. Before them is a winding corridor with nooks on each side, each containing a bed.

  “Wait, Shizer? As in–”

  Vodka nods his head as they turn a corner. “Our leader, yes.”

  As the next nook comes into view, so does Shizer, who lays unresponsive on his bed. There’s no heat of fever to his cheeks, and his breathing sounds even and clear. He looks almost peaceful.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Zero asks, though in truth, he was more concerned with his stomach. He takes another bite of his jerky. The man is important to Vodka, so he’ll worry for Vodka's sake. Vodka leans down over the bed and places a hand on Shizer’s forehead. He closes his eyes. After a moment, he rises, nodding.

  Vodka smiles. “He should be fine, in time. It’s that ‘five-fingered cap’ spell he uses.”

  Raising an eyebrow, Zero wonders if he misheard. He’s never heard of a spell like that. “His what?”

  Vodka briefly locks eyes with Zero for a moment before looking back at Shizer. “You heard right. At the beginning of the game, five random, well-known people were given access to a rare kind of spell with a curse-like cost. Shizer was gifted the first of the five-fingered caps: ‘rage of knowledge’.” Looking away from his friend, Vodka directs Zero back out of the infirmary. As they retrace their steps, they pass a girl carrying a wooden bowl of water and a stack of clean rags. She smiles at Zero, before turning her eyes to the floor and blushing.

  “What does the spell do?” Zero asks as the two leave the infirmary. A clattering of plates and the sound of something simmering from behind the kitchen door catches Zero’s notice. He takes another bite of jerky. Vodka leans against the hallway wall while Zero dodges a girl carrying a bucket of water.

  “I don’t know the full extent of the spell’s effect, but it’s almost like Shizer becomes invincible for about a minute. Using the spell tends to knock him out for at least a day, sometimes two or three. It’s risky for sure, but handy in a sticky situation.” Vodka pauses as Zero glances back at him. “Listen, Zero, I know this may be off topic, but I won't be heading to Frauw with Smokey and Carp.”

  Zero’s eyes widen. The others had said nothing about this. After a moment, he remembers the teleport block that had plagued the RoT squad and himself. That was certainly a factor, but there was something else, something far more significant to Vodka. “That’s a bit of a shock, not to mention a shame, but I have some idea why you’d make that choice.” Zero waves his hands all around him. “All large clans have an eye out for us right now.”

  Vodka sighs. “Yeah, but I don’t think I could live with myself if I left my people alone without preparing them for the worst. I care for them deeply. I couldn’t imagine something happening to them.” Vodka lowers his head for a moment, as if uttering a silent prayer in his mind.

  Zero smiles before it quickly turns to a frown. “Us or them?”

  “What?” Vodka says, raising his head, his eyes narrowing.

  Zero knows he’s being an inconsiderate douchebag, but it’s a question he must ask or it will gnaw at him. “WAL or the Monks?”

  Vodka stares at Zero as his eyes settle. He offers no answer. Somewhere in the kitchen, two girls begin laughing. There’s a cry for more water, and a girl carrying two small buckets emerges, risking a glance at the two before rushing off. Vodka watches the girl scamper off before turning back to Zero. In a flat but polite tone, Vodka breaks the silence. “I’ll show you back to your room so you can relax a moment before dinner.”

  Following Vodka in silence, Zero can tell his question irritated the good man, but it couldn’t be avoided. He had to know where Vodka’s loyalties lie. It wasn’t until Zero was in his room, and had sat on the edge of his bed for some time, that he felt sorry for being so crass. He ate the past piece of the jerky, his stomach still whining to be filled. Hopefully he’d get a chance to apologize. That, or maybe Zero could just forget the whole thing. Laying down on the bed, a simple comfort he had desired for a long while, Zero couldn’t can’t help but give in to fatigue and let his worries leave him.

