Dragon Mage 007 - Despair (Patreon)

12 May: 5 days to Earth’s destruction

Gentlemen, we must face reality: humanity has been subjugated. We cannot do anything to save Earth’s millions, but we can still save ourselves. We must negotiate with the overworlders. —Unknown politician.

Awareness returned slowly.

With it came voices, reaching my ears as if muffled by great distance.

“We can’t take him through the portal like this. His wounds are too severe. He will never survive.”

“Who cares! Blasted human. How dare he attack me.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have enraged him then,” growled the first voice. “What were you thinking?”

The second grunted. The pack leader, I thought as memory returned. He is still alive. I despaired. Mum was dead, and not only had I failed to save her, I had failed to punish her killer too. I choked back spiralling grief and bitterness.

Keeping my eyes closed, I followed the conversation of the two listlessly.

“What do we do now?” asked the pack leader.

“Send one of your men back to fetch healing ointments, or better yet, one of the healers.”

“Healing ointments?” asked the pack leader sceptically. “Is he really worth all that?”

“Listen to me, you fool! He is worth more than all our collective hides. If the warlord hears that we let him slip through our fingers, we will suffer for it.”

“As you wish,” said the pack leader, his voice tight with anger. I almost smiled. Anything that made that killer unhappy made me happy.

The voices of the pair faded as the two walked away, and with nothing else to hold me to consciousness, I too retreated into the comforting embrace of sleep.

Mum is dead, I thought forlornly as darkness claimed me again.

✽✽✽

When next I woke, it was to the smell of pungent herbs. I wrinkled my nose in distaste at the odour. Too late, I remembered that I was in enemy hands and could be under observation.

“Good, you’re awake. Open your eyes,” said the shaman.

I debated ignoring him. The orcs have already done the worst that they can to me, I thought in painful realization. What else is left for me in this life? Why not let it all go?

“I know you are awake. Open your eyes. Now. Or I will get Yarl to start killing more of your kind. He will take great pleasure in it.”

“Yarl,” I whispered, tasting the feel of the orc’s name on my tongue. So that is his name. I swallowed back grief. The pack leader’s name reminded me that I had failed, that Mum’s killer was still alive.

Beyond that, I still had a purpose. To kill Yarl. To kill them all.

There is time yet. The orcs seemed to consider me of some value, and while my first opportunity at revenge had been squandered, vengeance was still within my grasp.

I let my rage cool. Haste was my enemy. My first failure had taught me that. I would not avenge Mum with hot, impulsive action. Cold calculation. That is what I needed.

I must be like stone.

I would grieve later, I told myself. Now, I needed to harden myself. Drawing in my anguish and loathing, I locked it all away in the dark recesses of my mind and left it to fester. With time it would harden into a ball of fury that, when the right opportunity presented itself, I would unleash.

Feeling my emotions drain away and equilibrium return, I opened my eyes and glared balefully at the shaman looming over me. “What do you want?” I spat.

The orc only smiled in the face of my anger. “You are feeling better I see. Good. We have wasted enough time in this benighted world of yours. Sit up.”

I sat, groaning with the effort as I did. My back and arms felt as if they had been beaten to a pulp, and my face… I lifted my hands to probe the spot where I remembered the skin being ripped open by Yarl’s tusks.

The shaman slapped away my hands before I could make contact. “Don’t do that,” he ordered. “You will disturb the salve. And the wounds still need to heal a bit.”

Why was I of such value to them? Then I remembered the conversation I’d overheard and what orc bands like this one were tasked with. I must have Magic Potential.

Good. I could use that.

A furious hissing sound pierced the air. I looked up in time to see a burning projectile crash into the shimmering barrier of red above us. The world outside disappeared as the dome’s surface was momentarily consumed by a conflagration of sound and blinding-white light.

Involuntarily, I flinched. Yet neither the heat nor the flames from the explosion managed to pierce the shaman’s magical shield.

“Your countrymen,” grunted the shaman, unperturbed by the incoming fire. “They have been throwing flaming rocks at us for the past hour. The fools don’t seem to learn. They will never get through my shield,” he said with a hint of pride.

Artillery fire. Captain Hicks, it seemed, had managed to get the decrepit and obsolete tank operational. Was he trying to root out the invaders? And if all that had happened, for how long had I been out?

