Alkor

Sometimes, he came here to think.

Penitence wasn't his aim. At the time, Alkor fully believed his actions were just and he took the life of a man in defense of another human being. Later, he came to realize that justice was more than just black and white. He lived with the weight of what he'd done, but good had come of it. Or so he'd believed.

Mari went on from there to descend deeper into moral subjectivity. Her actions became depraved, and he lost the ability to counsel her because of some selfish vendetta against the world they were trapped in. Thom succeeded only in losing two years of his life. Unable to work together with his peers, unable to advance at all. Now that he'd made it, Alkor found himself stuck.

How did you move forward when your mind was trapped in the past? He'd recently fought some of those demons, but there were things he still hadn't resolved. Questions left unanswered. 

He stepped into the room with a quiet glance around, hopeful that he wouldn't disturb anyone's grief. This place was hallowed ground to some players, even if many of them opted to avoid it.

Alkor was just in time to witness the act of a Player with a heavy axe strapped to his back punching the monument, as if his rage had taken hold of him. "Hey, that's not going to do you any good-" 

He rushed forward to put a hand on the man's shoulder. "It won't bring anyone..." he turned the man around to see the surprised expression of someone extremely familiar. "...back," his voice was barely a whisper. 

He glanced to ChaseR warily. "This is a safezone, sure," he agreed, "but I don't think that's true of every district in the city." Alkor gestured toward where the guards were patrolling out of the market, to different wards of the city that they hadn't gone yet. "What I'm saying is," he turned his gaze toward NIGHT, "I think this city is Floor 26." He let the implication sink in, almost like it was beyond any of their ability to comprehend, and yet suddenly it wasn't as insane as it sounded. It made perfect sense, but it also flew in the face of everything that they'd known up to this point. It meant that the game had changed, drastically, and they had new rules to get used it. One thing Chase said didn't sit well with Alkor, however.

"If you think Kayaba wants us to get out of here, you're giving him a lot more credit than he's due. The guy trapped us in a world where he gets to play god. He didn't do it because he wanted to help us. It was amusement. Whether we get out of this or not, he's already got what he wanted." It was easy to associate other people with humanity, because most people were capable of empathy. Those with god complexes, the socially and morally bankrupt, the ones who say other humans as playthings- such things didn't apply to them. He didn't want Chase to make the mistake of falsely assuming good intentions where none existed, because Aincrad was too unforgiving for that. 

Of course, the blue player was free to draw his own conclusions about that.

Alkor pointed now toward the framework where the outside of town was generated, fields and expansive suburban growth. At a glance, one might simply assume that it was navigable, but still, the city was massive to a point where a Player might believe that it hadn't ended when they were walking toward the false scenery. It was just a hunch, but Alkor thought it looked a great deal like an invisible barrier, a point at which they could go no further but the game generated architecture to keep the thematic background intact. Full immersion within the world of Aincrad. "We should check it out," he agreed, "because I'm willing to bet that we can't go beyond a certain point, even if it looks like we can from here." He'd noticed it at first when he interacted with some of the poorer refugees, albeit only loosely.

"I think the setting is an Imperial City, in the wake of a great war with a foreign kingdom," he added. "There were some refugees in another part of the town. People who are treated like lower class citizens, who aren't allowed to travel to certain areas. If we're going to figure things out, I think that learning more about that might give us a frame of reference." Alkor hesitated for a moment.

"Also, I wouldn't mind a ride on an airship." That part was a bit less serious than the rest of his thoughts, but no less important to him. They all had to be wondering about it, right? Maybe the skies of this city would give them a bird's eye view, and a better look at their new surroundings.

With those things settled, they were in agreement. "Okay," he said. "Let's get looking."

It almost seemed nonsensical for Alkor to visit this place. Without a profession, he'd never had a reason, but now that the System had drastically changed it seemed like a perfect time to get acquainted with new information. The more he knew, the less things that Aincrad had to use against him- and by extension, those around him. So, when he made his way into Little Eden and saw someone struggling against a mob that he'd never seen before it did strike him as odd. Usually, this place was full of parties of people who were fighting for materials. This was just one guy, and he seemed to be struggling. Alkor glanced at his health, at the enemy's, and at the Player's energy bar- dwindled near to nothing.