  It wasn’t long until a knock at his door roused Zero from a dreamless nap. He opened the door. A man named Viktor introduced himself as Shizer's right-hand man and told him that dinner was ready to be served in the massive common room where the monks had been exercising. Zero followed Viktor out of his room as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  In the common room, the sweat and emptiness of earlier had been replaced with chairs and tables. Glimpses of blond and brown-haired women mixed in with the crowd of white-haired men scattered across the room took Zero by surprise. The place was all laughter and chatter, an atmosphere not unlike the taverns and common rooms frequented by his clan. Something struck Zero’s heart when he saw that his clan wasn’t the only one that came together like this. Had he really failed to humanize the Monks until now? Had he never seen them as equals? He felt a fresh surge of guilt at the unanswered question he posed to Vodka. He could blame his fatigue and his hunger for his attitude, but he suspected there was something deeper in him than his basic needs at play. Maybe the scene before him was Vodka’s answer.

  Shaking his head, Zero gazes across the room until he finds Smokey and Carp seated at the back and makes his way over to them. It isn’t long before Carp takes notice and waves. He gets up and leaves the table, rushing off before Zero can join them.

  “Where’s he going?” Zero asks, stepping up to the table.

  Smokey, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, turns to lock eyes with Zero. “He’s getting your food. He’s thrilled to see you, you know,” Smokey says, with a knowing look.

  Zero chuckles before taking a seat. “Even after I lectured him?”

  “He’s fourteen. That’s not just an age, it’s a mindset,” Smokey says as he brings a spoonful of goulash to his mouth. “When they’re that young, they either look up to their elders or pretend they don’t exist. I think it’s better when they look up.”

  Zero’s head jerks back slightly. “Look up to me?”

  Smokey drops his spoon into the bowl before gesturing to Zero with an open palm. “Everyone needs a strong father figure. Carp and I were raised by our grandfather, who wasn’t around much. I tried to fill that role as best I could, along with being a brother. At times, it helped that I was over twice his age, but playing two roles at once is like juggling two bowls of soup. I worry I just made a mess of things. After Xander implemented the dictate of universal brotherhood into our clan, Carp was free to view all of us as family, including you. So, when he comes back, give him a little praise and watch his face light up.”

  Zero’s jaw drops and his face goes flush. He stares at Smokey for a few seconds. “That’s… a lot to take in all at once.”

  Smokey laughs as he rubs his chin. “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you, but I never got the chance until now. We don’t make a habit of parading our problems in front of others, but now that we’re stuck here…” He trailed off, a spoonful of goulash in his hand hanging above his bowl. He was looking in the direction Carp had run off to, as if anxious the boy might have vanished once he left his sight.

  “What about you?” Zero asks.

  “Hm?”

  “If you wanna talk more, I got nowhere else to be,” Zero offers.

  Smokey waves his free hand. “Nah, that’s alright. I’m an old dog, not like Carp.” He knocks on his noggin. “Not many new tricks left to learn. Although, I can’t say I haven’t been stressed about the boy’s safety, not to mention how he feels about being stuck here. I’ve asked him, and he says he thinks of it as a long vacation, but I wonder if he’s just putting on a good face for me.”

  Zero smiles once again. “Well, I may not be the best with words, but if you ever wanna wag your chin, I’ll be around.”

  Smokey matches Zero’s smile. “Thank you, brother.”

  Carp returns a moment later. Zero drools over the steaming bowl of goulash in the kid's hands. Beaming, he passes the bowl to Zero, along with a glass of water.

  Zero pushes his seat back, rising for a moment. “Thanks, buddy.” He plops his palm on Carp's head, rubbing it until the youngling's face turns beet red. He glances back at Smokey and receives a nod.

  The bowl didn’t stand a chance. If only Zero could describe how good the goulash was after not having a proper meal in weeks. But the only thing that comes to mind is warmth as the spoon presses against his lips and the pastry with beef slides down his throat. The sensation is otherworldly that tears build up at the corners of his eyes.

  After finishing his dinner, Zero looks across the room toward Vodka’s table. The monk eats in silence, occasionally glancing up at the others at his table and offering a smile or a nod. Hopefully Zero has a chance to say something to him before the night is over.

  “Popular, ain't he,” Smokey notes. Zero turns back.

