The War (Play to Live: Book #6) (5 page)

The king inhaled deeply, freezing the astral world and extracting energy from all the places that were within the reach of his will. The monster’s giant accumulators were empty.

His snake-like eyes passing over his surroundings, the creature accurately detected me amidst thousands of other sentient beings. With a smooth motion of its neck, it brought its 60-foot-long muzzle right up to my face.

The vertical pupils found my gaze. I felt as though a steel sledgehammer slammed into my mind, trying to bend me to its will in order to acquire an obedient albeit a bit moronic slave.

My defense against mental pressure came apart like a rotten rag. The power of the First Priest yielded to the power of the King of Kings. Out of all of my supporting forces, only the greedy pig remained standing. The little guy was cornered and wheezing, but he would still fight even the entire Pantheon of Light if that’s what it took to keep everything he owned.

Me up against an age-old creature…One on one…

The Basilisk made me feel like a speck of dust which had miraculously gotten noticed by the Lord. And as he stared at me, I was slowly reaching for my staff. I pictured myself slicing through the eyeball, holding on to the eyelid so as not to be swept away by the tons of turbid slush that would pour out. I would then make my way inside the ancient bean and cut the brain into thin slices…

The King blinked, his upper lip twitching, then slowly looked away. "You are strong," His voice inside my head sounded like an alarm bell. "I acknowledge your right to personally address the King of Kings!"

Blood poured out of my ears. Fortunately, my scarlet tears went conveniently unnoticed upon my crushed and mangled face.
I’m gonna be all right,
I thought, hearing the familiar healing spells behind my back…

I forced the sensitivity of my perception to drop, mentally setting up a barrier between myself and the Basilisk. I then spat viscid drool with pieces of enamel on the sand. "Do you accept our agreement which permits me to utilize the basilisks up to three times each in battle and which upholds our non-aggression pact?"

The yellow snake eyes narrowed, the diamond in the crown flashed. As far as I could tell, the King of Kings was enjoying these negotiations he was carrying on with a brave little ant.

The skies rumbled warningly. As I breathed in the fresh air, I felt the invisible presence of the Fallen One.
Thanks, Fallon!

The basilisk turned one eye to the sky like a giant chameleon, then jerked his tail nervously, bringing down the ill-fated acacia grove along with the spies from both sides that had been playing hide-and-seek.

"I accept…" was his reply. "On three conditions. First, you will resurrect all of my subjects which are currently under your dominion."

I nodded. This condition I already knew.

"Second; total losses among the Ancients can’t exceed two per every low-ranking specimen and one per every high-ranking one."

Frowning, I nodded again. I didn’t remember ranks being involved, but I suppose there might have been some miscommunication because of how hard it is to hear through an eggshell.

"Third; while our agreement lasts, you will revive any and all eggs that we ask you to."

The King tensed up, one of his eyelids twitching. He must have thought that the twitch had gone unnoticed. Yeah, right, like that was possible when his continuously moving mountain of a frame suddenly froze and his six-foot-wide eye blinked. It sucks to be a giant. I could even hear both his hearts beating. His pulse grew quicker.

Why did he suddenly get so nervous
? I wondered.
What percent of the hatch actually turned into live offspring? Could this be the answer to the riddle of the disappearance of AlterWorld’s strongest monsters?

I shook my head. "No, King. The third condition we shall discuss separately and in a more peaceful setting. It was not a part of our agreement as gods are our witnesses!"

The skies rumbled affirmatively. The Basilisk King scowled and shot the sky an angry glare.

I continued: "I will now resurrect two Wild Basilisks, then use the first battle right. Not far from here, my enemy is transporting their forces. They need to be destroyed or chased out of the Valley. Then, we need to secure the perimeter…"

The King impatiently waved his tail, raising a tsunami of sand. "I smell them…Lots of warm meat, spiced up with delicate magic spells…Yes, I want this…I will do it...And you’ve chosen the right place. You could build a Minor Well of Power here. Stones of Power! I’ve decided; we’ll lay the first hatch here!"

I chuckled.
What a cunning fella
…

"We’ll discuss it later. The enemy won’t wait. More of them are coming. My warriors will help you."

