[[May 7. 2038]]
--Desert.
Flat. Fissured. Dry. Arid—lacking even the most basic signs of life you'd expect in a game world: no cacti, no shrubbery, no caravans or fictional animals. Nothing seems alive or moving… except for the scorching wind threatening to blister my face.
--WHUMP!
And this Hobgoblin trying to take my head off.
--VWUM!
The monster swings its cracked, worn mace at my face, aiming to take me out in one hit. I block the strike with my shield, but the sheer force sends me stumbling back.
--CRACK!
The crude iron of its mace slams into my wooden shield, splintering the surface.
"Damn!" I curse, my arm going numb from absorbing the blow. The shield barely dulls the crushing pain in my nerves.
'Why the hell did I go out hunting again? I just needed to gather some Rick-Rabbits and cook a stew for a quest…'
Of course, I know this region has hobgoblins wandering around, always itching to pick a fight with any adventurer unlucky enough to pass through.
"I can't believe… huff… I got stuck in this putrid town… gasp… in the middle… ugh… of butt-ugly nowhere…" I mumble, lungs on fire and praying for a break.
CRUNCH!
Once again, the hobgoblin slams its mace into my shield, more splinters flying. The shield's durability is dropping fast—I can tell without even checking. Hell, one of the spikes has punched through, giving me a tiny peek-hole.
Unfortunately, what greets me on the other side is terrible dental hygiene and a tidal wave of spittle.
"GYAHAHAHA, HUK!" cackles the ugly-ass goblin variant, swinging again and again. I can barely move fast enough to block its blows, each one knocking me further off balance.
'Forget parrying—how the hell do those high-level no-lifers stay on their feet dealing with this crap?!'
The hits keep coming. The hobgoblin's relentless. My leather armor is torn in some places and shredded in others, exposing raw, bleeding skin on my arms and legs.
But, hey—I'm still moving.
"Gehehehe!!" it chuckles, licking its own bulging eyeball with a freakishly long tongue.
Undeterred by the repeatedly punctured plank of wood I'm still calling a "shield," it shrieks again, bloodlust gleaming in its beady eyes. It barrels forward, gripping its mace like a spear, and rams itself into my shield.
"...aaACK!" I grunt as the hobgoblin's shoulder-tackle knocks me clean off my feet.
Of course, it's not done yet. This isn't some beginner-friendly goblin I can beat with my pinky—(not that I need to prove that or anything)—No.
This thing is scarily intelligent.
Goofy-looking or not, it knows how to fight. They always do. They know how to use weapons. They work in groups. They can strategize. They've got unreasonably high strength stats for such hideous little freaks.
All in all, bad news.
And of course, I'm losing to one.
With a glint in its eye, it raises its mace for the kill shot—
And at the last second—
I slip on the sand.
My ass hits a patch of jagged rocks just as the mace crashes down beside my left knee.
'...Perfect. Just as planned,' I gaslight myself.
Still gripping my near-broken shield in my left hand, I backhand the hobgoblin across the face. In one smooth motion, I swing my shortsword with my right—
Yes, I have a sword. I was, uh… waiting for the perfect time to use it!
"AND THE TIME IS NOW!!" I yell, letting out all my frustration as I slash into its arm—
And chop its left forearm clean off.
"GRAHHH!!!"
The fugly thing cries out, flailing the severed stump in the air. It doubles over in agony…
But I catch the smart-ass grin stretching across its disgusting face.
With about 20 to 30 feet between us, it breaks into a dead sprint—its grotesquely long blue tongue flapping in the wind, cackling like a lunatic with eyes locked on me.
"Damn it… work, legs!" I grunt, still stuck on the ground.
I'm dead tired, outmatched, and this cheese-puff-colored, bipedal hog-looking son of a—
"...Hup!"
I throw my shield at the hobgoblin, hoping I hit a crit. spot or something. But this game's creator was not on my side.
Far from it.
As my thrown shield is easily caught ONE-HANDED by this freaky monster. it then leaps into the air, ready to bash my skull in and declare its victory; slobber all over my body as it holds my limp being to the air triumphantly-- I could see it already.
'No way in hell I'm going to be that thing's TROPHY!!' My mind screams, urging me to take action.
I grab my sword with both hands and push up onto one knee, summoning whatever strength I have left in my beaten self. My one last chance. I rise—
"GRAAAAHK!/----..."
CRSHK!
And through that same peek-hole the hobgoblin tore through my shield, my shortsword stabs through—Effectively crumbling the structure of the shield, its durability gone—
And puncturing the hobgoblin's throat.
"..."
A beat.
"huff... huff... ufff... humf…"
I stand.