  “Yeah. It’s weird seeing him here with the others, after all these years of him talking about this place,” Zero says. “Not that I’m jealous, but our clan's history and reputation are the exact opposite of the monks.” Zero downs his water. “Part of me wonders why people like us are even allowed in here.”

  Carp, his mouth half full of goulash, shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve thought the same thing. It could be he puts in a good word for us; Vodka is one of us after all. His girlfriend’s influential here, too.”

  Zero slams down his glass in a coughing fit. “His what?”

  The monks at the tables near them turn and stare, briefly, before returning to their conversations.

  Smokey chuckles. “Aasha, the dark-haired young woman sitting next to him. Apparently, they met each other for a few years before our clan formed, but they’ve only been dating for the last two years.”

  “He never said anything about a girlfriend.” Zero glances back to Vodka and the dark-haired girl, who is sitting noticeably closer to him than the others. He watches as the girl places a hand on Vodka’s shoulder, sliding her half-full glass of water up next to his empty one. The biggest smile Zero’s ever seen cross Vodka’s face makes him look, for a moment, like a different man. He downs the water in a few gulps, then covers her hand with his. Zero turns back to face Smokey and Carp. “They look happy.”

  Smokey shrugs his shoulders. “I'm sure there’s still a lot we don’t know about each other. Maybe being stuck here for a while longer will reveal a little more about who we are, or who we’ve become.” He raises an eyebrow at Zero. A thought barges into Zero’s head, seemingly out of nowhere.

  Reveal Ship to them.

  Zero’s head jerks back before glancing down. Why is he thinking about Ship? That didn’t even feel like a thought. Carp scoots his chair closer to Zero. “When you talk to him next time, bring her up. The way he smiles when he talks about her, it’s…” Carp struggles to find the word.

  “Wholesome?” Zero guesses.

  Carp nods his head. “Yeah, that.”

  Zero sighs. “Alight, why not? I’ll ask him.” It would surely be a better question than the last one he had asked Vodka.

  After dinner, a few members of the Monk Clan introduced themselves to Zero. They had heard stories about him from Vodka, and from several members of RoT. Everyone was friendly and treated Zero respectfully, as if the darker parts of his history didn’t exist, or at least didn’t matter. After they chatted for a while, the monks began wandering off to their rooms. Vodka and Aasha were still at their table, along with a few others, when a small group of girls came to clear the tables. Zero bid Carp and Smokey goodnight before making his way to Vodka’s room. He’d decided to wait at Vodka’s bedroom door and confront him in private before the evening ended. After all, the shelf life of apologies is short.

  The torches lighting the hallway leading up to Vodka’s room crackled softly, filling the corridor with the faint smell of oil, rags, and wood. Nearly half an hour passed as Zero waited at door to Vodka’s room, leaning against the wall. Just as he was contemplating going to search for Vodka, he heard a girl’s voice from his right.

  “Hello… can I help you?”

  Zero turned to find none other than Aasha herself. Her hair, damp with sweat, shone like obsidian in the torchlight. There was an air of curiosity in her eyes, subdued by a slight but friendly smile. “Uh, hey. Sorry, I’m waiting for Vodka. I need to talk to him.”

  Running a towel through her hair, Aasha giggles. “Zero, right? Vodka and I just finished our midnight run. He’s off having a drink.”

  “Oh. I won’t bug him for long. Where is he?” Zero asks.

  “On the monastery turret. He usually drinks there before bed,” Aasha answers, her smile widening.

  “Thanks, I’ll head there right now,” Zero says, pushing himself off the wall. Aasha passes him and enters Vodka’s room.

  It wasn’t long until Zero found Vodka reclining on the low point of a parapet, his legs hanging off the edge of the turret. There was half a bottle of whiskey by his side. With the turret’s added height, the view afforded the two as much as the moonlight allowed, illuminating all but the glowing world portal in Wolfpass to the north, and the light pollution from the cities many miles away. Most breathtaking of all was the reflective, icy glow of Mount Ziggy. “Wow…” Zero manages, leaning over a parapet.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Vodka starts.

  Zero nods. “Yeah… It is.” Moving close to Vodka, Zero sits his rear on the stone wall. “Makes me question if this is all really fake…”

  “Sometimes I wish this were the real deal.”

