|+Chill (Touch) – 25— 77 [
|+Hotspot (Area) – 22— 80% [
|+Condense – 1— [
|+Thermal Sight – 2— 70% [
Though he felt like he had already come a long way, it excited him to think that everything thus far was only the tip of the iceberg. He was, after all, still a beginner completing low-leveled quests and missions—but Chronicle had managed to make even the early stages of his experience feel like more than a simple game. Still, he knew that the real magic would be what the future had in store. He wondered what the epic, high-level side of things would be like.
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After lifting his neck up and off the proverbial chopping block, and landing a new source of potential income through relic hunting, Dakkon felt like he deserved another short stint of downtime. With some padding for his upcoming expenses and no job to call his own, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he was free of obligation. While he led Nightshade through the city streets looking for a tasty new local delicacy to try, a game-wide announcement stamped itself onto his vision:
[The Tournament of the Gods has begun.]
Players froze in the street. Everyone with a blue name hovering over their head stopped moving to investigate—they had all seen the same bold text. The stares of non-player-controlled citizens drew Dakkon’s eyes to a pair of distant, motionless players. Each wore some sort of matching mark on their forehead. He had a bad feeling about what the marks might entail to cause such a stir. An icon for his quest log had appeared to the right of his vision. Before he had a chance to examine it further, he was addressed from his left side where he was certain no one had been.
“Dakkon,” said a hooded figure of medium stature and broad frame in a voice that was melodic and a little more than human. “You have been chosen to participate in our tournament.” The speaker’s face was fully obscured by a hood and something more—impalpable. His cloak appeared to be spun from impossibly fine filaments of charred, dark gold and accentuated by a mild sheen which moved like ripples on the surface of a pond. A strange pressure settled itself around Dakkon. He felt restricted, as though he were being hugged by thick blankets of sopping wet cotton.
Before Dakkon had the chance or wit to reply to the enshrouded figure’s abrupt appearance, the hooded one continued. “You have amused me, Dakkon. On your first day in this world you gained my notice. It was for my amusement in your wretched start that you received new clothes and a fitting blade. Since then, your journey has found a knack for exceeding my expectations. For that, you have received my boon.” The robed figure held out what looked like a pendant. “Continue to surprise me and perhaps I shall find suitable surprises for you as well.”
The robed figure stretched out his hand, palm upturned. Dakkon found himself unable to look away from the area where the hooded figure’s face should have been—at least somewhat—visible. Dakkon’s tongue felt leaden, his brain struggled to make sense of the situation. The encounter seemed calculated to catch him off guard. So, he listened. He reached out and accepted the item given by the cloaked stranger, but with his gaze focused intently forward, he could only tell that it was round in shape and cool to the touch.
After his gift had been accepted, the avatar continued. “You’re the only man who knows Cline’s secret. The boy is our son in a sense—an experiment in another. Though I know the odds are not stacked in your favor, you must watch after Cline during this trial of my brother’s design.”
Dakkon heard a scream from behind him, breaking the spell of the stranger’s gaze. With the thickness that suppressed him forgotten, he whirled to find the cry’s origin. A man lay dead in the street with a crimson marking on his forehead. A non-player mother was fleeing the scene of the confrontation—young son clutched tightly to her chest—while the broad-daylight murderer ran in another direction.
“Good luck,” said the harmonic voice from behind him. Dakkon spun back, but the gold-draped figure was nowhere to be seen.
In his hands, Dakkon held a new trinket bestowed to him by a voyeuristic god. He had a notification to comb through and a street to get well away from until he figured out what the hell was going on. But, before he could act, he received a panicked communication from Cline.
“Dakkon!” thought Cline—attempting to establish a telepathic link. “I’m in big trouble.”
“What’s going on?” asked Dakkon as he turned off onto a side street.
“After that announcement, an icon popped up explaining an event. Have you read it? There’s a sigil on my forehead, Dakkon,” thought Cline, sounding stressed. “I’m a target.”
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
CHAPTER 1: SPECIAL DELIVERY
CHAPTER 2: HUMBLE BEGINNINGS
CHAPTER 3: A HARD DAY’S WORK
CHAPTER 4: TYPICAL
CHAPTER 5: REALITY CHECK
CHAPTER 6: REAL ULTIMATE POWER
CHAPTER 7: GREENER PASTURES
CHAPTER 8: FRIDAY NIGHT
CHAPTER 9: AGAIN
CHAPTER 10: TO BATTLE
CHAPTER 11: ONWARDS
CHAPTER 12: TIME OUT
CHAPTER 13: REWARD
CHAPTER 14: A TASTE OF POWER
CHAPTER 15: A NEW LEAF
CHAPTER 16: CONSEQUENCES
CHAPTER 17: BOARS APLENTY
CHAPTER 18: LUCKY YOU
CHAPTER 19: THE GRIND
CHAPTER 20: GET RICH QUICK
CHAPTER 21: TEST OF METTLE
CHAPTER 22: GREETINGS
CHAPTER 23: THE MARCH
CHAPTER 24: IF IT BLEEDS…
CHAPTER 25: WHEN IT WON’T BLEED
CHAPTER 26: TO THE VICTORS
CHAPTER 27: SIDE QUEST
CHAPTER 28: PROPHECY