(Westpoint – Occupation: LIT/Fools/The Trapline Army)(Zero)

  ONE WEEK LATER

  The player base was left in the dark. There had been no updates from the moderators since the two warning messages, and many players who complained received either short and vague responses or no response at all from the devs. For the three, however, it was business as usual. Their only goal was to train as hard as they could until they figured out what was happening. What else could they do? At least getting stronger made dying less likely.

  From city to city they went, passing thousands of players in various states of panic, depression, and frustration. Those who, somehow, hadn’t been struck dumb by the news of the “death bug” were annoyed that the tournament still hadn’t been announced. The common opinion was that it had been postponed, but no official announcement had been made. This wasn’t a world of adventure, of quests, of pain and glory. This was a world of paranoia, a world of death, a world of uncertainty, a world with no answer.

  Westpoint, a popular and wealthy city, had become divided as clan borders began to form. The city was now split into three sections, each controlled by a different clan: LIT to the northwest, The Trapline Army to the northeast, and the Fools to the south. Westpoint is a hotspot for access into the desert, as well as to trade routes connected to the brazier mines, making it a desirable place to control.

  In a small room with two beds and boarded-up windows, where one peek between the two-by-fours would reveal a city of people whose fate was in limbo, Zero lays his steel platelegs across one bed before sitting back on the other. He takes off his dark steel boots and fetches a rag and a bottle of vinegar from a table nearby. A lovely smell, one that reminds him of his mother, wafts from the bottle as he pops the cork. A little blood stains the leather straps of his boots. A few dabs of the rag, a moment to let the vinegar do its work, and another dab with the dry part of the rag. It was a trick his mother taught him to use on his clothes when he got bloody noses during winter.

  Like Amos and Cazel, Zero the Notorious owns the title RoT gave to the three. Not known well by many, he can say that those who do know him are familiar with his warhammer and fighting style. He’s never been one to swing a sword, but the crunch of bones is music to his ears.

  Zero sighs before opening his interface to the messages section. Many exchanges have occurred between him and the other members of the WAL clan during these first long weeks.

  Smokey and Carp, the brother duo, sent him messages about their meeting with Vodka at The Monk Monastery. They also described the players there as the not-so-peaceful Monk Clan.

  Xander – aka Brian – aka “Xanderwars,” was the first of their clan to meet with a certain other fellow member – a player named Christ – in the Elf Ruins near Westpoint. Zero hopes to meet them both within the next day or two, since they’re the closest WAL members to himself, Amos, and Cazel.

  A WAL member named Hypno has been stuck in the LIT-occupied sector of the City of Bell for the past two weeks, ever since his clanmates Smokey and Carp left to head for The Monastery. Hypno’s attempts to explain his situation by making certain promises to King Zul have proven problematic in the chat. The latest message Hypno sent to Zero read: “Diplomacy is a bitch.”

  As for the last WAL clan member, Ship, he only sent messages to Xander to tell him everything was fine in the city of Sess?so. The only reason Zero knows this is because Xander told him and the others. Xander’s messages left everyone wondering why Ship decided to spawn so far away, on the Western side the map, when there were cities in the east that still weren’t full. The only answer Xander gave was, “It’s Ship. He’s the clan's loner.”

  Zero shakes his head before closing the interface and leaning back on the bed. The future looked murkier than a stagnant pond. Thousands of players dead, and thousands more trapped in a digital limbo. Would the death bug ever be fixed? If so, what would happen when it was? Assuming he survives and makes it out, would the game itself survive the scandal this would cause? All the legalese, contracts, and NDAs money could buy would be pitted against tens of thousands of family members filled with sorrow and rage at the loss of their children to a game (albeit a highly sophisticated one).

  All these questions, and not a hint of an answer, not from the players, the devs, or some higher power. Already many players were speculating that the death bug was a cover story for something far less accidental and far more nefarious. Why were they really stuck here? What was the answer? Looking up at the ceiling, Zero stretches out his torso. “What should I do, Mom?” Silence engulfs the room for a good five minutes. Chatter from the active city plays softly in the background. Zero dozes off.

  The door swings open as Amos and Cazel pour in, shutting the door behind them.

  “Shit,” Amos says, just loud enough to capture Zero’s attention. “They’re here!” Zero shoots awake to find Cazel and Amos, both clad in heavy steel armor.

  Cazel points his steel spear at Zero. “Get strapped. The Dulman clan is here. We think they noticed us.”

  Zero’s eyes widen as he leaps from the bed and knocks over the vinegar. The bottle breaks, the unwelcome nostalgia of the smell mingling with the heart-fluttering panic filling Zero’s mind like oil with water. He places his hand on the platelegs and dark boots, which vanish, reappearing on his body. “Fucking hell, how many are there!?”

