(North of Stillow – Occupation: None)(Amos)

  THE NEXT DAY

  Leaving the fire’s ashes and scraps of sand-covered croc meat behind, Amos begins his journey north, taking the same path he told the two RoT members to follow. Opening his interface and navigating to his combat skills, Amos confirms he’s been leveling relatively fast by the main game’s standards, but he'd be far behind for a tournament that was supposed to feature a 50x experience multiplier. That said, if this ‘glitch’ was happening to him, it would surely be happening to other players.

  After a few miles, the canyon walls open onto a cliffside with a cave opening just off the main path. The cave is home to one of the thousands of bosses in the game: Crocodile of the Cloth, a humanoid crocodile, head priest of the demi-god Tintinaru. Amos shakes his head at the thought of fighting any boss at his current level. Even when he gets to a decent level, the Fools clan will probably control this entire area.

  Rounding a bend on the path, a group of people come into view. From a quick count, it is just five, arranged single file in a diagonal line. Amos would only have a chance against two, so fighting isn’t ideal. He could turn around, but it would be a two-day trip back out of the canyon, and the death-like desert heat carries the ever-present risk of further lengthening the trip. The cave – Amos’s only potential cover – lies between him and the approaching group. Not to mention they’ve already spotted him.

  The best he can do is hope for peace. His curse will be useless without cutting himself to pay the casting cost. If he keeps his hood up, maybe they’ll just let him pass.

  Amos's heart races as the gap between him and the party closes. He was lucky to run across friendly RoT members earlier, but players in other guilds are still fair game. It would be madness to assume they wouldn’t turn on him, not for his meager loot, but for the thrill of the kill.

  As he comes within a hundred feet of the approaching group, Amos still hasn’t heard a single word spoken between the five, just the shuffling of pebbles beneath his steps. Their gear is a mishmash of items, but their faces are all concealed, some by masks and others by hoods. Time seems to slow as Amos passes the first of the group, who stares ahead as if Amos isn’t there. The rest do the same. Amos looks over his shoulder at the passing group, his shoulders tensing. He watches them walk on, a gust of desert wind rippling through the looser parts of their garb. He turns his gaze forward. A stroke of luck, perhaps. A heavier gale of dust obscures his vision for a moment.

  Amos freezes as the rapid patter of approaching feet reaches his ears, circling from back behind, toward his right. The same sound comes again, this time to his left. The swing of a blade whistles in the wind. Amos whirls, checking each direction. Masked and hooded figures surround him. The wind, as if charmed against him, veils his surroundings in a cyclone of sand. Summoning his bronze dagger, Amos snags its handle and launches into a forward spin. He lands outside the gale of grains. There is a loud clash of metal. Amos crosses his arms, casting his tier-one Fire Bolt toward the three men in front of him. He hears the swish of another sword behind him. Amos leaps to his left, loses his footing, and tumbles into a slide.

  Amos readies himself for a charge that doesn’t come. Breathing heavily, he backs up, readying his dagger. Amos looks to where his dagger should be and finds himself gazing at a bladeless hilt and guard. He grinds his teeth. Drips tap the ground under him, causing his gaze to drift onto red-soaked sand. A wet sensation drags along his spine. Amos lets go of his dagger and falls to his knees. A spire of pain erects itself within him, engulfing his body.

  As soon as his screams of pain begin, the five start mocking his whining. Soon, their jeering gives way to cruel chuckling. Amos holds his bloody arm, banging his head into the sand. “FUCK!” Amos raises his head, giving his tormentors a pained glare. “When I respawn, I’m gonna kill you bastards real slow, one at a time.” The five fall silent for a moment before breaking out in in fits of laughter.

  Amos yells as the pain settles into a hard throb, his hand beginning to spasm. “Kill me, you fucks! Do it!” Amos grabs a handful of sand, throwing it at his assailants. They stop laughing.

  “Fuck, mate,” one masked assailant says in a cockney accent, spitting out sand. He swishes his bloody sword. “You wanna die? I’ll carve you into a sculpture, you little fuck!”

  Another of the five grabs his shoulder. “Hold up!” he says. “You hear that?” A peal of laughter echoes in the distance, faded at first, but growing in volume, creeping up on Amos and the five attackers.