If left to his devices, Aincrad might very well claim the Player's life. Alkor moved without a thought, his weapon in hand before he was halfway to the creature and Player. "Switch with me!" he bellowed loudly, not giving the other man any room for argument. At this point, it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. He had a Sword Art waiting in the wings as he closed the gap between them and launched himself at the enemy with the wicked, black blade. His attack ravaged the creature, taken aback by the sudden intrusion, as it seized up from some unseen affliction.

When Alkor landed, he stayed crouched and kept his eyes on the other Player. "You should be careful," he said. "It's almost suicidal to take something this strong on by yourself, especially at lower levels." He didn't have much time before the enemy started to spasm, yowling in intense agony as the virulence of Witchfang truly began to run its course. "No problem now, though. It's as good as dead," he remarked in a cool, quiet, collected voice. "Just give it a minute."

He waited for everything to sink in. On the off chance the creature survived his Malboro's Breath of a critical hit, it would be no real problem to mop up what was left afterward. "You did good to survive this long," he added, not wanting to rob the aspiring new player of his yearning to move forward. The First Sword then glanced back toward the dragon, frowning.

"Hmmm..."

 ID# 188338 Battle: 9
Alkor deals [19+1=20+2=22x15= 255 Damage

Nemo: 74/515 (-255) HP 162 Damage 75 (-20) Mit  0 (-2) Eva [Blight 32 (0/2), Paralyze, Bleed 48 (0/2)]

[10] (8 for Switching, +2 for Critical Hit) Alkor: 740/740 HP 95/108 EN (-13) Base Damage: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze
[0] Randal:  297/440 HP 49/65 EN 11 Dmg 20 Mit 3 Acc 4 Eva

Cooldowns:
Shadow Explosion is on a 3 turn cooldown

As Lessa surmised when she'd sent the message, Alkor hadn't completed the quest she contacted him about. When he glanced over it, he muttered something about how the Ninth Floor just couldn't seem to leave him alone. Then he replied. 

>Lessa

Lessa: I got a hot tip about a quest. It's on floor 9. That's why its hot.
Alkor: I should have stayed dead. 
Lessa: Are you in or not?
Alkor: I'll head that way now. Meet you at the teleporter.

The exchange between them lasted no more than two minutes, maybe three minutes, and they were in total agreement. Alkor activated the teleporter and made his way to the Ninth floor, then looked around for Lessa. True to form, she didn't stray far from the designated meeting place. Finding her turned out to be the simple part. Next came the more difficult portion- they'd seek out the Quest. He started to speak up when he eyed a guy dressed like a Historical Otaku. Alkor tilted his head slightly. "Well, there's something you don't see everyday," he mused before his eyes found the Guild Leader once more. "Is it just us?" he asked. It seemed like overkill for two higher leveled Players to do a quest on floor 9, unless there were something about it he was unaware of.

But he'd let Lessa fill in the gaps.
 

Perhaps the most annoying thing about Hikoru was how slippery he was.

Even now that he'd retired from the Frontlines and given up on his notoriety as a quiet killer, he still clung to secrecy and clandestine movements. Part of what made him such a great Info Broker was his ability to slip into and out of places unnoticed. Usually any intel that he gathered came secondhand. With information about the Twenty Sixth floor still new and hot, there were many things still in flux. That meant he would be there, somewhere, seeking the answers in person. What Alkor found defied expectation.

With things deteriorating in the wake of the system overhaul, it made sense for the Broker Network to set up shop somewhere. Digging their roots in at the top meant that they could take a downward approach and seek new data about the frontlines across all of the floors. Certainly, it was a realistic and pragmatic business model, but to see the man as the proprietor of a coffee shop came as something of a letdown. He expected to find Hikoru somewhere in a seedy bar or skulking in a back alley, not serving double mocha frappachinos to Frontliners and moonlighting as a seller of secrets. Maybe he'd become obsessed with peace since he'd left the fight. Maybe it was some passion leftover from the outside world, and he'd finally given into the temptation to live it out.

Whatever the man's motivation, Alkor slipped through the door without much enthusiasm and took a seat at one of the many tables and waited for a member of the staff to come around so he could put in his order. "Sorry sir," the girl told him, "we don't serve alcohol here. This is a coffee shop." He lamented the poor business model as he put in an order for a large cup of black coffee and watched the woman leave. His eyes met with the face of Lara, the info broker who he'd met on the ninth floor and she smiled sheepishly at him with a wave. 

