DLC: A LitRPG Adventure (Beta Tester Book 4) Page 8

Jordan blew out a long breath. “You joined the Christmas devil. What did you think he was going to have you do? First, you terrorize the people of the Vale. You did that already. Quite well, apparently. Then, you kill Santa’s reindeer. Then you siege the North Pole and enslave all the elves.” She stared reproachfully at him. “That’s the path you chose, Jack.”

  He stared back. “Well how the heck did I know you twisted developers were going to make it so danged dark?”

  “You joined up with a holiday demon…what did you expect?”

  He brushed this aside with a wave of his hand. “Look, are you going to help me or not?”

  “There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Of course there is. You’re an admin.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t just switch your objectives. The game is locked down to prevent people from being able to do that, for starters. And secondly, even if I could figure something out, again, the risk is huge. We already know the game is full of bugs, and you’re stuck in it. I don’t want to sabotage your way out by messing up an objective or something.”

  “So you’re not going to help?”

  “I am helping you, by not putting you at risk.”

  He glared at her. “Alright. Then I don’t want to hear any whining when I go destroy the North Pole. I asked you to help me find a way out, and you refused.”

  “I gave you a way out: reload.”

  “A way out that doesn’t involve me wasting even more of my life in a videogame.”

  “Play however you want, Jack,” she said. Like she wasn’t judging him for those choices. Even her expression still carried judgment.

  They stood there for a minute, each silent and sullen. Then, she said in more conciliatory tones, “But, you need any food or anything?”

  “No. I wouldn’t want you to inconvenience yourself, Jordan.” She rolled her eyes, and he added, as a further barb, “Anyway, Krampus feeds me well.”

  “Well good. I’m glad you’re enjoying your thirty pieces of silver.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jack didn’t tell Jordan about his strange dream, or the way time had seemed to run out without him noticing. He’d meant to. He’d planned to. It worried him, and he remembered the strange bruising he had started to randomly develop when he took damage. Dr. Roberts, the attending physician to his stint in the VR capsule, had advised him that it was nothing serious. His brain had started to blur the lines between his game body and his real body, but as long as he wasn’t feeling pain, he had nothing to worry about.

  Was the weird dream about Richard III, where he’d lost track of time, where dream and reality had all become a kind of blur, another manifestation of that loss of differentiation? He didn’t know, and the possibility scared him. But not enough to tell Jordan. Not when he was in a snit with her.

  And he was, now. There was no denying that. She’d been ridiculous, and worse than that, she’d been genuinely disappointed in him. Which she had no right to be. It was just a videogame, and he’d only half realized the scope of the evil he was agreeing to anyway.

  She’d asked a few times if he needed anything else, or if he wanted her to leave a coffee for him like she usually did. He’d told her no, though now he regretted it. And she’d gone, remarking with a sniff that she wouldn’t keep him from “the devil’s honey-do list.”

  So Jack was mad at Jordan. He was mad at her for being ridiculous. He was mad at her because he really did want coffee, and she’d made it impossible to accept it from her. He was mad at her because she hadn’t solved his Beelzebub problem.

  And the little serpent definitely remained a problem. It kept slithering around, trying to get Jack’s attention. It would wrap around his feet, nearly tripping him. It would climb his leg, sending horrible, cold shivers and a sense of dread up and down him.

  “Well, Sir Jack,” Migli asked, for the game had resumed when Jordan left, “shall we go find someone to ask about those reindeer? Krampus will be waiting for us.” He added with a toothy grin, “Krampus, and a certain beautiful hircine lady.”

  Jack shivered. “You’re an animal, Migli.”

  “No. But she is.” He made a strange noise, something that was either intended to mimic a growl, or a cat throwing up a hairball. Jack couldn’t be entirely sure which. “And I love it.”

  “Great. Once I’m done puking, let’s go find someone.” He didn’t actually vomit, of course, though his stomach did feel a little turned. Instead, he set his steps directly for the first person he saw. Who happened, he realized, to be Klaus, the mayor’s bizarre butler. He looked a very different man than he had the day before. There remained no spring to his step, no twinkle in his eye. Even his bizarre manner of dress had made way for a drab brown suit, its only holiday accent being shimmering snowflake cufflinks.