  Amos grins. “Zero…” His grin drops as the pain resurfaces. After exchanging hand signals between one another, four of the band of assailants fan out, searching for the source of the sound, while the fifth remains near Amos, his bloodied blade fixed on his prisoner. The four find nothing but sand and stone in all directions, despite the laughter sounding close enough to be right on top of them.

  A figure leaps from a cave ledge ten meters above the six combatants, raising a maul-like iron warhammer above his head. He laughs like a madman. “JUST ON TIME, BROTHER!” The masked man guarding Amos turns, whirling his sword. The warhammer comes down, crushing his skull like a ripe melon and painting Zero’s face with a smatter of blood.

  A hooded assailant charges at Zero, who casts a tier-two Fire Bolt at his attacker’s face. He drops his sword, clawing at his flaming hood and screaming through the veil of flames. Two attackers down in less than three seconds.

  The remaining trio – recovered from the shock of Zero’s entrance – close the distance between one another and draw their weapons. “EN GARDE!” one of them growls.

  “Fuck your French!” Zero spits. Amos raises his hand to cast a Fire Bolt. His concentration slips, the spell fizzling in his pain blurred mind.

  A second figure leaps from the cliff, landing behind one of the assailants. Before he can turn around, an iron spear pierces through the back of the man, poking through his chest before withdrawing as fast as it went in. Cazel, Amos’s other clanmate, spins before driving his spear into another, sending a jet of blood onto the sand.

  The remaining attacker drops to his knees. “Ple-” Cazel plunges his spear through the man's neck, cutting off his plea. The battle is over within 30 seconds.

  Zero wipes his foe’s blood from his lips. “I told you Amos would run into them.”

  Amos’s head drops again and he cradles his arm. Glad as he is to see his mates, he needs healing. “Little help?” he grunts.

  “Right,” Cazel nods, producing a handful of gemmed snacks, nowhere near filling but great food for healing in the early game.

  Zero stops Cazel from approaching Amos. “Wait.”

  Cazel narrows his eyes. “What?”

  Zero points behind Cazel. “Stand there. If what the mods are saying is true, we have to make sure Amos is prepared.”

  Cazel. “That is fucked up.”

  Amos slams his head into the ground in pain. “What’s the hold up?”

  “Either that or Amos loses his curse,” Zero says.

  Cazel sighs. “Right.”

  Zero rips off Amos’s hood, pulling him up by his hair. Amos groans but manages to stand. His arm throbs. “You want to eat that’s fine, but first, there’s a hell of a pill we’ve got for you to swallow.” He points at Cazel, now wiping his spear on the crumpled cloak of one of the assailants, whose body lies roughly a hundred feet from Zero and Amos. “Hurry up. You're losing blood.” He lets go of Amos’s hair.

  Amos drops to his hands and knees, his eyes welling with tears. “Fuck!” As he stumbles to his feet, Zero draws his sword and stabs him in the belly. He gasps, then falls over as the strike takes the breath out of him.

  “Come on Amos, we’re waiting!” Zero lifts his sword over his head.

  Amos shoots to his feet, launching into a sprint. His panting breaths give way to a scream as Zero slices his right calf. Amos leaps into a roll, holding his leg. “FUCK YOU, ZERO!”

  “This hurts me more than it hurts you,” Zero yells, kicking Amos from behind. “GO!”

  Amos rises and begins limping toward Cazel. He leaps to the side as he hears the swish of Zero’s sword from behind him, barely missing the swing but landing in a stumble. Zero rushes forward and slashes an X across Amos’s chest, his blade undeterred by Amos’s low tier equipment. Amos falls onto his back, coughing, needles of pain in his chest.

  Zero hovers over Amos. “Just twenty more feet.”

  Amos rolls over, once again stumbling to his feet and limps towards Cazel as Zero follows along, a swagger in his step.

  “Pain is fake, death is real,” Zero murmurs. Amos shakes his head. Zero had always been a wild card, more than brutal at times, but this was nuts even for him.