The Basilisk glanced over the demons who had turned pale and the rapturously joyful yet frightened dwarves. I chuckled. "Warriors…Dust under your feet…Let the best ones be released into this world!" I turned to the ogre carriers. "Over there, further off, put the eggs down and hurry back. Move it!"

The short-legged but quick ogres ran to where I showed them. The King of Kings was impatiently knocking off the tops of surrounding hills.

"Fear me!" I cried out as if hit by a grenade.

"Raaaawr!!!" A few giant throats roared triumphantly as they bowed before their King.

Catching the Ancient Basilisk’s stare, I silently pointed to the Lightsider camp illuminated with magic.

The basilisk turned his truck-sized head away contemptuously, growled something that was either an order or some swear words, then wheeled around with the gracefulness of a Yamato-class battleship and slowly, covering about a 150 feet in a step, headed toward the enemy with his escort of Wild Basilisks.

The battle group of ancient creatures obscured the horizon and the rising sun. The monsters moved away far enough so that one could make out the King’s crown without having to stare up into the sky.

Wait…Genzilla…Gena the Crocodile? Great job, kids!

I heard a branch snap nearby. Spinning around, I saw the astonished White Winnie, his mouth wide open, his Hero star shining on his chest. Blinking as if making sure that he wasn’t seeing things, he started diving into microportals with bullet speed as he tried to catch up with his relative.

Boy, are the Lightkittens gonna get it now!

Chapter Three

T
he King of Kings ran into trouble.

Having had no equally powerful enemies in his past life, he snorted disdainfully at the tiny creatures darting to and fro beneath his feet, then came at the uncoiling invasion army like a well borer.

At first, the Valley shook with the triumphant roar of a hungry monster who had found several kilotons of dainty grub. The multitude of glittering artifacts and power sources sure looked tempting. Yummy!

Know yer place, squirts! The lords of the Frontier deserts are here to get what they want!

The local wildlife quickly made for the heart of the Valley. Even the mutants tied to permanent coordinates in their camp were actively packing their scarce belongings and preparing to run for it.

The first retaliatory hit of the twenty-thousand-strong enemy army put the basilisks on their asses, drawing an awful cry of rage from them. All in all, the basilisks’ attitudes quickly changed as the enemy put up more and more resistance. They went from bewilderment to pain to apprehension to panic.

The astral world buzzed from the strain. The beings that could hear the chime of its strings pricked up their ears.

I didn’t wait for the basilisks to cry for help. I spat in irritation, then waved my hand in the direction of the battle sounds. "Charge!"

I had done my part as the big leader. The order traveled from top to bottom, and the individual squads and platoons each maneuvered accordingly. Every soldier knew what to do.

The fan-shaped formation of rangers shot forward, clearing the “fog of war” by sending the first bits of info to the staff officers’ interfaces for analysis.

The wizards sprang into action, sowing the potential battlefield with temporary portal markers. This was an on-going process made mandatory by the new regulation; no matter where we picked a fight with the enemy, the wizards’ first priority was to circle the battle grounds, constantly retrieving coordinates.

Instantly the first close engagements flared up. The wizes ran into enemy ranks who were also busy mapping and marking the territory.

The square formations of dwarf hirds bristled with iron slowly picked up speed. The ground shook as three thousand steel-clad warriors pounded along the path.

The alliance’s buffers and clerics followed them as the dwarves didn’t have many wizards of their own. Forty-pound hammers and brutal-looking pole axes stood high in their esteem, but not the carved staffs of casters.

The dwarven military art was comparable to a sledgehammer. It was a deadly instrument, but not versatile enough to suit a broad range of situations.

And boy, were they short on archers! True, a few lone arrows are still deadly, but they never make much of a difference.

Dwarves obviously had no horsemen to speak of either. Their only wizards were a few pathetic ritualists, useless albeit talented artifact makers, and a handful of elementalists.

That’s why no one’s ever heard of dwarves seizing world supremacy…

Our right flank disappeared behind clouds of dust as the speedy demons passed the other warriors, intent on gaining superiority in battle by conducting an unexpected maneuver.

Buncha pragmatists
. They had no shame, just pure rationalism and one single goal in mind; to score more frags while becoming just a little bit stronger at others’ expense.