  Amos peeks out of the boarded-up window facing the street, his voice a shrill whisper. “Keep your voice down! We only saw four of the eight, Robby, their tank, was with them. Ready your magic protection, Syndesis.”

  Cazel grabs Zero’s shoulder. “We don’t know how, but Robby already has the Shield of Cataphract.” Heavy footsteps surround their building. “This isn’t a fight we can win.”

  Zero’s steel warhammer appears. His hand claims its hilt.

  “Let’s meet north at the clock tower after you lose them…” Amos whispers. Holding up three fingers, he begins to lower them slowly. The last finger feels like it hangs in the air forever. Amos lowers it.

  In unison, all three activate their magic protection Syndesis. A moment later, the roaring of multiple tier-three Fire Bolts lights up their hut, obliterating the wall facing the street. The blast sends the roof into the air, its planks and beams shattering into a shower of flaming splinters. Amos and Cazel scramble through the flames and onto the street. Zero leaps after them as wood and debris clatter to the burning floorboards. Stray Flames cling to his shield, still compelled by the spell to pursue their target. Zero dashes through the streets, knocking over several NPCs and at least one player. He nearly trips over a chicken that must have escaped from some idiotic butcher’s shop. In the wake of Zero’s escape, the streets thin out. He glances over his shoulder. Two Dulman clan members are right behind him: Robbi the tank and Messi the sword specialist. The two close the short distance between themselves and Zero with vicious speed.

  Messi raises his steel longsword over his head and swings the blade down towards Zero. With the base of his warhammer, Zero blocks the strike, knocking Messi’s blade from his hand. Zero flails, rounding himself to mount a counter strike. Robbi advances, kicking Messi out of his way and blocking Zero’s attack with his shield.

  Advancing down the street, the three exchange blows, jumping higher than the doorways they pass. The combatants flip, twist, and slide through the cobblestone corridors with rapid, inhuman movements.

  Every time Zero finds an opening, one of the Dulmans intercepts him, blocking his blow. In mid-air, Zero whirls, kicking Robbi’s shield from his grasp. Robbi tumbles to the ground. Even so, we three can’t win without Christ’s curse, Zero thinks, while watching Robbi’s Shield of Cataphract clatter to the street below.

  Messi circles Robby, brandishing his blade. He and Zero exchange a flurry of back-and-forth blows, but none find their target. Zero tries casting what spells he knows as he tangles with Messi, but amid his frantic swings of his axe, what few casts that do take form only cause a careless spread of flames to spill around the dueling foes.

  Scions of the three most significant clans (LIT, The Trapline Army, and the Fools), watch this battle unfold from standpoints far above the streets of Westpoint, peering out of the windows of copper-clad towers and over the railing of rooftop balconies. Not one among them ventures to blame any specific clan for the din unfolding underneath them. The mere presence of the Dulman clan curates the current brawl.

  In the wake of his disarmament of Robbi, Zero retreats toward the Westpoint clocktower. Despite their ferocity, Robbi and Messi prove slightly slower than Zero. Are their strength levels not as high as his own? Zero grinds his teeth, banishing such speculation from his mind.

  Having levelled most of his combat stats to almost five hundred, Zero can manage a speed of up to fifty miles per hour on foot, without breaking bones or tearing muscles. However, if any given fight drags on, he must be careful not to burn himself out. Zero leaps to the ledge of a nearby rooftop. A figure crashes into the roof tiles to his right. It’s another Dulman clan member, Goliath, clad robes dark blue as the sea during a midnight storm. He raises his hand toward Zero.

  Zero charges Goliath while readying himself for a counterattack. A blue, glowing hand, a meter tall, appears in front of Goliath and smacks Zero with a massive wave of magical force. Zero flies off the roof, crashing through the ceiling of a nearby pub. The stink of stale ale and sweat bursts fills the air. Zero stands to find his left forearm bent backwards. Wasting no time, Zero places his palm on the floor, Without healing he reconnects his arm to its attendant joint. The joint may be damaged, but for the moment, his arm is usable. High on adrenaline, he feels little pain. The patrons of the pub begin to disperse into the street.

  The pub’s door swings open, revealing Messi, sword in hand. “You make a habit of hiding behind people while you fight? Let’s see how you fare without your meat-shields!”

  Blood trickles down Zero’s forehead, born from a wound he must have gained from his fall. Zero sports a maniacal grin. “Those are bold words from a swordsman who hides behind his pet tank.” He wipes the blood from his brow. Robbi’s deep laughter, almost a bellow, causes Zero to scan the room. For the moment, the tank is nowhere to be seen.