  Finally reaching Cazel, Amos snags the gemmed snacks as his knees give out and downs them without another word. Cazel and Zero glance down at Amos like bored tourists at a zoo.

  “If the three of us grind it out, we can save up enough gold to remove his curse,” Cazel says, his eyes never leaving Amos.

  “Why would we do that?” Zero asks. As Amos scarfs down the snacks, the wounds on his body begin to seal shut.

  Cazel turns his gaze to Zero. “His curse is too much of a risk now.”

  Zero shakes his head. “It’s always been a risk.” Zero locks eyes with Cazel. “Besides, that’s up to Amos, not-” Zero is cut short as Amos drives a fist into his groin. After three punches, Zero hits the ground. “Fuck you!”

  Zero grabs his groin, turns, and retches. Cazel chuckles. “I guess you're rig-” He too gets cut off, as he receives three punches to the groin. Crumpling, Cazel paints his boots with vomit.

  For several moments, all three lie on the ground in silence, gazing into the ocean blue sky. The desert wind dies down, offering no zephyr to quell the gaze of the sun. True to realism, the drying blood on them all begins to reek of salt, iron, and putrefying fat.

  “Is one of you going to explain what the hell is going on?” Amos asks.

  “You didn’t read the emergency message?” asks Cazel. Zero chuckles, wiping sweat from his brow.

  Amos opens his interface. “No, I don’t…” he trails off. Moderators’ messages, just like in the first tournament, are almost always just patch notes, minor updates, bug fixes, that sort of thing. He always just ignored them. Three exclamation marks blink in his inbox. The first message welcomes him into the tournament. The second one causes Amos’s heart to drop.

  THIS IS A WARNING TO ALL PARTICIPANTS IN THE CURRENT TOURNAMENT:

  We are experiencing a minor issue with the servers, having to do with the death and resurrection functions. Normally, players who die can respawn in-game without issue, and their real-world selves are, of course, unaffected by this process upon exiting the game (as outlined in paragraph 4 of page 19 of subsection 32A-6 of insurance form 71-C of the Terms of Use Agreement).

  A bug found in the current game version (9.4.0.1) is causing player data to become corrupted upon death. This bug not only affects resurrection in-game, but also players’ ability to log out, as any attempts to do so have also resulted in corruption of player data.

  We are working diligently to resolve this issue. Ordinarily, in a case such as this, we would restart the servers ato apply a hotfix. Unfortunately, in this case, we cannot shut down and restart the servers without triggering the bug and rendering all player data irrecoverably lost. For the same reason, we cannot adjust damage values to zero or otherwise disable combat, as doing either would require restarting the servers.

  Until this issue is resolved, we strongly recommend that players avoid engaging in dangerous behaviors (such as PVP, PVM, or PVE), as such actions may lead to player death in the “real world.” We appreciate your patience as we work to resolve this issue.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  Amos stares at the message. He re-reads it. He blinks rapidly, hoping his eyes are deceiving him, that this is a mirage or some kind of dream. In the distance, a vulture squawks, then another, each attracted to the corpses of the five assailants. Amos’s tongue feels dry. He realizes his mouth had been hanging open. He licks his lips, tasting sweat.

  The sound of fluttering wings catches Amos’s ears. One of the vultures lands near the corpse of the first assailant Zero killed. Amos stares at the bird as it begins pecking at the exposed brain of the corpse. In that instant, his shock dissolves, giving way to a jolt of panic. He shoots up and tries to stand, but feels lightheaded and sits back down. “What is…” he glances back at Zero and Cazel, looking for an answer. Their faces are taut with the same grim expression, dry as the desert sand.

  Cazel shakes his head. “Read the next message.”

  Amos’s hand, shaking, opens the last unread message:

  THIS IS A WARNING TO ALL PARTICIPANTS IN THE CURRENT TOURNAMENT:

  Both our legal team and our PR branch have advised us to reiterate our previously stated warning to further clarify the serious nature of the previously outlined bug. (as per the “honest and forthright player communication” declaration outlined in paragraph 27 of page 186 of subsection 44-G9 of insurance form 89-Y of the Terms of Use Agreement).

