He assumed that all his adversaries were as evil as he and punished them for their treachery, whether it existed or not. He did not hesitate to use his more powerful weapons and magics. He held nothing in reserve. He showed no honor. Victory or death were the only options. All else was for wimps.
Rule No. 10. Only an Ultimate Overlord Can End War. He always, always rolled his eyes when he heard the feminists say, “If women ruled the world, there would be no more war.” For as long as there is envy and jealousy and good things to be had, there will be war. Someone always wants, even if they have enough. Someone always is willing to take. Someone is always willing to try to stop them.
Whenever he heard the idealists talk of peace, he would recite to himself the poem he had once heard, many years before:
If all men were chickens,
there would still be war,
because chickens are mean
and fight for food.
If all men were cowards,
there would still be war,
for those in fear lash out most quickly,
lobbing rocks from cover.
If all men were women,
there would still be war,
for a woman scorned
deals destruction without mercy.
But he knew now that an Ultimate Overlord could end war. By gathering all goods to himself, by eliminating all family members who would seek to share in his goods, by destroying all enemies, and by destroying all friends who might become enemies (and minions who might become friends), he would eliminate war, for there would be no one left. All power, all goods, all places, all things would be his, forever.
The game would be won.
And when the last enemy had been destroyed and the chaos of battle still reigned on the field, Gafnar set his troops upon one another in the darkness, each targeting the other from a distance with magics and explosives. Then he poisoned the water and let loose an agent of death upon the winds to take any that might linger still. And he sat in the high tower of a captured castle and knew that he had become the Ultimate Overlord, for nothing moved upon the land.
That was when Gafnar realized that there was an endgame, that he now had a choice.
Having conquered the world, he could now become a god and create a new world in his own image. He rejected that immediately. Doing so would put at risk everything he had accomplished. Even worshipers were dangerous. Hadn’t the devil once been an angel who had gotten bored?
He could commit suicide, guaranteeing that his gains would never be eroded. But what was the point of there being only one, if you just gave that away?
Or he could sit and survey his empty world and know forever that he had won.
That’s what an Ultimate Overlord would do. Evil never gave in.
Clint leaned back in his desk chair, his eyes leaving the plasma panel for the first time in more hours than he could remember. How long had he played Ultimate Overlord? This session had surely stretched for days. The dark outside the windows of his high-rise penthouse confirmed that it was night and the accumulation of empty soda cans and boxes of munchies suggested that more than a day had passed. But even before this latest session, how many days, weeks, months, had he committed to the game, building a character from scratch, moving it up the ranks?
He certainly had the time. Having sold his software business at the peak of the tech bubble, he had no need to work ever again. And the thought of conquering a massively multi-player world until he was the only one standing had amused him. So he had scoured the tip sheets, bid up and purchased at online auctions any competing characters that had been offered, his aggressive bidding driving up the market and bringing more characters to the block. He had devised subroutines to handle the mundane housekeeping chores of the digital realm and generated legions of low level minions to do his bidding, finally setting them to guard the borders of the land and make sure that all new characters were destroyed before they gained power.
Months of time and mounds of meaningless money squandered to conquer a realm that existed only in virtual reality. Yet he was satisfied. Ultimate Overlord had become a massively single-player game.
It occurred to him that he might call someone to tell them of his victory, but he could think of no one to call. Clint had no friends. His work ethic in building his business had seen to that. (Even his old college buddy, Jason, no longer called. Maybe it was because Clint had seen to it that Jason’s avatar, Alexander, had been destroyed. Maybe it was because Jason no longer played. Clint couldn’t care less.) Clint had no enemies. He had crushed the competition long ago and now held his wealth in treasury bonds and gold bullion-items not affected by competitive forces. He had no servants. His luxury high-rise had the latest in robotic and automatic cleaning and servicing devices.
He noted with puzzlement the depth of the darkness surrounding his tower. A power failure, no doubt. Perhaps more. He noted now his computer had been operating on battery backup. The mini-fridge next to the desk was silent and the soda merely cool. The power had been out a long time. There were no lights in the distance, no cars moving on the highway, no planes in the sky.
He got up from his chair, working the stiffness out of his legs and shoulders as he moved toward the window. How long had he played Ultimate Overlord?
He had heard of hurricanes and tsunamis, back when he was still checking his e-mail to track online auctions of characters. He seemed to remember some talk or rumors of war. There was some scare story about HIV or avian flu, threats of dirty bombs and airborne agents. He vaguely remembered a flash of light and the sounds of gunfire in the distance. Or had that been in the game?
Then the power, his power, flickered and failed and he was alone in his tower. The wealthiest man on the planet. No friends. No enemies. For all he knew, the last man on earth.
He was the Ultimate Overlord. And he, too, had a choice.
He thought he knew his answer, but as the days turned to weeks turned to months turned to years, and he was eventually reduced to killing and eating rats in the darkness, he realized that he had never been an Ultimate Overlord.
He was just a lonely guy with a mouse and a flat screen monitor. He had no life, real or imagined.
He was a loser.
THE NEXT LEVEL by David Niall Wilson
The screen flashed yellow, then green, and the words “level up” appeared in a brilliant flash. Jason fell back in his seat, limp and drained. The controller dropped from his hand to land softly on the carpeted floor. So close. If one of those two things had gotten him, they would have sent him back. There was no way to save your progress in the game, you started each level from the beginning, and you made it through-or you didn’t.
A door opened behind him, but Jason didn’t look up.
“Congratulations.” The voice floated to him from across the room.
“Thanks,” Jason mumbled. He didn’t feel any gratitude, but he also didn’t want to piss them off. He needed to eat, and he needed to sleep. His eyes were all but closed already. He wasn’t even sure he’d make it through the shower before he passed out. If he made them angry, they might make him play again, or raise the level.
“You’ve done well,” the voice continued. “Rest.”
Jason felt the belts around his chest loosen, and he rose shakily. Without looking over his shoulder, he headed for the shower and his own room. He knew there would be food and drink waiting by his bed. He also knew he didn’t want to know the face of the woman behind him. He’d seen it once or twice, but it was fuzzy in his mind, and he intended to keep it that way. She was a wackobird of the first order, but she was in charge, and the last thing Jason wanted was to make it through this ordeal only to find he was in danger for knowing too much.