  Messi grins. “You should see the tricks I taught him.” The Pub door closes his view of Messi

  Goliath is seen from the hole Zero was sent through, still on the roof. The same spell that smacked him before smashes a huge chunk of the building apart. Debris smacking him as his feet slit back from the force. Goliath's cursed spell, “God's Hand,” displays its full power. The only drawback of the spell is that, upon casting it, the user is unable to utilize any form of syndesis for a full day. Still, a spell like that could demolish a stone building in seconds. Zero grits his teeth.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  As Zero readies himself for further abuse, a shimmering wall of air blurs Goliath’s sight for a moment. No more than a second later, the pub ceiling above Goliath collapses, showering him in shingles and dust. Messi, caught in a cloud of dust, nearly drops his sword as he rubs his eyes. As Goliath flings and brushes debris from his body, his wrists open, as if his skin was being urged to split itself. Goliath’s left hand detaches from his wrist, falling in slow motion onto the roof like a piece of ripe fruit. He screams.

  Out of nowhere, Amos, his platebody nearly reduced to bloody, metallic shreds, slides onto the rooftop where Zero and Goliath lie and dives through the opening. He grabs Goliath’s dismembered hand before it hits the ground and leaps off the roof, raising the hand, still holding the glowing curse, above his head. Amos yells with all his might, calling down God’s Hand upon the rooftops as he descends into the remains of the pub. Zero loses sight of Amos, Messi, and Goliath as dust, sand, wood, and stone debris engulf the area.

  “TICK TOCK!” Amos yells.

  Zero whirls, slamming his warhammer against the wall behind him, fleeing through the opening and towards the clocktower.

  Zero sprints to the base of the clocktower, scaling its stairway with ludicrous speed. He bursts through the door to the tower’s highest room, letting it creak closed behind him. Cazel leans against a wall, facing away from the door. His back is covered in blood, seeping out from two wounds caused by arrows still stuck in his left shoulder. Cazel looks over his shoulder. “Zero…” he rasps. He draws in a labored breath. “See… if you can pull these out… without taking half my shoulder with them.”

  Zero inspects the arrows. “Nontla?”

  Cazel licks his lips and gulps. “Yes, and Krio.” Cazel grits his teeth, succumbing to a coughing fit that gives way to a panting. He takes a few deep breaths, then stomps his boot on the wooden floor. He spits out a glob of blood. “Zap and Anderson were chasing Amos.”

  Zero attempts tugs on the arrows but finds no luck. They’re both embedded to the bone. With a growl, he takes out his dagger and slices the arrow shafts off, leaving just enough wood to extract them later. After tossing the arrow shafts to the floor, he pauses. “Wait, that’s seven. Where’s Javoo?”

  Cazel shakes his head. “No clue. You have any luck against the others?”

  “No time for that. As soon as Amos gets here, we need to head north and meet up with Xander and Christ.”

  Cazel throws a handful of gemmed snacks into his mouth. The arrow wounds seal themselves, a skin-like putty growing around the arrow tips until they look like budding horns. Cazel gulps down the snacks and cocks his head to the side. “I sense him coming.” He holds out his hand. Several more of the gemmed snacks appear in his palm. He offers them to Zero.

  As Zero scarfs down the snacks, he feels his wounds begin to seal. Though most of his pain fades, his left forearm continues to throb.

  Amos kicks open the door, tossing aside the handle and hilt of what used to be his greataxe. Deep cuts score his neck and face, and a deep would in his torso has rendered most of his lower body a dark crimson. His armor looks like little more than scrap metal hanging from him. “I couldn’t lose them but… then they fell back…” Amos croaks.

  Cazel rushes to Amos, catching him just as his feet give way and pulling him onto a chair. He takes out more gemmed snacks. “Eat these.”

  Amos chews until all his wounds are sealed, then takes a moment to catch his breath. The three turn their heads toward the single window in the room, as a peal of bells rings out from the Westpoint chapel. For reasons none of the three can explain, they stay silent until the last ring fades away. Cazel turns to Amos. “What happened?”

  Amos sighs. “I don’t know. I only wounded Goliath, and barely. No doubt he’s healed by now.” Cazel, wide-eyed, turns to Zero and raises his eyebrows.

  Zero shrugs. “Maybe a general from The Trapline Army ordered them to withdraw?” Cazel nods.

  Amos's eyes begin to flutter. “I was gonna cut down this clock tower if they were still on us… cut it down… to… dust…” His head drops and his arms go limp.

