Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Sky Realm.
Even the name sounded like it should be violating copyright law, but somehow the developers managed to pull it off. And if you thought the name sounded like a rip-off, you’d be surprised by the game itself: It was a rip-off, too. Only, it did it well. Very well. Better than any of the originals, in fact.
The vast improvement was due to not its originality, but the combination of stolen ideas: Do you like big open RPG maps? There’s a whole sphere for that. Want fantasy- and magic-based combat and dueling modes? There’s a series of mods for that, too. In fact, there are so many game modes and modification options, you can literally completely remodel your own character and weapons, if you have the time. The character designer is a 20 dollar expansion pack.
You can create 3D models with this simple software, and can even modify effects such as fire, frost and lightning, or even make your own effects. As long as you’ve earned the skill, you can wrap it in any package you could possibly think to design. Wonderful, isn’t it?
Except, of course, for the fact that the online game world is full of hundreds upon thousands of absolute idiots.
*****
“Well, that was slightly disappointing.” FireStorm stood, the animation cycling through an action of his character wiping his blade off on the slain enemy. Unfortunately, the massive ducktail the poor dead schmuck had added to his now-destroyed model ruined the moment. He strode up alongside Quicksear, his partner in game-clown genocide. They both stood at the gate to the next fight arena, having beaten the previous duo easily.
“Can you believe those tools back there?” Quicksear’s owner said over the voice chat. “Who animates monsters like that?!” Indeed, giant rainbow wigs or dildo swords didn’t cast the opposition in the greatest of lights.
FireStorm moved forward, rather than looking back at the terribly ameteur models fading away in the dirt behind them. “Honestly, this whole game has been rather disappointing. I mean, we can make our own weapon and character models and these guys made clowns? What the hell, man?”
FireStorm’s owner was shouting from his higher ground: He had taken much more care make himself look badass. Wearing a heavy hood that obscured his face, even thicker armour crafted from dense cloth and leather, and a large rucksack on his back and various weapon hilts protruding from under his attire’s various hidden pockets. A sword sheath graced his one side, distinctly katana-inspired, and his other side was enveloped in the glow of a charged spell in the palm of his hand. All in all, medieval and fucking awesome.
Quicksear’s character was hardly any less involved, though in a completely different style: Extraordinarily heavy-looking golden armour set upon glaringly white underclothes gave the tall model a noble air. Too bad the giant blood-covered bastard of a weapon he carried ruined the image slightly. The combined poleaxe and magical bolter should have been one of the wonders in the game, save for the fact that it looked like shit tied together with elastic bands.
Either way, as two of the best players ever to grace the game, it was clear that both had a style perfectly suited to their needs.
Which is why it made sense that they teamed up for the Duel Battle Challenge.
Quicksear ignored any further talk and abruptly stepped forward to the stone portcullis, his overtly long polearm passing through the wall above them.
FireStorm ran a shrug animation before following his partner into the colosseum-like structure of the Challenge Field.
“I wish they would fix that glitch.” FireStorm said as he glanced back at where the weapon passed through into the field before looking around. The large space was well-lit and filled with randomly placed obstacles and cover spaces. One section of the field took the form of a low dip, filled with water. Another had a high hill with a snowy peak. at the other end stood a fiery pit, while to their immediate left stood a tesla coil.
Good, FireStorm’s owner thought, enough elements to work with for spells. Now for a plan...
Suddenly a loud deep voice called out over the round field, “BATTLE TIME!”
They both froze as the game ran through the fight initiation cutscene.
“Welcome to the finale of of the team-battle game mode!” Called out the announcer from locations unknown, “In the southern court, we have the Knights of the Order of Saint John, the most experienced and successful guild warriors ever to come from the gameworld of Sky Realm!” The camera panned across the terrain and focused on two tall figures at the far end, both dressed in matching red cloaks over heavy chainmail. The two guild knights ran through a matching animation of swinging their weapons in a peculiar twirl before bowing and resuming their ready stances.
“Oh, god, not these jokers...” Muttered Quicksear’s owner over the epic music.
As if hearing him, the announcer exclaimed again, cutting him off, “And in the other court, we have the two mysterious rising stars, FireStorm...” The camera zoomed in on the heavily cloaked figure as he drew his sword, “and Quicksear!” The brightly armoured model held his horribly built bastard-axe out to the side and spun it in a few circles before stabbing it into the ground and leaning there nonchalantly.
FireStorm’s owner looked at the screen as his counterpart completed his animation. “Dude, that animation still looks like shit.”
“At least I bothered making one, you lazy git.” Quicksear shot back before the announcer took over yet again.
“To all the spectators...er, spectator, welcome to the final team battle! Let the duel commence!”
At the cry of an incongruous air raid siren, the characters all instantly scurried into battle.
Quicksear simply ran off in a random direction, vanishing into the haze as the entire field became animated with wind and vibrations. FireStorm barely gave his fellow gamer’s actions any consideration, being well used to his senseless logic. Instead, he made immediately for the icey hill ahead of him. Maybe I can use that new Ice Bolt Spell, he thought with malicious glee.