  Zero glances at Vodka. “Why?”

  “I see the color…” Vodka says as he brings the bottle to his mouth.

  “I don’t understand.”

  A chuckle leaves Vodka. “Eh, it’s nothing.”

  Silence falls upon them as they continue to stare at the fantastic view. It takes a minute, but Zero finally builds up his courage. “Vodka, I'm sorry about this afternoon—”

  Vodka cuts Zero off. “It’s alright—”

  Shaking his head, Zero sighs. “No, it wasn’t; that was an unfair question.”

  “No, no, really,” Vodka says with a comforting smile. “I was mad at you, but it got me thinking about who comes first. Do you want to know?”

  Zero’s knows the answer, but he still needs to hear it from Vodka. He nods.

  “The Monks,” Vodka says, without hesitation.

  Nodding again, Zero can’t help but feel hurt, but he understands. “Of course. I’d call you a liar if you picked us over the clan with your girlfriend in it.”

  Vodka chuckles. “She’s great.”

  “A cutie, too,” Zero adds.

  They talked for an hour before Zero left Vodka to the bottle and the night sky. He headed back to his room and, once in bed, fell under the spell of his dreams.

  THE NEXT DAY

  A workout before breakfast and a quick run afterwards? The monks’ regiment was brutal. Now Zero understands why Carp wanted to cheat. But no matter how much his legs wanted to fall off, Zero had to show up the youngling.

  Not long after the run, Zero sat on a log on the outskirts of the monastery courtyard and checked his interface for personal messages. They were all mundane, until he came to one from Hypno. The message said Hypno needed help in Lit’s capital – the City of Bell. Hypno wanted Zero to get a Bell teleport scroll from Smokey. Zero asked why, expecting an instant response, and then noticed the date the message had been sent (long before teleportation had, inexplicably, become impossible). Asking Smokey for the scroll would be pointless now, but Zero should at least let Smokey and Carp know about Hypno’s request. After all, they were planning on travelling home together.

  “No sense wasting time,” Zero says to himself. He closes his interface, gets up, and checks the courtyard for his clanmates. Oddly, there isn’t a single person in the courtyard. Birds, hiding in the courtyard’s manicured trees and bushes, twitter at one another. Zero could have sworn there had been a few dozen people out here a minute ago…monks strolling and chatting, girls tending to the flowers.

  From somewhere on the other side of the building, a chant of “Vod-ka! Vod-ka!” begins. Zero springs up and sprints around the courtyard until, from the top of the hill, his gaze falls on a fighting pit, set in a recess with a slight incline of grassy terrain all around it. Onlookers watch the pit from the hill as the two combatants in the ring ready themselves. A shirtless Vodka faces another shirtless, white-haired monk, whose build looks like it rivals Vodka’s.

  Zero notices how far away Smokey and Carp are, seated on the other side of the fight pit. Instead of joining them, he takes a seat on the grassy slope next to Aasha, whose shimmering black hair gave her away among the crowd of white-haired monks and brown and blonde girls. “What's happening?”

  Aasha lets out a heavy chuckle, almost as if she has a stomachache. “The members of our group are always trying to one-up one another. They believe it keeps them sharp.”

  Zero watches as Viktor makes his way into the center of the pit, a conjured microphone floating in front of his chest. Magical speakers appear around the spectators, hovering in the air. “Good morning, Monks!”

  Aasha sighs, crossing one arm across her chest and raising the other to rest her chin on her palm, as if to hold up her head from drooping forward in boredom. “Everyone challenges him and it always ends the same.”

  Viktor raises his hand to his left. “In this corner – standing at one hundred and ninety-two pounds – he gets more nosebleeds than a patient on blood thinners, the ripped, the mean, the fists of steel, Anthony the Pounder!” A mixture of cheering and booing fills the air.

  Anthony struts back and forth across his end of the pit, flexing his muscles, and then moves into center. He looked like he could crush a pineapple between his triceps.

  Viktor raises his hand to his right. The crowd cheers, some standing and clapping. “In this corner – standing at two hundred and five pounds – the undefeated man with a total of five hundred and twenty wins, you know him, you love him, Vodka the Sober!”