I took in my surroundings. The orcs hadn’t moved me. We were still outside my home. Former home, I thought bitterly. Whatever happened from here on out, I wouldn’t be going back to it.

Another mortar shell cracked against the shaman’s shield. This time, I didn’t let myself be distracted by the impact and kept my eyes fixed on the orc.

As hard as he tried to hide his reaction, the shaman’s small start of surprise and swift upwards glance betrayed his concern.

Ah, I thought. The orcs were not invincible after all. God bless our bloodthirsty militia captain. Maybe he and his band of crazy old men could do what the rest of the country’s military had failed to do and kill a few of the loathsome creatures.

My gaze dropped to a crate lying next to me. The wooden box did not belong to me and Mum, and I had never seen it on our lawn before. Where had it come from? As I peered inside, my eyes widened.

The shaman noticed both the direction of my gaze and my reaction. “Some of your people’s strange firebombs. Yarl collected a few. The stupid fool wouldn’t listen to me when I told him they wouldn’t survive the transition through the gate. Do you know what they are?”

I shook my head, feigning ignorance as a glimmer of an idea took shape. To distract the shaman away from the object of my interest, I instead said, “What do you want?”

The longer I kept the shaman talking here the better. His shield, after all, could not last forever. Surely, sooner or later, it would sustain too much damage to remain in place?

But whether he was concerned or not by the falling mortar shells, the orc shaman appeared in no hurry. Taking his time, he reached into his pouch and pulled out a medallion. “Hold this in your hand.”

Suspiciously, I eyed the object he held. It was a gold disk inscribed with more of the overworlders’ strange runes on both sides. “What is it?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Take it and hold it your hand,” repeated the shaman, ignoring my question. “If you do not,”—he gestured behind him—“I will get Yarl’s soldiers to hold you down while I force you to comply. I do not need your consent.”

My gaze slid beyond the shaman. Four orc warriors waited there, Yarl standing at their fore. With his arms folded, the pack leader glared menacingly at me from under hooded eyes. But the effect was spoiled by the red ribbons of blood decorating the warrior’s green face.

I smiled, and even went so far as to chuckle on seeing the pack leader’s scarred visage. Yarl’s scowl deepened and he seemed poised to leap at me. Not wanting to give the orc a chance to take out his frustration on me, I grabbed the medallion from the shaman’s hands.

The object was cool to the touch and fit neatly in my palm. I looked down and studied it more closely. Thousands of tiny runes had been inscribed across its entire surface. But despite the decorative alien script, the medallion looked little different from an oversized coin. My brows drew down in consternation.

What is this thing? And why does he want me to hold it?

“Close your fist around it,” said the shaman.

I glanced up at him. The orc’s gaze was fixed on the medallion. His face hardened as he noticed my hesitation. “Now,” he growled.

I didn’t have many choices here, I knew. My gaze flicked to the wooden crate. Not yet. With a small shrug I complied with the shaman’s order.

I froze as my fist closed around the medallion. Heat was flaring out from the object and into my body. “What the hell—”

I broke off as my vision blurred and a wave of nausea passed over me. I swayed, but before I could fall the dizziness passed and my vision cleared.

I blinked. Then blinked again.

Words floated in the air.

… loading Trials Key successful. Basic interface installed. Analysing host entity…

My mouth dropped open, leaving me to gape foolishly at the text superimposed on my sight. It was as if a window had unfurled in my mind and the words spilled out.

Before I could make sense of the words, the Key in my hand grew hotter and further tendrils of energy drove into my body.

Analysis complete: host complies with all requirements. Entity identified as: Jameson Sinclair. Planet of origin: Earth. Species: human. Age: 24 years. Designation: Candidate, suitable for entry into the Trials.

Core ready for installation.

What is this? I wondered. The Trials? Had I already been made into a player? Distracted by the Key’s strange effect, I was slow in reacting when the shaman raised his hand. Seemingly in response to the orc’s gesture, the runes on the Key lifted off and seeped into my skin.

I blinked in bewilderment. The runes were inside me. I could feel them. In a slow march, they made their way through my palm, up my hand, and into my head.