"Airforce approaching!" the guidance officer reported. "Aircraft 01 is loaded with flechettes. Ten thousand units, external suspension. Aircrafts 02 and 03 are half-loaded, 5K each. Ninety seconds till they reach the attack course."

Terrific!
It was about time we tested the mithril eaters in battle. We could buy a personal nano-cluster with the money we spent on them, so it was about time we put them to use.

Pulling out a "summon mount" scroll, I blew the bone horn, but my hope was faint. During his thirty years of imprisonment, Hummungus developed a strong will. He was now obviously on vacation as he ignored me completely. The funniest thing was that Eric’s beer-bellied LAV had also run away. No one knew what forests the gruesome twosome were hiding in now…

I waved to the golem driver who was guarding the golem staff. He understood. Swiftly wheeling the golem around on one foot, he made it run up to me.

I jumped up on the back platform, grabbing on to the manually welded irons, then knocked on the fanmade parody of an earpiece.
Let’s move!

Ripping out clods of soil as its spiked soles dug into the ground, the golem darted off. I recalled the sad eyes of the ex-tankmen from the Veterans. I swear, had I but beckoned, they’d have run away from General Frag.

Once a tankman, always a tankman. It’s just like being a pilot. It’s not a job, it’s a state of mind. One could not even begin to understand what happens in a tankman’s soul when the low rumble of magic engines reaches his ears, and when the smell of dwarven oil fills his nostrils. His heart stops whenever he gazes upon a several-ton steel machine so easily forcing its way through an enemy trench.

The thunder of battle was quickly growing louder. The clanging of metal became its own separate, frightening soundtrack. Flashes of magic blinded the fighters. The glow of colorful flames made it seem like a fireworks factory had suddenly caught fire. The dark clouds of acid forced our throats contract by reflex, causing sickness and fits of coughing.

Suddenly a basilisk gave a cry of rage and pain that drowned out all other noises: "Raaaawr!"

"Come on, bro, faster!" I cried to the golem driver, hearing the despair in the mighty basilisk’s voice.

The golem reached the summit of a sand dune and came to a halt. I flew head-first into the robot’s armored back. My helmet absorbed most of the shock, but its edge cut my forehead. I didn’t have time to complain though. I studied the battlefield with wide eyes.

The fearsome basilisks were getting their butts kicked. The Lightsiders turned out to be well-prepared. They were in their best shape and had already managed to bring out about 20,000 warriors. Plus, new soldiers kept pouring out of the dozen open portals like minced meat out of a meatgrinder.

The enemy army seemed even bigger because of its diverse pets, summoned spirits, familiars, and mounts. They had not yet brought out any siege machinery, however. We had given their machines a good beating. Yet I did not doubt for a second that there was a long line of wagons with machine parts forming behind the invasion army.

A Wild Basilisk hit the ground. They’d managed to break his legs and force his HP down into the red. Thousands of warriors clung to the struggling body like ants, attacking it with steel and magic.

Of course, had this happened in the real world, no one would have cut through a basilisk’s scales with their tiny toothpicks of swords. Every scale was the size and strength of a tank’s armored hatch.

But AlterWorld could hardly overcome the algorithms imposed on it, forced to cater to the greedy little humans. Weapon damage got multiplied by the strength modifiers, while the armor and physical resistance values of the target decreased, changing the chances of crits and injuries.

Whack!
Ordinary steel busted through sixteen inches of chitin, making the astonished monster’s HP drop even lower.

Not far from me, the remaining two basilisks were backing up; the King and the Wild Basilisk who was shielding the former with his body. Even though they were losing, the beasts were still impressive given their size, strength and noble grandeur.

The King swatted his tail. Like a giant scythe it cut down a thousand warriors trying to clamber up the giant body. It seemed as though the King could just keep doing that one move to win. But…the game, the damn game…Every weapon and special ability had a well-balanced attack or recharge speed. A rollback timer must have popped up somewhere in the basilisk’s interface, preventing him from using his deadly tail several times in a row.

The path of the retreating basilisks was paved with gravestones. But no amount of savage fury could outweigh hundreds of crossbow bolts fired in one volley. Swarms of tiny beings equipped with sharp magic steel hung on the scaly hides and dealt blow after blow…

The monsters’ greenish skin would have already turned scarlet if the basilisks hadn’t been covered with soot and weren’t on fire in several spots.