  Klaus didn’t even notice him, until he called out his name. Then, the round old man started, glanced around, and almost smiled. “Ah, Friend Jack: now here is a bit of sunshine to an otherwise dark day.”

  Three responses popped into Jack’s head.

  Tell me, good Klaus, what seems to be the trouble here in the Vale?

  Wish I could say the same. I do need you to answer a question, though.

  And,

  The days of holiday cheer are over. The reign of holiday despair has begun.

  Jack chose the first option, and Klaus gestured vaguely all around him. “Krampus struck during the night, plying his usual devilry. We don’t know how he managed to get through Winter’s defenses. But I suppose that doesn’t matter so much anymore. However he did it, he – well, did it.

  “He ruined Christmas for everyone. He ruined property and gifts, which of course was bad. But worse, he set families bickering with one another. He set neighbor against neighbor, each suspecting the other in the early morning hours.

  “Gifts can be remade, windows reset. But the bonds of friendship and family?” He shook his head. “Those are so much more difficult to rebuild once damaged.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “Burnt bridges and all that.”

  “Indeed.” Then, the old man seemed to remember himself. “But, what can I do for you, Jack? I am still in the mayor’s service, even if we are currently homeless, and as long as there is any hope left at all, I shall continue to do my duty.”

  Three more options presented themselves.

  Actually, Klaus, I was wondering if you could help me. I’m trying to find Winter’s reindeer. You haven’t seen them, or heard from anyone who has, have you?

  I need to replenish my meat stores. Are there any good game trails in the area?

  And,

  I don’t need anything from you, old man – nothing, except your continued suffering.

  Again, Jack chose the first option. Klaus regarded him carefully. “I have. But tell me, what is your interest?”

  This time, Jack had two possible responses:

  They’ve wandered from their stables, and not returned. The people of the Pole are growing concerned. I thought I would come look for them, in case they’re in a bind. [Lie]

  And,

  What do you think, you thicky? I’m hungry. And they’re made of meat.

  Jack figured lying was definitely the right option in the current situation, so he told Klaus that he was trying to help.

  The old man nodded. “Excellent. Very thoughtful of you. I knew you were good fortune the moment I laid eyes on you, Jack. And Winter knows, we could use all the good luck we can get right now.

  “Yes, I think I know where Dasher and Donder are. I didn’t see them myself, mind. But old lady Carol did. She forages for pie berries out by the stream west of town. They grow on the banks there, you know; and no one makes a winter berry pie like Carol.

  “But I digress. Anyway, she had her basket, and she was picking berries near where the little island is in the stream. And she saw two reindeer eating berries there. She said she was quite certain, and there was no mistake about it.”

  Here, Klaus frowned. “What do you think it means
? What did Winter say? It’s not like him to let those creatures wander like that. They mean the world to him, like they were his own children.”

  Jack demurred that he had no idea what Father Winter was thinking. As if he didn’t know that the old man lay dead and frozen just outside of town. “But I’ll find them and bring them back home.”

  “Yes, you do that. I wouldn’t want anything dreadful to happen to them.”

  Jack found the reindeer where Klaus had said he would: by the banks of a little river, just west of town. Unlike old lady Carol’s spotting, this time they weren’t by the island. They were on it, eating winter berries as happily as could be.

  Jack stared at them for a long moment. They were huge beasts, but gentle in appearance. They weren’t afraid of him, either. They glanced up at his and Migli’s approach, snuffled softly, and went back to eating.

  They’d be easy targets. That was for sure. They weren’t fleeing or moving much at all. One shot each, and they’d be done for. Or, if he prepped a particularly powerful fire spell, he could probably target between them, and the splash damage would do them in.

  But, for some reason, he didn’t. Not yet. He just sat there, thinking about it. Dasher and Donder. Could he really kill Dasher and Donder?