  Cazel shakes Amos. “Amos!” He presses his ear to Amos's chest. “He’s out cold.”

  Zero picks up the handle of the greataxe. “Let’s get out of here, now.” Zero hefts Amos over his shoulders, uses a force spell to blast a hole down to the base of the tower, and leaps down. Cazel follows.

  On the ground floor, the conscious two-thirds of the three peek from a window, surveying the streets. “If they don’t have eyes on us, they’re just waiting for us to peek our heads out,” Cazel whispers. “Best exit out the back.” Zero nods. He and Cazel sprint down the hall, past the clock tower’s staircase and into the building’s auditorium. “Focus on running. If I have to fight and get left behind, so be it. Just get Amos out of here.” The two sneak out the auditorium’s back door and into the clock tower’s back garden.

  After sneaking out of the garden, the two stick close to the city’s perimeter wall, trudging through the backyards of several houses. As they pass through a graveyard, they hear shouting echoing from a nearby street. Retreating behind the largest headstones they can find, Zero and Cazel catch their breath. Zero lays Amos down in front of him, parallel to the remains of whatever poor soul (or brainless NPC) lies below. As they wait for the shouting to grow more distant, Zero remembers exactly where this graveyard is. They’re less than a mile from the city’s edge.

  Once the shouting is barely audible, Zero turns to Cazel and nods. Cazel nods back. Zero lifts Amos over his shoulder, and the pair bolt from the graveyard and back onto the street, making for the nearest city gate. The streets are all but empty now, most players and NPCs having retreated inside in the wake of the chaotic brawl.

  About halfway to the city gate, a figure with auburn eyes, clad in coal-black robes and a burgundy coif, emerges from an alleyway ahead, blocking their path. Zero slides to a halt on the smooth-worn cobblestones, sparks flying from his dark steel boots. Cazel’s spear appears, falling into his open grip. He two-hands the spear, pointing it forward. “GO,” he barks, charging at the Dulman member known as Javoo.

  Javoo stands in the center of the street, motionless, until the point of Cazel’s spear is only inches from his chest. Javoo grabs his left pointer finger with his right hand, dislocating it with a wet snap. As the dislocated finger turns grey, a shadowy humanoid figure leaps from Javoo’s chest, knocking Cazel’s spear aside, punching the air out of his lungs, and flinging him onto his back. Black steam rises from the wraith’s ghostly body, as if the daylight were slowly dissolving it.

  The Wraiths of the Golem Curse: a spell that summons a wraith that copies the abilities of its caster, at the cost of the user dislocating one of their fingers. Each finger dislocated this way turns to stone for a few hours before returning to normal. The spell’s user also becomes disoriented during the summoning, their mind regaining clarity only after all summoned wraiths are defeated or dismissed.

  Cazel heaves in a breath, plants his boots on the cobbles, and flings himself up to his feet. He takes out his steel dagger, draws the blade back, then swipes forward in a sweep, striking at the wraith’s neck. He slices clean through the shadowy mass. The wraith’s head drifts upwards, dissolving along with the rest of its body.

  Zero realizes he hasn’t moved. He scans the area for any other Dulmans, debating whether to help his mate or try to escape with Amos.

  Javoo snaps another finger and a second shadow appears, rushing forward and punching Cazel in the gut.

  Cazel recoils, then rolls, retrieving his spear. He lunging at the shadow but it dodges the blow like a plume of smoke blown by a sudden gust of wind. After several more thrusts with his spear fail to meet with the wraith, Cazel switches to his sword, slicing rapidly at the wraith that, despite being so pressured it cannot attack, dodges each of Cazel’s strikes. All the while, Javoo remains motionless, his oaken eyes fixed on Cazel. He’s using the wraith to analyze Cazel’s attack patterns, Zero thinks. Cazel drops his sword and takes out to his halberd, which crashes to the cobbles as the wraith dodges his latest blow. “What are you waiting for? GO!”

  Zero grinds his teeth but does as Cazel says, sprinting around the two. Javoo ignores him, his gaze fixed on the fight taking place in front of him. As Zero sprints for the city gate, a third snap echoes behind him. If only Amos hadn’t passed out, if only they had a potion or herb to revive him, if only-

  The second-floor window of a nearby building shatters, sending a rain of glass down on Zero. He uses Amos’s back to shield himself, then looks up in time to see a third wraith flow down through the air toward him, like an animated wisp of black smoke.