Thousands of casters pumped out entire sequences of spells that got mixed up with each other, then brought them down on the bodies of the basilisks who had overestimated their own strength. This whirlwind of magic gave rise to many new spells, but most of them went unnoticed, except for those moments when a wizard got torn apart by a poorly-devised incantation.

Giant asteroids fell from the sky, tearing chunks of scales right off the monsters’ bodies. Some wizards burned up all of their mana in one go, casting very potent spells. It was a wise move given the current stage of battle.

The fallen Wild Basilisk was getting finished off. He lifted up his bloody head with difficulty and gave a sorrowful howl, saying goodbye to his fellow monsters. One of them replied with a desperate cry and wanted to run to the rescue, but his sense of duty and the King’s stern growl made him change his mind.

The giant lizards were retreating again, proving one simple truth; tanks without an infantry cover are nothing more than a future mass grave.

The crown-bearing basilisk looked back and noticed me standing on top of the hill. His giant eye lit up with hope.

Having learned my lesson through bitter experiences with the gods, I decided not to make the King indebted to me. Influential beings couldn’t tolerate owing somebody. To avoid this sticky situation, I strained my mind and asked him telepathically: "Allow me to join you in battle. The blades of my warriors have grown rusty and need to be oiled with blood."

The King blinked in astonishment. He must have been expecting me to start pressing him with all sorts of demands before I’d rescue his royal hide.

"I allow you to join me," came his hoarse and not so arrogant reply. "Thank…you…"

I nodded, then selected the Wild Basilisk in his death throes as he continued to fight for his life, and activated "Help of the Fallen One."

Yanked back from beyond the grave, the basilisk gave a triumphant roar. He jumped to his feet and shook himself off like a wet dog, throwing off hundreds of angry ants.

His ability timers had reached zero very opportunely. The Wild Basilisk now fought at maximum capacity as he employed all the combos he knew, avenging his minutes of weakness and slaughtering everyone within his reach.

Meanwhile, the skies groaned in protest, sounding awfully like the distorted voice of the Fallen One. The world flickered. The Fallen One, doubled over in pain, tumbled out of a spatial fold.

Catching my stare, he signaled to me that he did not want help. The god looked with both irritation and respect upon the Wild lizard he had restored with his own power. He then disappeared in the astral world, slamming the virtual door behind him.

I guessed that this ability was no freebie. It was really tied to Fall and drew HP straight from his divine might. I decided to be more careful so as not to run the Head of the Pantheon off his feet at the most crucial moment.

I turned to the portal caster accompanying me and forwarded him the file containing the coordinates of the hatches of Basilisk eggs. "Take some mules to these spots! Collect all eggs, then come back!" I told him, then turned to the King, yelling telepathically: "Form a ring! Get into a ring! Minimize your area of physical contact with the enemy! Retreat to the top of the dune!"

The King of Kings heard me, although probably didn’t understand the purpose of the suggested maneuver. Nevertheless, he took my advice. The three terrestrial battleships positioned themselves closer together, backing up toward the dune.

The game conventions could be exploited in many ways. Whose fault was it that crossbows dealt damage only within fifty steps, while most spells had a range of only thirty-forty steps?

How many enemies would fit inside a circle with a 150-foot radius? Pi ‘r’ squared? Where Pi was more like ‘Die’ because the monster lizard could certainly reach anyone within that range.

Anyway, whatever that number came out to be, it was certainly less than 20,000. Or even 15,000 at that point; the runway studded with gravestones sure was impressive.

Damn, how do we win this?!

The battlefield froze in a brief maintenance pause. The enemy licked their wounds, hurriedly resurrected their fallen warriors and tried to figure out how in the world had the dissected basilisk suddenly come back to life. Some even insisted that they had seen a dozen artifacts glowing in its guts.

Huge Lightsider detachments patrolled the front, swiftly forming covering forces whenever they saw dwarves and demons approaching.

We clearly couldn’t cover all of our weak points from the enemy stealthers. The bastards hid by burying themselves in the sand and counted our warriors.

On the other hand, the invasion forces had been pulled apart. They had used up several abilities along with mana, and postmortal debuffs were rampant among the resurrected warriors.

The dune shook, making sand trickle down its slopes. The dwarf detachment was in the homestretch.