  To all clans and players: we strongly recommend avoiding any form of combat, or any action that could result in player death (such as: falling from significant heights without a spell or ability to mitigate fall damage, engaging in dangerous gambit activities akin to “Russian roulette,” self-injury for the purposes of “showing off,” eating or drinking items known to cause damage, dueling to the death, contracting disease without access to curative potions or spells, going for long periods without food or water, etc.).

  We feel obliged to reiterate (as per the “honest and forthright player communication” declaration outlined in paragraph 12 of page 119 of subsection 98-X1 of insurance form 89-Y of the Terms of Use Agreement) that the data of all players who have thus far died, or attempted to log off, has been irrecoverably lost. In common parlance, if you die in-game, or attempt to log off, you will also die in “real life.” We are working diligently to resolve this issue. Thank you for your patience.

  Amos once again glances between the two before closing his interface. Two more vultures land and begin pecking at the crushed skull of the corpse.

  “Zero and I were talking about you removing your curse,” Cazel starts. “I think it's too risky, but in the end, Zero’s right. It's your call.”

  Amos stumbles to his feet, his eyes widening, His thoughts were scrambled enough from enduring the pain of his wounds, and now this. “Let's… let's see about it when we get to that point, okay?”

  Cazel nods. “Right. Let's loot these bodies and get you a greataxe.”

  The three begin to rummage through the bodies. Amos shoos away the vultures, not bothering to kill them for their meager loot. Zero comes across the guy he blasted in the face with a tier-two Fire Bolt. His whole face had burned to a crisp, but somehow, the guy was still alive. Cazel joins Zero. “Poor bastard,” he mutters. As Cazel raises his spear, Zero stops him from striking down the man.

  “Let him suffer,” Zero says.

  Amos swishes his iron sword around until it vanishes into his inventory. “Why?”

  Zero turns to look at Amos. “On our way back to Franz Harbor, you’re gonna see something that’ll answer you better than I can.” Cazel raises an eyebrow, shrugs, and starts looting the dying man. The man tries to speak, but his tongue is nothing but a blackened stump. His mouth is mostly bone and ash-gray teeth. He reaches for Zero, who stomps on his arm, snapping it at the elbow. The man gasps in pain like some pitiful zombie before passing out.

  After looting the bodies, the three start their journey towards Franz Harbor. Three miles into their walk, they come across two dead bodies in a narrow canyon of reddish orange rock. Blood was everywhere, as if some player or creature had been experimenting with the insides of the two. Their identity is impossible to determine, but Amos knows precisely who the two are from the clothing they wore.

  After they leave the grisly scene, Cazel taps Amos on the shoulder. “You look like you know who they were.”

  Amos keeps his eyes fixed on the canyon path ahead. “They were RoT members. I walked to the river with them before we split up.” Amos turns to Cazel. “They’re really dead?” Amos realizes how pointless the question is as he asks it but forgives himself. After all, he’s still processing things.

  Cazel shrugs his shoulders. “We can’t know for sure. Maybe their data isn’t as ‘irrecoverable’ as the devs claim it is. But I have no reason to believe they’re alive, either.” Cazel pats Amos on the back of the head. “Let's not forget who we are, Amos.” Amos glances at Cazel and nods.

  (Franz Harbor – Occupation: None)(Amos)

  Even in the middle of the city, the smell of fish from the docks drifts through the cobbled streets. The city’s NPCs go about their routines with scripted jollity: here a tanner bellows his price, there a farmer’s daughter sells fresh vegetables, there a jeweler grips the sides of his tiny stall, eyes darting back and forth in vigilant suspicion. Pigeons flock from rooftop to rooftop, cooing in improvised symphonies.

  As the three move through the city, the three passed countless red, tear-filled eyes among the chipper NPCs. Some are huddled in groups in alleyways, their inboxes open, others are sitting in the street, heads in their hands. The sounds of argument, sorrow, and panic reverberate throughout the stone shops and houses. The state of these players removes any doubt from Amos about the validity of the warnings. Virtual reality battles always instilled a sense of fear in most players; that’s part of the thrill of the game. But Amos had lacked that fear for some time, owing to his experience with the game. He had never understood why others clung to it so tightly, until now. Still, the feeling evaded him. Considering the skill he and his friends had, how could he develop such a fear, now that it was warranted?