  Zero drops Amos’s body as gently as he can, and then takes out his warhammer. He swipes at the wraith, missing twice, before taking two blows to the head that feel like icicles piercing his skull. The wraith grabs Zero by his boots, flipping him upside down and dragging along the street. A thin layer of frost forms on the dark steel of his boots, like crystalline gilding. Zero claws at the cobblestones, flipping himself over, but the wraith leaves no break in its attacks. It snatches Zero’s wrists, draining their warmth close to the point of frostbite, and then flits behind him, kneeing him in the back and sending him crashing to the street, face first.

  “Cazel…” Zero moans, his lips pressed into the cobblestone in an involuntary kiss.

  Cazel rushes past Javoo, knocking the second wraith back with a lucky swing of his halberd. Cazel switches back to his spear and flings it, like a javelin, at the wraith subduing Zero. With another sickening snap, Javoo dislocates a fourth finger, causing most of his left hand to turn to ossify. A fourth wraith leaps from his body, flitting through the air toward Cazel’s spear and knocking it aside. The spear barely misses the third wraith, which resumes dragging Zero across the ground by his boots, scraping his face against the street. The fourth wraith flies into the air.

  Cazel bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, then switches to his dagger. The second wraith drifts in front of him and punches him square in the groin, causing him to vomit, but bringing itself close enough that Cazel is able to slice the apparition across the chest, dissipating it. Before Cazel can straighten his back, the fourth wraith blasts his side with a fierce roundhouse kick, knocking him into the wall of a nearby building.

  The fourth wraith grabs Cazel’s wrist and knees him in the stomach, bringing him to his knees. Gripping Cazel’s wrists with its icy fingers and twisting his arms behind him, the wraith knees Cazel in the back, subduing him. The wraith shoves Cazel’s face into the cobblestones, dust and dirt filling his mouth.

  Meanwhile, Zero plants his palms on the street, pushing himself up and backwards, until he flips himself onto his back, the third wraith now above him. He takes out his dagger and plunges it into the chest of the shadowy summon, dissipating it. He clambers to his feet, glancing between Cazel and Amos. If only that fucker would wake up, he thinks. The fourth wraith holds Cazel, pressing its knee into his back, preventing him from moving. Cazel struggles, spitting curses at his captor.

  Javoo stumbles back for a moment, places a hand on his forehead, and then regains his balance. Zero takes out his warhammer and readies himself to attack. He hesitates. Javoo turns, holds out open hands on either side. He locks eyes with Zero and walks up to him. His expression is a perfect mask of stoicism, like the face of a scientist presiding over a terrarium of mice. “Fear not. I do not wish to kill you.”

  Zero remains silent. Javoo leans in until he can whisper in Zero’s ear. “Killing you three now would be far too easy.” Zero grimaces, tightening his grip on his warhammer. He glances at Cazel, left to the mercy of Javoo’s wraith.

  “Nothing to say?” Javoo asks.

  “Not to a scumbag like you.”

  Javoo chuckles. “Scumbag, you say? You people are so ‘black and white’ about things, it’s disturbing. Even so – and against my best judgment – I’ll let you three go.” Both Zero and Cazel's eyes widen in surprise.

  Javoo raises his good pointer finger. “Under one condition: in the interest of the respective futures of our two clans…” Javoo runs his right hand through Zero’s hair. “Your clan will go far into the west, past Mount Ziggy, and never return here. Take this message to General ‘Wargod’ Xander.” Javoo snaps his fingers. The wraith subduing Cazel dissipates. “If this ‘death bug’ announcement is true, we can’t go around killing each other willy nilly.” A grin snaps across Javoo’s otherwise emotionless visage, as if a marionette had pulled at two strings attached to his face.

  As Zero glowers at Javoo, several sets of footsteps catch his ears. From the same alleyway Javoo emerged from, the remaining members of the Dulman clan file out, one after another. Messi carries Goliath, who seems to have suffered enough from Amos’s assault to warrant significant recovery time. Javoo smiles and bows slightly, before rejoining his guildmates. The group stroll back toward the center of the city like they own the place.

  Cazel gathers himself, walks up to Amos, and heaves his body up onto his back. He stumbles for a moment before finding his footing.

  Zero stares at the departing Dulmans; the same people who, out of hatred toward himself and his clanmates, had led the effort to dox them years back; the same people who had gone so far as to SWAT one of their clan members, Vodka; the same people who had urged their fans send death threats to WAL members. The gravity of the death bug hit Zero harder than when he had first read the messages describing it. The Dulmans’ merciful act spoke louder than any dev messages could.

  “Let’s… go…” Cazel grunts, leaning against a nearby building. Zero joins Cazel. The two link arms at the shoulder, each sharing roughly half of Amos’s weight. Before long, they reach the city gate and pass through it, beginning their long journey northward.

  Honestly, a really good guy, and it would mean a lot to me if you checked him out.