  It’s just a videogame, he told himself, conjuring up the fire spell. They’re not real.

  Still, he didn’t shoot. He stood there, hesitating and thinking. Then, the nightmarish touch wrapped around his leg as Beelzebub started to climb him, again.

  He yelped and glanced down at the demon. “Oh fuck it,” he said, which came out as, “Oh flurries.” There was no way he could go through the rest of the game with this wretched little thing clinging to him.

  And Jordan wasn’t going to help. So that left only one option. Which, of course, was the only reason he loaded. It had absolutely nothing to do with feeling guilty about having to kill Dasher and Donder. Because he didn’t feel guilty about that. It was just a videogame, and they weren’t real; and it was absurd to feel guilty about doing a fake thing to fake creatures in a fake world.

  Thus deciding, Jack pulled up the game’s player interface, and selected the load menu. For half a moment, he considered saving his current progress – just in case the next try proved too onerous, or annoying.

  But, no. Better to not have the temptation of an easy load to get out of whatever annoying difficulties lay ahead. Because he didn’t for an instant doubt that his path would be fraught with annoying difficulties. It was a Marshfield Studio game, after all, and this was exactly the kind of moral dilemma the heavy-handed developers liked to present. On the one hand, there would be a fun and easy but evil way; and on the other, an awful, tedious, good way to play.

  Jack loaded his earlier save, the one he’d made as he met Krampus as he traveled toward Father Winter’s snowy fortress.

  The riverbank, and Dasher and Donder, disappeared. Jack and his entire crew reappeared on a mountainside on a gray day. Krampus stood in front of them. He’d just invited them to join him. “You aid me, Jack, and I will return you and all your friends to your home.”

  Jack’s crew was dispersed in a rough half-circle, most of them ready to fight. Shimmerfax pawed the snow, and Ceinwen’s hand hovered above the hilt of her blade. Migli was the only outlier, hidden behind a snowbank.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “But I’m not interested.”

  Krampus smiled. “Oh, don’t be so hasty, my young friend. I have much to offer you.”

  “I know what you have,” he said, which was true. He knew better than anyone in his party. “But I’m not interested.”

  Now, Krampus’s smile disappeared. “Be careful, Jack. Thrice I am offering, but if thrice you refuse, then I offer no more. And you will find me a very powerful enemy.”

  Now, three pre-determined options presented themselves to Jack.

  Your threats mean nothing to me, demon. Begone, or I will drive you from my sight.

  Look, I’m not looking for trouble, dude. Just, you’re kind of snowing on my holiday parade.

  And,

  I spoke in jest. Forgive me, Lord of the Vale. Of course I will pledge myself to you, for we have common cause.

  Jack considered for a long moment if he should attempt the placating route. Then, he shrugged and chose the first option instead. In for a penny, in for a pound, I guess. Why not piss off the Christmas devil?

  Krampus snarled at his reply. “You have made a grave mistake, fool. You will share the fate of people of the Vale.”

  The demon returned to his sleigh, stomping and huffing out great, angry puffs of cold air as he went. Then he took off, raining down a hail of fireballs on them as he went, and disappeared – a red streak vanishing into the gray gloom overhead.

  Jack took a little damage and scowled at that. Already, doing the right thing was costing him.

  But Ceinwen clapped him on the shoulder. “Marvelously handled, Sir Jack.”

  “You routed him,” Er’c agreed.

  Karag grunted. “You know as well as I that I don’t want to be entangled in any of their squabbles. But I guess we’re going to have to pick a side to get out of here. And better that it’s any side but that slippery devil’s.”

  Shimmerfax shook his glimmering mane and pranced this way and that, in what seemed to be some kind of celebration. Arath snorted about missing a chance to get out of the cold and snow.

  And Migli came out from hiding, offering a, “Well, well done, that. We make a formidable team.”

  Chapter Ten

  It was early morning when they reached the North Pole. They knew it was the North Pole because there was a big, wreath-shaped sign that read, “Welcome to the North Pole.” It was a clear, but brisk morning, with a biting cold and a worse wind.

