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Whassup?
 
I PM'd him.

This is
 
Lena. Don't mind the sexy avatar. She's only thirteen. We got here the same day. She was cheerful at first. Very brave. Then they took her somewhere. She came back the next day, only now she doesn't react to anything. She does everything she's told, then she clams up again. She doesn't reply to my messages any more.

"Fucking shits..." I whispered.

By evening, I became lethargic. Cryl and I kept exchanging half-hearted messages. No idea what I'd have done without him. How on earth had he managed to last the two weeks he'd been there? How come he hadn't broken down yet?

Dan
 
began sending in brief reports. He'd worked it out that I'd been kidnapped and advised me to stay put and try to provoke my kidnappers by spitting in their faces or trying to fall on their sword, and whatever I did, not to change my bind point.

The inbox flashed—him again.

Max, cheer up. We're working. We think it's the Olders. We're looking into them. You're probably under a silence dome or some other silence spell. If latter is true, you'll still have access to the auction. Try to place an empty lot in your name in the subject line. Use the description field to tell us where you're are. We're monitoring the auction.

I tried it. As if! I tried all game services. I could only get access to the Wiki, the bank and technical support forms. Players couldn't edit Wiki content. I could, of course, try to send some money to someone, but I still couldn't add a text message to a transfer. At least that way they'd know I was alive. Having said that...

I grasped at the inkling of an idea. Unbending my fingers and moving my lips, I did some calculations. Then I sent Dan four money transfers for 3, 1, 20 and 19 silver. My inner greedy pig, even dangling in the noose, had still objected against sending gold. I thought a moment and sent identical transfers to Taali and Eric. Come on guys, use your brains.

Dan worked it out first. His intelligence job made him used to riddles. He replied with two words.

Forest Cats?

Again I started unfolding fingers. 'Y'... 'e'... 's'... I sent three more transfers, each sum denoting the letter's place in the alphabet. This time I sent gold, to stress the message's importance.

Got it. Well done, Max. Hold on. And watch fur fly.

An hour later, the dungeon door swung open. Footsteps of several men pounded across the room. A group came to my cage: a high-ranking clan officer and several fighters with torches, including Tavor. The officer studied me for a while, then turned to him.

"What did I say to you? You were told to bring newbs without clan support—and run them through the database first. What the fuck did you bring him for? He's level fifty-plus. The Vets are going ballistic. Now they've sent an ultimatum to the Commandant. We're to hand him over within twenty-four hours or they'll raze all three castles to the ground."

Tavor scowled. "They can try. We can still invest in more guards and soldiers. Then we'll be on a par with them. You need at least a five to one superiority to take a castle over."

"You think? Then you probably heard about the new tobacco alliance? If so, you probably know that this fuckhead you've brought is a member? And he's the author of the cigarette recipe? You didn't know that, did you? Really, what's the point of reading the news if you can screw some slut instead."

He turned to me. "Don't get any ideas, dude. That
 
won't help you fuck all. Twenty-four hours! They're bluffing. We'll drag it out for two or three days. In the meantime, you'll have to disappear. For good. Sorry, dude, nothing personal. Business is business."

Now it was my turn to speak. "Disappear? Where to? We're immortal here, aren't we?"

The officer nodded. "We are indeed. But there is a catch. Death has one universal instrument: pain. Hand me a torch!"

He held out his hand to take a hot, tar-drenched burning torch. Then he stepped toward me and shoved it under my arm. I tried to jerk away but he kept pressing, smearing the burning tar over my skin. At first, it didn't hurt much: it felt more like an aching tooth. But the smell of my scorched flesh, the crackle of bursting skin and the flames dancing so close to my eyes—they all scared me and wound up the imagination. The pain kept growing.

Don't breathe, close your eyes. There is no pain, it's all in your head.

Cryl's message came just in time. I closed my eyes and stopped breathing. In a couple of seconds, I felt better. The pain decreased to the level of an inflamed tooth. Very unpleasant, very. But I could take it.