  Their clan leader once said: To be the best, you must straighten your back and act like you own the air everyone breathes, especially the ones who act the same way.

  Zero leads Cazel and Amos to a large, rough-built wooden building with a roof. A mangy Doberman, lying chained to a post near the door, follows them with its dark, chestnut gaze. The sign hanging above the door reads “The Gorilla Nest,” and depicts a smiling silverback sitting on a pile of straw with a tankard of ale in its raised hand.

  The pub is packed with players, some drowning their shock in silence while others bellow out with a mirth that sounds forced. Cazel and Amos trail behind Zero, their eyes glinting with monstrous intent.

  Zero flips over a table, causing the occupants to leap from their chairs. He rests his foot on a warm seat, placing his elbow on his knee. “I’d like to welcome you all into the presence of The Notorious Three! If you have no clue who we are, we are also members of the WAL clan. For every ooh and aah, I'll charge you a million gold coins.”

  The room goes silent. A barmaid NPC covers her mouth in shock and runs behind the bar.

  “Who here has a greataxe?” Zero yells. After no one responds, he repeats himself. “I said, who has a greataxe?”

  Two people raise their hands and Zero waves them over. “Let's see them! I’ll give you all a good deal.” The two rush to Zero, producing their bronze greataxes. The polished surfaces of the blades are each etched with distinct designs that glimmer in the window-lit pub.

  “Perfect,” Amos murmurs, his eyes widening at the sight of the weapons. They look sharp enough to have never been used. “I’ll trade you each an iron sword for them,” he offers. Zero smirks.

  One of the players shakes his head. “That’s not-”

  Amos’s eyes drop. “Say what?”

  “Well, you seem to really want them, so I want a little...” The man rubs his fingers together. The pub’s patrons resume their chatter. The barmaid gingerly grabs a wooden tray from the bar and resumes her rounds.

  Zero puffs out his chest to the man, but Amos places his hand on his shoulder.

  “I see what you mean, my friend. Let's negotiate,” Amos says with a wide grin.

  The man smirks. “Glad you have a brain.”

  Amos chuckles. “How about I give the two iron swords to the other guy, and I just take your greataxe and a few of your bottom teeth.”

  “What?” The man says, frowning. Amos grabs him by the hair and yanks his head down into Zero’s knee. His jaw cracks. Several teeth clatter onto the chair. The barmaid shrieks, dropping her tray and sending three wooden mugs of ale crashing to the floor. A thick string of bloody saliva oozes from the man’s mouth.

  The pub falls silent again. Some people begin to draw their weapons. Amos lifts the man's head before smashing his mouth onto Zero’s knee again. He raises the man’s head and leans in towards him. “Nice doing business with you.” Amos swipes the greataxe before dropping the man to the floor. He turns his attention to the other man, his expression stern but seemingly unfazed. Reaching his hand out, he balances two iron swords on his palm.

  The man takes the two blades before placing the handle of the bronze great axe into Amos’s grip. “Thank you,” he says. The second great axe vanishes into Amos’s inventory. “No… Thank you.”

  With his most favored weapon acquired, Amos feels the mantle of his character wash over him like a fine cloak. He is Amos The Notorious, one third of the Notorious Three.

  Amos’s curse, “Cloud Slasher,” empowers his attacks the more injured he is. The catch of the curse is twofold: first, at full health, no matter the quality of the weapon, Amos’s strikes are blunted and his charged attacks have a high chance of backfiring; second, any pain the cursed player feels is intensified. Most who have this curse avoid using charged attacks. However, weapons made of bronze won’t backfire during charged attacks due to their low stats (which the damage buff from the curse more than compensates for).

  Cazel grabs Amos’s shoulder. “Let's get out of here, I'm starving.” Unlike Amos, who favors the greataxe, Cazel The Notorious is a hybrid fighter, utilizing range, mage and melee attacks. This style of combat is the most difficult to master, but also the most versatile. Cazel is known among the RoT clan to be the strongest of the Notorious Three, not to mention being known for his bone-dry sense of humor.