Alone in this miserable desert, sword pointed to the sky, as if it were capable of threatening the heavens.
The hobgoblin's body hangs limp at the end of it.
"...Ugh!"
And there goes my cool moment.
My legs and arms give out. One lifeless body—and one almost lifeless body—collapse into the sand.
I let go of the sword's hilt and roll onto my back. I try to move—
My hands are numb. Fingers won't close.
My left arm stings with the sensation of a thousand tiny needles. Cuts. Bruises. Gashes— littered throughout my body.
"Inhales... my gawd…" I wheeze, flat on my back, waiting for vultures to come pick me clean.
'Okay… it's not that serious,' I chuckle weakly.
My legs still don't work. I'm not sure I can even get up before another monster shows up.
That said… it's not all bad.
"Any time noww~…"
JINGLE!
With that cutesy bell sound, the notifications I've been praying for start to pop up, one after another:
-------------------------------------------------------------
[--System Alert--]
[Congratulations, {MOONSHINE}!]
[YOU HAVE LEVELED UP!]
[Level 62 → 63]
[Stats Increased Automatically]
[(+3 Strength)]
[(+2 Intelligence)]
[(+3 Stamina)]
[(+2 Agility)]
[(+1 Wisdom)]
[(+1 Dexterity)]
[(+2 Endurance)]
[(+0 Luck)]
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"Ahhhh… that's nice…"
A golden halo shimmers above me—classic level-up effect. Golden particles rain down onto my body, sealing up my cuts and wounds.
'Yessss~, this is what I was waiting for… hehe~' I laugh internally.
I knew that if I took down a level 70 hobgoblin, I'd level up. With the stat boost comes the full-body recovery—every injury, big or small, healed.
'Not bad for my first near-death experience. With this, I can finish hunting Rick-Rabbits, get back before sunset, collect my reward and…'
"..."
"..."
"...Uh, legs? You mind moving?"
"Arms too, while you're at it??"
Even with my most heartfelt verbal encouragement, my body refuses to budge.
'The hell? This doesn't make sense… I thought the halo heals everything?? I should be back to full health, full mobility, top-top shape and—'
'No.'
'Oh, my FUC—'
Still nothing.
My stamina bar is damn near rock bottom.
Sure~, the bar's bigger now—
But apparently, it doesn't fill up just because I leveled up.
And it hasn't moved… for five full minutes.
"…Of course this is how I find out. Just. GREAT… tch."
Welp.
There goes my quest.
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It took a hour for my stamina to replenish to the point that I could get off my ass. Even then, my body felt slow and weirdly unresponsive. I wasn't planning on pushing it much harder today, though. All I want to do right now is try to carve some basic parts off of the hobgoblin to increase my Scavenging/Harvesting skill, and take the rest of the body back to town and let the Skinning Shop do the rest.
"...hrmph...why's it gotta be....my goodness... so damn...hard-- kya!"
I fall back onto my bum from my squatting position. I dangle my harvesting knife, blade broken in half, in front of my face in disappointment. "...sigh... nothing is going my way today... as if it ever does...*snort!*" The piggish sound leaves me before I could cover my face and muffle. Embarrassing... but nobody was around, thankfully.
I pulled another knife out from the belt, and kept picking at th nail from the hobgoblin's big toe that freakingbroke my other knife. With a forced grunt, I pull the ugly thing off, and pack it into the pouch on my waist. I pick at the other nails, slowly but surely retrieving the materials as the durability of my knife falls steadily.
"Guess I'll need to buy another knife when I get back to town..." I murmur to myself, staring at the frayed edge of the blade. Pushing it back into the belt, I finally stretch out my body, joints cracking at creaking, screaming for respite that I couldn't give just yet, For....
I still needed to drag the body back to town.
About 3 miles away, I would say. West. Carrying dead weight at about 150 pounds would be ridiculous if this weren't a video game... but that doesn't make the *mental* stress any less burdensome.
"sigh... f*ck me..."
With the curse, I reach down and grab hold of the only arm still remaining on the hobgoblin, and begin my arduous, painstaking, overtly dramatic walk back to the most mediocre town possible.
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"…"
"…huff…"
I drop the body back onto the abrasive ground. I could see the town in the distance… but that doesn't make my legs feel any stronger.
I plop back down onto the grainy sand, breathing in deep. 'I really need to invest some money in those carts to carry around my loot,' I think to myself for a moment, before shaking my head.
I wasn't planning on playing this game forever. It was just for stress relief. Nothing more.
"…though, it only seems to be adding stress to my life," I comment aloud, a scowl on my face-- to protect from the rays of the sun burning my eyes, and because of how bothersome everything was in this damn game.