The Knights of the Guild were hardly inactive during this time, however: Knight#1 made an immediate dash for the marsh pit. The other one, knight#2, dashed immediately to the fiery hole that dominated their court of play. In the first ten seconds, both teams positioned themselves according to the they had planned to beforehand.
The knights had held a long and in-depth planning session to make sure they had the greatest chance of victory.
FireStorm and Quicksear hadn’t even bothered with a team name, let alone strategy.
The two methods of planning were showing respective results. The Knights had set up a simple yet brilliant arch of overlapping and eclectic defense wards, effectively closing their court and all the magical resources therein.
FireStorm stood and stared as the fire ward of Knight#2 swept over his hill, quickly breaking down the ice. He slowly panned his field of view just in time to catch the knight in question run a teabagging animation.
“Real mature, jackass...” he mumbled into his mic as he quickly began thinking of a plan B.
One didn’t have time to form. Knight#1 seemed to have built up enough confidence to blast his way out of the low marshy area, bringing with him two water atronachs. The pair of gliding water-monsters locked onto FireStorm after a voice-order from the knight who spawned them, and spiralled through the air in a defensive attack.
FireStorm couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Time to test spell number eighty-one, motherfuckers,” he called into the voice chat, mashing the button to which he had bound the new spell in question. A quick text popped up on the screen. FormFreeze lvl22 zapped out in a poorly animated cloud and halted the high-level atronachs in the air. Being water-based, they fell to the ground and shattered.
The knight, though, was far from finished. He drew his sword with a rudimentarily animated flourish, and charged and with the blade swinging. FireStorm saw the level text on the blade: thirty one. Oh shit...
FireStorm’s profile was distinctly magical in orientation. Although he had a decent sword level of twenty four and many enchantments empowering the blade, he preferred to fall back on magic. Now, though, as he mashed the keys with wild abandon in the hope of striking down his oncoming foe, he failed to notice his completely drained mana bar.
Rare was the moment when he felt as if he was actually in danger in this brilliant joke of a game, but this was as appropriate a time as any. Luckily, he was quite well prepared. In a fine display of key sequencing, he managed to consume two potions of Increased Stamina and one of Double Speed. His sword was still in it’s sheath, though, and no potion could draw it any faster. Therefore, plan B took its usual form: FireStorm sprinted the fuck out of there. There were few options, but of course he somehow would have had to pick the worst one. He sprinted straight for the glowing mass of fire wards ahead of him.
Nothing much to do here... FireStorm’s owner piloted his character in an arc away from the wall of flame. Unfortunately, he found himself sandwiched between two sets of wards and an angry-looking douchy character waving a sword at his face.
FireStorm spun away from the sword and ran yet again. This response was losing it’s charm, though, and he quickly turned up his game. In less than ten seconds, he had found his last teleportation spell, marked the location he desired, and beamed himself, at the expense of his remaining energy, to the starting court at the edge of the map.
Too bad he went to the wrong one. He found himself standing directly behind a certain Knight#2. First reaction: run. Second reaction upon finding his escape path blocked by flames and knight#1: run Knight#2 through. Simple. A mega-takedown animation played, and FireStorm buried his sword in the ememy’s back, foisting him into the air, before getting a hold of the flailing body and using it as a shield against the hail of swordstrokes aimed firmly at his own head.
“Quicksear, what the fuck are you doing?!” FireStorm’s owner shouted into his mic, hoping for bloody miracle.
It came, appropriately bloody, accompanied by a mounting pressure wave and huge flash of light from the far side of the map. In barely any time at all, Knights #1 and #2 were utterly obliterated by a bolt of beamed light shooting out from the bastard-axe-come-beam-gun held in by the barely visible figure under the tesla coil.
“Level 58 uber-cannon, motherfuckers.” Quicksear deadpanned, before his character’s body started smoking and promptly collapsed, to the complete disinterest of his teammate.
“Dude, you nearly killed me! Friendly fire’s on, bitch! You singed my fucking cloak! Anyway,” FireStorm turned and faced the sky, “Mod, we won, let us back out onto the free-roam map, you giant omnipresent dick!”
It took a second for the Host to reply. “Did you guys plan on channeling the tesla coil through that bolter the whole time?”
Quicksear’s owner replied, proving that his character was not at all dead. “Uh, no, it just gave me the option when I ran into it. I wanted to see what it did...”
“Well...you did read the rules? We put no projectile weapons. A beam cannon is a projectile weapon.”
Quicksear’s voice was positively pleading. “But...Axe...its an axe, too..?”
The host seemed to take a moment to look into this strange claim, before coming to a sure conclusion. “No, thats a beam cannon on that axe, and you two are dicks. You’re kicked,”
And in no time at all, the pair found themselves banned for the day.
“Well that’s just fucking brilliant!” said FireStorm’s owner, a gangly, tall and slightly chubby guy called (unimaginatively) John. He slamming his hands into his desk. “Quicksear, you still there?”