  It had taken about a day to reach Santa’s fortress, but it wasn’t Christmas yet. That immediately struck Jack as a glaring contradiction. When he’d been playing on Team Krampus, the day after he met Krampus – today – had been Christmas. Now that he was playing on Team Dead Guy, Christmas was the day after the day after, at least according to the big sign in the middle of the courtyard.

  Jack had played every videogame he could ever get his hands on. He’d played quests where an NPC quest giver had screeched about dire consequences if something didn’t happen by sundown, or the next day, or some other arbitrary timeline – and then spent days doing other things, only to come back to the original quest with no harm done. So he knew how it worked. Game timeframes worked however the story needed them to work.

  But he was chilled through, and his bones had started to ache a little with weariness, and his stomach growled with hunger. So as Jack spilled into a courtyard full of huge work buildings, endless rows of tiny, quaint gingerbread homes, and a massive, shimmering ice castle, he didn’t feel any of the holiday cheer the wreaths and Christmas trees set up all over the place were supposed to imbue. He didn’t feel brightened by the sound of Jingle Bells piping through the air. And when he spotted the big billboard declaring, “Work hard, smile often! Only 1 day until Christmas. Remember, holiday cheer starts with YOU. Winter appreciates your efforts!” Jack scowled.

  The endless cold frustrated him. The date inconsistency annoyed him. The North Pole corporate pep talk downright pissed him off. He started to wonder if Winter’s appreciation ran all the way to good benefits for his courtyard full of elf slaves, or if it ended with empty words. Did he pay them, or was daylong labor and room and board in the most arctic region in the game their only reward?

  He started to imagine employees slaving over machines in grueling conditions, and Winter strolling through the factories with a smug smile and iced cookies or Christmas punch or something else equally unimportant, patting himself on the back for being the world’s best boss.

  Then, Jack started to think about unionization, and what that would do to the North Pole boss’s holiday spirit. What if the elves had a strong voice of their own, and could rise against the Christmas king’s tyranny?
What if they told him to take his appreciation cocoa and shove it up his backside; that they wanted to be paid, and provided with benefits, instead of treated like slaves? What if there were safety standards in Winter’s factories, and the elves had a way to report violation – and some independent source to come in and intervene on their behalf?

  “Sir Jack?” Ceinwen’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  He started, glancing around. The day had somehow, in the blink of an eye, got a lot brighter. It had been dim, early morning a second ago. Now, it looked like midmorning. “What the…”

  “Are you alright, Sir Jack?”

  “Huh? Yes, of course. What…happened?”

  “You seemed to go into a trance,” Er’c said.

  “Quite funny, actually,” Arath put in. “You drooled on yourself.”

  Jack reached up a hand to find a frozen spittle icicle hanging from the corner of his mouth. He brushed it away, red-faced. “How long?”

  “Some hours,” Karag answered. “You don’t think that knave poisoned our cocoa, do you?”

  “What?”

  “The mayor’s butler, the one who calls himself Klaus. There are poisons that can do such things, you know: just a few drops can put a man into an eternal stupor. They have the same glassy-eyed expression that you wore.”

  Jack blinked. “Of course Klaus didn’t poison us.”

  Arath laughed. “What kind of wine merchant knows how poisoned people look, eh, Karag?”

  Jack fought to understand for a minute. His head felt foggy. Then, he recalled that Karag declared himself but a simple merchant at their first meeting. No one believed it, of course. Everyone knew he was an assassin from the Obsidian Isles. But to his credit, or not, he’d stuck doggedly to the fiction, insisting that he was only a wine merchant – or a cobbler, or a tailor, or whatever lie he felt like at the time.

  At the moment, the giant was protesting that he’d only happened upon such knowledge accidentally. His companions were all rolling their eyes, of course. Ceinwen declared that he belonged behind bars. Er’c stared with troubled eyes at the giant. Migli said that he would remember to hide his ale from the other man.