  Zero flips a chair. “For fuck’s sake, Cazel! If you’d said that earlier, I wouldn’t have come in here and roughed up the place. This the only working pub in the city.” Zero The Notorious: deadly with a warhammer and formidable with magic, which he uses on occasion. Despite his brutal and quick-tempered nature, he is kind to those whom he calls his brother and never turns his back on those who rely on him.

  Five-to-seven years ago, RoT had controlled the entire game map, but that control was not to last. As it slipped away, many legends rose from the growing ashes of the clan as its influence and territory waned. Stories were written down and titles given, out of respect to those whose force of skill finally shattered RoT’s dominion.

  There was Durial of Divinity, who helped Sanity capture the first occupied territory outside of RoT; Vodka the Sober, known to be the only person RoT wouldn’t touch; Mr. Green, the creator of blogs on the game’s forum designed to give help and hope to the newcomers of the clans; and King Zul, leader of the LIT – the strongest clan at that time – and many more aside from these.

  During RoT’s reign, three kids rose to infamy, becoming the most feared enemies of RoT. Their exploits earned them the name The Notorious Three, and their presence was the driving force behind RoT’s rapid and catastrophic downfall. However, once the Revolutionary Era ended and RoT was brought down to the same level as other clans, The Notorious Three unleashed chaos across the land. They terrorized thousands, leaving a trail of destruction, and challenged some of the strongest players in their path.

  Their legend could have grown even greater if not for a man named Iker. Every time The Notorious Three caused an uproar, Iker would appear and bring them to heel. Over time, their names faded from public memory, surviving only in whispers among those who had faced them firsthand.

  Not long after the downfall of RoT, a man named Xander left the clan and form his own. That now infamous clan, WAL (We Are Lords), recruited some of the strongest players in the game, The Notorious Three being among those recruits. Under the feared banner of WAL, the trio continued their notorious ways…

  A few hours after their friendly transaction at The Gorilla Nest, a ways outside the perimeter wall of Franz Harbor, the three sit on a log near a fire to ward off the cold desert night. After leaving the pub, the three spent the rest of that day grinding. and night had come fast. A musky aroma rises from the goat meat cooking over the fire. Their sweat-soaked clothes lay out to dry as they wear the robes they looted from the dead bodies of Amos’ attackers.

  “What's the plan for tomorrow?” Zero asked as he picks meat out of his teeth. “I think we should probably meet up with the rest of the clan as soon as possible.”

  “I suggest we try to meet up at Frauw like the last two times,” Cazel offers. “In that case, we have two options. We can hire a crew to take us on a boat to Flakenwell and then head south, but that won’t be cheap. We’ll have to grind here for a while longer to afford passage. Or, we can head through Ork Ruins, round the lake through the Sword Of Tintinaru, and pass under Westpoint. If we choose the second route, we can train while we make our way there. The orks shouldn’t be a problem at our current levels.”

  Amos shakes his head. “Okay, two problems with that second option. If we have to spend time cutting our way through the orks that would be, what, a week-long trip? By the time we get to The Sword of Tintinaru, the Fools clan or The Trapline Army will have control of the city. Neither of them like us, sure, but they don’t even respect us.”

  Zero chuckles. “Kinda sad you have student in the Fools that hate you, ain't it?”

  Cazel sighs. “I suppose we’d likely have to spend a week grinding here to afford passage anyway.”

  Zero opens his mouth, only to be cut off by Cazel, who raises his hand.

  “And no, we aren't going to steal a ship. Unless you know how to sail, brother?” Cazel says as he leans back.

  Zero shrugs. “It was just a thought.”

  A damp log pops and snaps in the fire. Zero throws a goat bone into the flames. The three are far enough from the Harbor wall to be spared from any sounds of commotion coming from within. The desert at night is so quiet you can almost hear a thought forming in a man’s head.

  Zero lays a hand on Amos’s shoulder. “Let's go east and train on our way there. Grinding on those orks this early on will be great XP.”

  Amos bobs his head back and forth before caving in. “Fine, it’s just that I'd rather avoid seeing my students… ”

  Cazel smiles, laying his hand on Amos’s other shoulder. “Of course, brother.”