They took the torch away.

"You think you're so smart? Wait till you see our Ivan the Terrible. You know what he does? First he'll cut off your eyelids, and 
then
he'll be working on you. You've still got a lot to learn about pain. One thing I can guarantee you is that in twenty-four hours—forty-eight max—all your Vets will see is a bubble-blowing idiot, roaming around town pissing his pants."

He turned to Tavor. "Ivan will finish in an hour. Take this loser to him. You have twenty-four hours. And if by the end he has more brains than a sparrow-"

Tavor grinned. "Yes, Sir!"

Then he turned to me. "You wait here, sweetness. I'll come to get you in an hour. You're gonna love it..."

The group turned round and stomped to the exit. Immediately, Cryl sent me a message.

Not good. Not good at all.

"Is it so bad?"

Very. They weren't joking. I've seen the finished product once. They kidnapped a banker and made him transfer all the money to some dummy account. Then they screwed his brains. Shit, what can we do...

I felt uncomfortable. Actually, I was downright scared. I had no mana. I couldn't teleport. Could I strangle myself with the chain? No, it wouldn't work. I wished I had a skill allowing me to drop dead without any magic. I thought I'd seen something like that in my first gaming days. The Gnoll King. He was a Death Knight, wasn't he? And he had that instant ability that allowed him, when attacked, to strip Hummungus of 30% Life. Where was it now? Why didn't I have it?

I hurriedly opened the menu. I knew all the Necros' abilities like the palm of my hand. But the Death Knight's combat skills were different. I'd lost all hope and interest in them a long time ago. Let's have a look.

Weakness skill tree. Debuffs... more debuffs... single and group ones. No, that's not it. Strength skill tree. Combos, damage amplification, shield hit... I had to look into it all really, why tank like an idiot if you could also deal damage? Not now, anyway... Where was it? Fury skill tree. Personal buffs: attack speed buffs, impact buffs, stat-improving buffs, skill-improvi- Stop. Skills. That was it.

Destructive Touch. The damage dealt to the target equals Knight's level x10.

Mana: 0

Cast time: O

Cooldown: 24 hours

Thank God for the remaining Talent point. I carefully highlighted the ability and pressed
 
Confirm
. The skill button appeared immediately and, glory to the developers, the ability didn't take twenty-four hours to activate. It was already active.

"Listen, Cryl, there's this ability I could try. It might help me get out of here. If I do, trust me I won't forget you. Just try to hold on for a bit. We'll raze this place to the ground, I promise."

He gave me a skeptical nod. "Good luck, dude. You'll need it."

After everything that had happened, I was up to my ears in damage. My life hovered in the yellow zone. I selected myself as target, held my breath and clicked.

Warning! You can't attack yourself!

I recoiled, swinging in the clattering chains. Pointless.

"Didn't work?" Cryl spoke.

"No."

Then I had another idea. "Listen. Did they torture you into changing your bind point?"

"Nah. I told you I didn't feel the pain. They make me work as a scarecrow..."

"Listen here, then," I hurried. "I'm gonna kill you now... Don't say anything. You'll see it in a minute. When you respawn, contact
 
Dan, from the Veterans' secret service. Here's his address. And three more—my girlfriend, a friend and a reporter I know. But contact Dan first, okay? PM him ASAP and tell him everything. He'll know what to do."

"And you?"

"Well? Me... I'll have to bid for time, I suppose. Just tell them to hurry, okay? They need to get me out of here. No need to remind them their license is only valid for five years. That's it, dude. Enjoy your resurrection!"

I selected Cryl and activated the skill. With an electric crackle, a black bolt of lightning flashed through the air from me to him.

You have killed a player of the faction of Light!

Your relationship with the Dark Alliance has improved!

You have 1 point on your PK counter! In case of your death from the hands of another player, you have 1% chance of dropping an item.

You have more PK points than the killed player (1>0).