I swayed again. My head felt fuzzy. More runes gathered in my mind, increasing my sense of disorientation, and I shuddered.

What’s happening to me?

Runes poured into my head, until it seemed as if my awareness was bursting with them. They formed into patterns—patterns whose forms I felt on the edge of understanding.

I strained to focus. The runes began to make sense. Almost… I grasped their meaning. Then, the last rune entered my mind.

And my consciousness exploded.

Trials Key activated by shaman Kagan Firespawn. Commencing Trials core installation…

Core embedded…

Player basic data updated…

Species Traits unlocked…

Language: Overworld standard loaded…

Temple access granted…

Status updated…

Verifying configuration…

Core installation done: Induction completed.

I doubled over and gasped for breath. My heart thudded and my pulse felt like it was stuttering. I felt different.

Energised.

Depleted.

My awareness expanded. I was not alone in my mind anymore. Something else was in me.

I sensed a connection… to something other, something that brushed the edges of my mind, a great nebulous… machine?

It is the Trials, I realised.

That was what I sensed—the Trials and its roots in my mind. I shivered. The Trials had been just an abstract concept when I read of it in the wiki. Now, feeling its interface reside in my mind and its tendrils coursing through my body, I realised how other it was.

What is it? A being… an entity… a machine?

I wasn’t sure. Whatever the Trials was, it was so foreign I could scarcely comprehend it.

And now I am connected to it forevermore.

More words appeared in my vision. Straightening from my bent-over posture, I raised a tentative hand to my head as I read the message.

Introductory message: Jameson (Jamie) Sinclair, welcome to the Trials. Venture into Overworld to attain your true potential. Henceforth all your actions will be measured and weighed, and you will be rewarded or penalised accordingly.

Accumulate experience and accomplish deeds of greatness, and you shall be rewarded with gifts of knowledge. Fail to do so, and you will find the Trials unforgiving.

Checking status…

Induction: completed.

Initiation: outstanding.

Enter a gate to complete your player configuration and become a full player. Current designation: Inductee, a player of level zero and rank zero. Experience, Attributes, and Disciplines locked.

Evaluating Potentials…

Your Might is: mediocre, your Craft is: gifted, your Resilience is: exceptional, and your Magic is: extraordinary.

I lowered my hand and pushed it experimentally through the translucent text hovering before me.

“What is it?” I asked, needing confirmation—even if it was from an orc—that I wasn’t going mad and that what I was seeing was real.

“That is your welcome to the Trials,” said the shaman with a grunt. After a sidelong glance at the orcs behind him, he lowered his voice. “Now, accept the oath.”

“What?” I asked in confusion, not knowing what he meant. But a moment later, it became horridly clear as another message opened.

Contract initiated: Shaman Kagan Firespawn has offered to take you under his wing as his: slave. Accepting the contract shall bind you in perpetuity to the shaman’s service. In return, the shaman offers you: a master’s protection.

As a slave, your free will shall be leashed. If you disobey your master, attempt to abdicate your oath, or earn his wrath, you shall be punished by debilitating negative Traits.

Do you accept Kagan Firespawn’s contract of service?

“No!” I refuted, snarling in fury. The text disappeared and I turned a frosty glare upon the shaman.

“Don’t be a fool, human!” Kagan said, casting another nervous glance behind him.

What is he worried about? I wondered.

“I will be a better master than you could ever hope to find in the Orcish Federation. Now accept the oath!”

The message window appeared anew, asking me again to pledge my soul to the foul creature. “No,” I said, louder this time and shaking my head in refusal. Never. Never would I pledge myself to one of these monsters.

Yarl stepped forward. “Shaman, is everything alright? What is taking so long?” His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the golden disk in my hand, now free of runes. “What are you doing, Kagan?” he asked softly, his voice heavy with menace.

Kagan snatched the blank Trials Key from my hand before hurriedly stepping back. “Nothing,” he said. “Let’s get going.”

But the shaman’s denials only served to confirm Yarl’s suspicions. “Halt, Shaman!” he ordered. Striding forward, he shoved his face into Kagan’s face. “I am not the fool you think me, Kagan. You’ve bonded the human to your personal service, haven’t you?”