Virtuosa Valoria. The hit Full-Dive-VR MMO-RPG of the century-- or atleast, of 2036; about two years ago now. Its gameplay was unprecedented: an entire world meant to be explored to the minutest detail, with the most in-depth AI in the industry. An AI so frighteningly complex and realistic, that every so often on the news, there would be stories of addicts unable to be torn away from their full-dive gear, refusing to accept the real world and choosing *this game* over living an actually contributory life to society.
"An insanity, I say..." I grumble, as I start dragging the monster once more. Regardless-- there were other impressive things to talk about the game, while ignoring that no-life faction of people: from the incredibly in depth description that I glossed over on the game's webpage, the game's world size was more than half the size of earth, with content waiting to be explored at every little rock and tree you could find. Empires, kingdoms, territories; humans, elves, beastkin, dwarves; gods and idols and demons and mythos-- blah, blah, blah. The game had every fantasy element that you could wish for.... but gawd, was it a pain in the ass to play.
"What was the promotional slogan again?... 'V.V.-- Where The World Learns You?'
Well, I wish the world would learn to take it easy on me!" I growled through gritted teeth, that one vein in my forehead pulsing extra hard this evening. But like, could you blame me?? I'm actually dragging a CUT-UP BODY, through a shitty desert in almost 100 degree weather probably, and ok-- I'll be honest: the town I'm stranded at? It SUCKS! The town blacksmith? He's drunk half of the day, and appears for about 4 hours before going back to the bar. The skinner changes their prices when dismantling a corpse everyday-- I never know if I am going to come out on any given day with profit or in a deficit. And even then, sometimes the corpse isn't even dismantled properly... I don't think I've ever seen the skinner sober, to be honest.
And the inn I am being charged exorbitant prices to stay at? I wake up with a new ailment every morning, I swear. SO THEN, I got to pay for a meal to clear up my status. That meal is nastyyy~~~; I don't understand how a sandwich and a soup can have the same pasty flavor profile. In the late evening when I come back late from quests, I swear I see a mysterious bottle of liquid being added to dishes; but, maybe that's just me.
And the bar---!
**Thwoom!**
My ear buzzes. The sweat on the back of my neck cools down as I come to a pause. I crane my neck to look behind me; I catch nothing in view, aside from a billowing vortex of dust still trying to settle. It was unnatural, and unnerving. I drop the arm I was pulling and start spinning around; my hand finds the hilt of my sword quickly, ready to unsheathe it from my hip-- but still, I see nothing.
But I knew there was something.
That wasn't a sound from the desert. It sounded like a bomb going off, frankly. In the middle of nowhere? Impossible... was I being hunted? Were there bandits in the area? But how could they hide so well? Was it a secret monster, and it was burrowing under my feet as I sp-----
**KRA-KOOOM!!!**
As if thunder struck, the dune under immediately crumpled and started sliding, pulling me and my hunt down with it like a sand avalanche. The brittle and coarse pellets stung against my face and skin as I tumbled wind and dust swirling and encompassing, dragging me closer and closer to the crater-broken surface of the desert: a large crater dug into the earth. The edges superheated to the point that light refracted from the newly made shards of glass... reflecting a single figure cloaked by the swirl of sandstorm it created itself.
I kick my foot out, my heel digging into the sand to slow my descent. My foot slows me down enough, but my momentum sends me tumbling forward until I catch myself on the edge of the crater.
The air in my lungs felt stifled. My jaw set shut, refusing to let any sounds escape and entail my doom. I wanted to become the silence, to become nothing, for I knew that whatever stood there in that opaque vortex, would end my life.
I mentally begged for the silence to take me, but the loudest sound in the vicinity still came from the scant noise of my nasal breathing. 'Still. Remain, Still.' Become the ground-- the desert, the sand. Become inconsequential, and what doesn't matter. Anything but myself.
Anything that stops thoseRed Eyesfrom staring atMe.
Red eyes. Piercing, desperate to shed my cold blood. I couldn't see much else of the figure– possibly a cloak, coming into and of vision, still obscured by the swirl of grainy particles… but what I could see was pure, deep, bloody red.
An encompassing energy fluctuating up its arms and fists, an unstable force running around the figure ready to destroy. To cause damage. To kill.
My mind didn't need to tell me what I was seeing; my body felt it. I did not know what that energy was, or its origin. But what I knew—what the hairs standing up on my arms told me, the dry palette of my mouth dared remind me, what the numbness of my legs, still and heavy like cinder blocks, dared tell me…
This figure is dangerous to the world.