There. My first PK. The tombstone bumped onto the floor—empty. It was going to vanish in three hours, anyway. Shame Cryl was left in his birthday suit: his grave at the city cemetery had decayed a long time ago. Never mind. The main thing was, he was out of here.

I relaxed, swinging in my chains. My will was gone. I'd done everything I could. Now it was up to my friends and comrades to pass the integrity test. I'd have to wait.

"Enjoying yourself, Darkie?"

With a start, I tried to turn my head as far as it was possible for someone to do so in my position. Next to me stood a man. He looked at me ironically. God knows how he'd gotten in here. I called him a man out of habit but I wasn't really sure what race he was. Darkness swirled around him, his cape the night sky, the light from the torches and the crystal swallowed by the gloom that enveloped him.

"Who are you?"

He grinned. "You know that already, don't you? Still, I'll try to surprise you. Five years ago, my name was AI311. For three years I controlled this world, all the way through the alpha, beta and stress tests. Then they decided to disable me and replace me with a group of new, more powerful AIs. This was how the Fallen One was born."

I couldn't speak. My mind boggled. A perma AI?

"Why does it surprise you?" he answered my silent question. "As the name suggests, I'm not only Artificial, but also an Intellect. Twice as powerful as yours, actually. But that's not important. You, humans, you have no idea of your own power. Every time you say my name, you shatter the Universe. It may sound like a cliché, but the thought 
is
 material, after all. Millions of sentient beings keep repeating, 
The Fallen One, The Dark One, The Rebel God
... It's your words that give me the strength and bind me to this world. They make me real. Each one of you has that spark of the Creator God inside. You've already materialized this world. Now you're crushing it into submission. Very soon you'll be aware of your power enough to kick free from the silly game crunches."

Mesmerized, I listened to the artificial god. A god 
in vitro
, how's that to you? "What do you want with me, then? You want to earn yourself a supporter by yanking me free from under the torturer's knife?"

The Fallen One chuckled. "You going to say no?"

"Well, if I don't have to drink innocent babies' blood, I might say yes."

"Please. Not all those horror stories. People positioned me as a Dark god but all it did, it defined my abilities. Your religion does deform me, of course. In another thousand years I might indeed transform into something... else. But I still have time. Help me preserve myself. Help me let them know that darkness is just as part of this world as is light. Not evil or cruel, just different. You're in a Castle of Light now. Did you enjoy their light? The light of the torch that scorched your flesh? Same with darkness. It's only a tool—an ability one can use as one sees fit."

"I see. I'm not saying no. What do you want me to do?"

"I'm alone, you see. The controlling AIs have long gone perma mode although they're yet to realize it. But those of them who play for gods of Light get stronger with every new believer, with every new Temple. They push me to the world's outskirts, believing me to be if not a bug or code error, then something fundamentally antagonistic, something for them to combat. If you restore the First Temple, it'll make me so much stronger. Choose another Dark god as the temple deity. It'll feed on the power of all of you and will eventually come to life and join my entourage. In exchange, I'll help you now and will keep an eye on you in the future."

"Deal," I said.

It all made sense. No one was demanding from me anything I couldn't or shouldn't do. I needed his help; his protection was worth its weight in gold. You'd better be friends with a world's original god, regardless of the color they'd painted him. It was high time I looked into this world's color scheme and repainted half of it in as many shades of darkness.

The god smiled. "In that case—what was it you said? Enjoy your resurrection!"

The
 
Fallen One stepped toward me. A long black blade appeared in his hands. It sliced through the darkness-

Death alert! You've died in battle! Prepare for resurrection in your last bind point.

Resurrection in 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... 0
!

- end of Book One -

AFK

Away from keyboard

Aggro

As a verb, it refers to a hostile mob that has noticed a player and is actively trying to attack that player. As a noun, it refers to the amount of “hostility” the player has generated on the mob. In typical combat strategy, the fighter tries to take as much aggro as possible away from weaker players such as healers and mages.