Caught up in their feud, the two forgot about me. I glanced at the box lying less than a foot away from me. Setting aside the strangeness of the Trials and the changes it had wrought in me, I focused fully on the present. Here was my chance, I thought as I inched my hand towards the crate.

“What? No!” replied Kagan. Realising his earlier error, the shaman did not back down from Yarl’s challenge. Leaning in towards the pack leader, Kagan breathed heavily into his face. “Don’t seek to question me, Yarl. Don’t forget your place.”

My hand reached the edge of the crate. Carefully, without turning my gaze away from either of the two arguing orcs, I searched out one of the grenades within.

“It is you who have forgotten your place, Kagan. You have no right to take on slaves. Nor is it your place to keep my men here waiting for hours while you enacted your own foolish gambit. Were your earlier words even true? Was the human actually too unfit to travel the gate? Or just too far gone to make his pledge to you?”

Kagan’s face drained of colour but he said nothing.

My hand found one of the explosives and withdrew it. None of the orcs were paying me the least bit of attention. Under the misconception that the shaman had already bound me to his service, they appeared confident of my inability to harm them.

Indeed, the orc warriors seemed deaf to anything but the drama playing out between their leaders. Even the artillery fire still raining down from the sky did not draw more than a passing glance.

The pack leader took the shaman’s silence as confirmation of guilt. “You took a foolish risk, Shaman, and for what? To further your power by binding the human directly to yourself. I will make sure the warlord’s commanders hear of this when we get back!”

I cradled the grenade gently in my hands as I ran over my plan. Pull the firing pin. Toss it back in the crate. Then run. Honestly, the running bit was optional.

It was unlikely that I would escape the resulting explosion, and I didn’t really care. My purpose, my only purpose, was to kill Mum’s killers. And if I had to die doing it, then so be it. Turning back to the orcs, I waited for my moment.

“You don’t know what you are talking about, Yarl,” snarled the shaman, but even I could hear the lie in his words.

Yarl laughed. “We shall see, Kagan. We shall see.”

It was time. Smiling a bloodthirsty grin, I pulled the pin and tossed the grenade. It was a perfect throw and the explosive landed squarely within the box.

I took off running.

Well, it was more of an unsteady lurch than a run, really. But the orcs were slow in responding. The first to react had only begun to turn my way when I reached the fire shield’s boundary.

Staggering through, I took another three steps before diving to the ground for cover. Behind me, I heard shouted orders as the orcs began to give chase.

But they were too late.

With an earthshattering roar, the grenade detonated. A rippling series of concussive blasts followed close on its heels as the other explosives detonated as well.

In my mind, another kind of explosion erupted as a flood of Trials messages scrolled across my dazed sight.

Kagan Firespawn, a level 201 Veteran player, has died.

Yarl Sharptooth, a level 130 Seasoned player, has died.

An unknown orc, a level 104 Seasoned player, has died.

An unknown orc, a level 108 Seasoned player, has died.

An unknown orc, a level 105 Seasoned player, has died.

You have gained: 0 experience, and advanced: 0 levels.

Anomalous results detected. Analysing events for irregularities...

Players identified...

Non-combatants counted…

Location established...

Fatalities confirmed…

Battle results verified. Anomalies found: 1, Jameson Sinclair has not achieved full player designation. Recalculating player achievements…

You have killed your first player while an Inductee. For this achievement, you have been awarded: an epic Trait.

You have killed your first Seasoned player while an Inductee. For this achievement, you have been awarded: a legendary Trait.

You have killed your first Veteran player while an Inductee. For this achievement, you have been awarded: a mythic Trait.

You are the only player to have slain five Seasoned players while an Inductee. For this achievement, you have been awarded: a unique Trait. Your rewards can be claimed during your Induction.

Your reprisals against the representatives of the Orcish Federation, and the swift revenge that you enacted, has earned you the Feat: Orcsbane, rank 3, Mortal Foe.

Feats scale with time and according to your further actions. At rank 3, Orcsbane provides you with the orc hunter, burning brightly, revulsion, and repurpose Techniques.

Orc hunter: You are aware of any orc that gets within nine feet of yourself.

Burning brightly: Reveals your presence to any orc that approaches within nine feet.

Revulsion: You cannot use any goods crafted by orcs.

Repurpose: You may temporarily subvert orcish structures to your own ends.