  The crowd roars. Given all the times Zero has seen Vodka fight by now, this shouldn’t prove much of a spectacle. That said, he’s never once seen the man fight hand-to-hand. Maybe he should get a little pumped for this. “What are the rules?”

  Aasha brushes her hair back behind her ear. “Strength must be turned off. The winner must knock down their opponent, at least to their knees, or else knock them out of the ring. Oh – and no headshots.” She turns to Zero and smirks.

  Nodding is all Zero can do. Watching a slower fight with different stakes, after blazing his own way through so many fast-paced battles, should be interesting. With strength turned off, player traits like hardened skin, denser bones, and more muscle mass are still in play. It won’t be perfectly realistic, but it should play out a lot more like a real-world, bareknuckle fight.

  The crowd falls silent as Viktor raises a whistle to his lips. The two opponents take their stances. For a moment, all that can be heard are the odd coughs and whispers of the spectators, and the cool spring wind whistling through the grass.

  At the shrill shriek of Viktor’s whistle, Anthony charges Vodka.

  A single strike to Anthony’s groin causes his legs to lift. Vodka snags Anthony’s ankle before tossing him out of the pit. Anthony slams into the grass and lies there, still breathing but otherwise unmoving.

  As the crowd explodes with cheers, Zero holds his sides and laughs uncontrollably. But he quickly calms down once he watches Anthony climb up, walk back into the ring, and give Vodka a high-five. “Impressive he’s taking the loss so well.”

  “You have to. Otherwise it would all be for nothing; the learning experience wouldn’t be as valuable. Ego gets in the way.” Aasha says.

  Another white-haired monk hops into the pit. Viktor blows his whistle and, once again, the fight is over in only a few seconds, with Vodka emerging victorious. The same goes for the following five fights, after which random pairs of opponents entered the pit to face Vodka. Each duo failed to defeat him, although one pair managed to land some side-strikes on Vodka before being thrown from the ring.

  Ten minutes of doling out humiliation after humiliation, and there was barely any sweat on Vodka’s forehead. “No wonder they call him a legend… RoT must have struggled to take him down, just like they struggled with us.”

  Aasha nodded. “Not too many revolutionaries have stood up against RoT and succeeded.”

  Zero chuckles as he tilts his head toward her. “Kinda like Smokey, me, and the other Notorious.”

  Viktor calls out for anyone else who might want to challenge the winner. The crowd falls silent.

  A sadistic smile crosses Zero’s face as he stands without a word. Down the hill, Viktor begins to announce his name. As the crowd chants, Zero removes his shirt and stretches. His rope-taut back muscles clench, veins pressing up against his skin. He makes his way through the crowd and hops into the pit, facing Vodka. “So, no headshots, no strength activated. Anything else I should know?”

  Vodka shakes his head as a grin crosses his face.

  Viktor steps between them as he examines Zero’s physique. “Enjoy, and try to learn something. That's all.” As the two fighters gain their positions and raise their fists, Viktor holds out his hand. He steps back and blows his whistle, chopping the air to begin the fight.

  Zero falls back, the wind knocked out of him, slamming into the grass just outside the ring. Dazed, he blinks, realizing he’s already lost. Vodka walks towards him. Zero’s abatement reddens. He half expects to hear someone say “world star” in a hysterical tone. He stares up at Vodka, who holds out a hand for him. Not a single punch landed anywhere on Zero’s body besides his raised forearms. He didn’t stand a chance in hell, and the worst part was that Vodka was holding back.

  Vodka pulls Zero to his feet with a chuckle. “Good match! Sloppy technique, but hand-to-hand isn’t your niche, Mr. Warhammer.”

  Though the teasing irks him a bit, Zero can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it’s something I have to work on. Maybe you could teach me sometime,” Zero says, patting Vodka on the shoulder.

  Vodka’s eyes shine like the sun. “Sure thing, brother.”

  Carp and Smokey reach the two as they tease Zero more about his humiliation. Though Zero doesn’t show it bothers him, it does.