The little chat bubble fluctuated as a voice came over the line, “I think the mod didn’t like us too much after we killed his character last week. Now what am I gonna blow up today?”
“Whatever, dude, see you when we are allowed to kick ass again.” John droned, closing the game page and standing up for the first time in hours. He turned away from the screen and stretched, planning on scrounging for some soda, but the continued glow of the screen drew his attention.
“What? I told you to turn off, you dumbass co-”
Screens are great for watching stuff on. Ever better for playing games on. One thing they are certainly not meant to do is explode like fucking flashbangs in their owner’s faces. Of course, FireStorm wasn’t sure about cheap knock-off brands, but they were NOT meant to blow up.
It took a few seconds for him to register the strange reversal of gravity and the sudden, almost malicious hardness of the rock his head decided to meet. After the rock attacked his head with extreme prejudice, resulting one dazed gamer, John opened his eyes again, squinting at the blazing sun far in the sky.
“Where the hell’d my roof go?. Where the hell is my SODA?!” He jerked into a sitting position, glancing around his now much expanded room. He didn’t exactly approve of the new decor either: a dead, rocky valley bottom was not an improvement.
A high screaming reached John’s ears. Not high-pitched; It was coming from somewhere really high above him. He looked up in time to see a ragdoll figure come crashing down a few meters away from him. As the new arrival rolled over, John chuckled dully. “Heheh...lag.”
“Fuck you, too, whoever you are..” The new person said, in a relatively distinctive Welsh accent. He sat up himself, looking around before his eyes settled on the only other living thing in sight, a burly scrub-haired chap wearing a safari shirt and hawaiian shorts of all things, lying in the dirt beside him
John couldn’t help but smirk at the smaller, scraggly guy next to him. The rough beard and broken pair of glasses added nothing worth mentioning, and neither did his faded green shirt and black cargo pants. Not worth noting at all. Why did he note it then? Because anything was more interesting the dirt and rocks around them.
John rolled and smirked. “You can’t remember my voice from five minutes ago? C’mon Quicksear, wake the fuck up.”
“ My name’s Lister, dumbass...Oh, god.” Quicksear groaned, realization dawning. “Please tell me this is a drunk hallucination, please let this be the vodka...”
“Nope. That fall hurt like a bitch, so I’m saying this is more than your bad night.” John snarked, trying to roll to his feet. The failure was spectacular, and the faceplant worth months of teasing, but ‘Lister’ didn’t take the opportunity. More than anything, that told John that shit was up.
“Uh, dude, what’s goin’ on?” He asked, but he never got a reply, instead, he found himself hoisted to his feet, by, of all things, sets of holey appendages, amid the buzzing akin to numerous dozens of cicadas. Mutant cicadas from Chernobyl. Quicksear got much the same treatment from the glossy-black, strangely shaped insectoid figures that flew them through the air on transparent wings to the base of the cliff at the head of the valley, to a high seat set into the rock.
And seated there, surrounded by her emerging servants and warriors, was the grandest bug-thing of them all, a tall, stately creature of terrifying proportion. Her voice rocked the valley they found themselves in, suddenly surrounded on all sides by her minions. “Welcome, great warriors! Your achievements have drawn my attention to you, and so, I request your services.”
John was dropped unceremoniously to the ground before her, unable to process what he was seeing. In lieu of this higher brain function, he simply stopped caring.
Lister deadpan-stared at the mega-bug, but she continued regardless. “I offer you a role under my service, all amenities supplied, for a task simple to soldiers as veteran as yourselves. Guards! The attire of our allies-to-be.”
A few of the amassing midi-bugs from around them broke from formation and buzzed in to drop various items before them. Lister saw a sparkling white silken shirt wrapped around heavy-looking bronze armour.
John noticed a heavy leather cloak and hood folded on top of a backpack. He leaned over to his fellow human and whispered, “Dude, those are our model’s clothes.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“She thinks we are great warriors, not lazy gamers.”
“But look at that awesome gear!”
“We’re dead.”
The mega-bug overrode them, annoyance in her voice, “Yes, you shall recieve gear analogue to your own, and in return, you shall help me with a few...enterprises. IF you complete your missions, You shall be free to return home.”
John and Lister both widened their eyes.
“Cool!”
“...Fuck.”
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Quicksear did all the work, don't lie.
2742273 Im sorry, who are you?
Also, he did write most of this chapter, simply because he had the best ideas for the beginning of the story.
Edit: Thanks for the watch! : D
Downvotes, why downvotes? People never say why downvotes. -_-
2745259 I know, right? We as authors dont improve unless we get told why the story is apparently bad.
2745259>>2745545
I have gotten grilled over why I have down voted something in the past. I don't generally do it anymore, especially since I will screen a chapter before actually reading it, or if there is a massive amount of errors in the summary. I feel that if a writer is not willing to correct their grammar and spelling, then I am not willing to read there work.
Reason for the response: I am slightly tired and clicking on profile names and reading comments.
NICE!
Me likey.
2887420 Eeeeeeexcellent!
Secretly I was ravens owner!