The First Sword shifted his gaze away. "So that rumor about you being alive wasn't smoke and mirrors," the Keeper of Secrets himself whispered as he pulled up a chair opposite Alkor. It hadn't shocked the Knight at all to know the man had seen him come in, or that he'd slipped close unnoticed. Hikoru had a reputation to uphold. "How'd you do it?" the man asked. "Plenty of people dying to know how to cheat the inevitable."

Perhaps the joke was in poor taste, but neither man seemed offended or laughed at the comment. Instead, Alkor accepted his coffee from the waitress and took a sip before his gilded gaze settled on the man. "You have your secrets, I have mine," he shrugged. "Not like knowing would keep anyone who's fated to die from doing it."

At that comment, the Broker sat back in his chair. "You're probably right about that. I'd heard you were keeping it tight lipped, but I figured I'd try. Anyway, you came about the rumors that've been circulating, right?" He leaned forward and dropped his voice. "Truth is, you're not the only one hunting them, as you've probably surmised by now, In fact, you've got competition all over the place, and closer than you probably think."

Alkor lazily closed his eyes and enjoyed the bitter flavor as it rolled across his tongue. The heat was a lie, the flavor was a lie, but trapped in this world, some lies had become kindness. Especially now, when everything they all knew had been called to question. "Of course. Everyone's in a big hurry to solve the riddles and be the first ones to the boss. I get it. Knowledge is power, moreso now than it's ever been." He gazed sidelong at another blonde in the room, someone who wasn't looking their way despite the fact that she was more out of place than Hikoru. He slowly glanced back to the man. "So, are you saying I have to outbid the other buyers?"

Hikoru laughed. "Sure, I'm a businessman, but even I don't want to profit on chaos like that. Turning players against each other always ends badly. You remember Zelrius, Ssendom, Teayre..." All dark marks on a list of names throughout the history of their imprisonment in Aincrad. Some dead, others missing, or worse. Anyone branded a Player Killer was the absolute enemy of the Frontliners. They stood in the way of freedom. Hikoru's words reinforced that sentiment. "No, I'm actually encouraging you to work together. If Frontliners don't learn to figure things out cohesively, we'll never make it through this game alive."

Alkor paused. What Hikoru said made sense, and even matched some of his beliefs on the matter. There were plenty of people who would disagree, though. He frowned. "Then," he asked, "what do you want from me?"

"Let's see you back that up," the voice of his father jeered as he fought his way back to his feet. The image gave no quarter, weighing heavily down on the First Sword in an instant. He beat back the attack with his body weight, throwing his blade into the path of the attack and using momentum to stave off the initial impact. The lessons he'd taken in martial arts and the childish obsession with swords gave him knowledge that he turned into an advantage, even against an enemy manifested from his memories. "Perhaps you do have a shred of confidence," the voice conceded, "which will make it all the more satisfying to cut you down. Keep amusing me! I haven't had this much fun since before you were born!"

He understood the insinuation without needing any explanation. The fury that threatened to explode forth became suppressed, just like every other emotion had for so many years. Alkor numbed himself to the pain, because the pain could not move him forward anymore. It had its uses. It had driven him for many years to survive, even if only just. In that time, it was a useful emotion to tap into. Now, it was not.

Alkor needed a level head. He needed to concentrate, or Aincrad would undo him just as it had so many others.

Their blades smashed together again, steel grinding madly and sparks flying. His father's face had become a wild, grinning, visceral expression of his pleasure. The amount of enjoyment that the system seemed to derive seemed unnerving, almost as if it had taken the memories of his father's sadistic bouts of domestic violence and characteristic apathy and woven them directly into the creature that now went toe to toe with Alkor. The only difference was, during those memories he had never fought back.

The enemy had no idea what would happen now that Alkor was capable. It couldn't know, because there were no memories to use. All it had was the base template of combat data, untested, unproven. Alkor would be the one to prevail in this fight. He just needed a single opening, a single moment...

...there.

The elder man raised his weapon high and brought it down, seeking to rend Alkor into two uneven halves from head to stem. Before his blade could connect however, Alkor's slammed deep into his chest. The stroke caught him off balance. His eyes flew wide, and the phantasm flew backward. Alkor matched his pace with a flurry of strikes, powerful, measured, and beat him back until he stumbled and hit the floor.

Alkor flung his blade high, rising toward the firmament. In the next instant he was airborne, turning a flip as he took hold of the sword, utilizing their combined momentum to rip downward and tear through the avatar of his rage with a mighty, final blow.

It had no chance to speak as its health faded away, staring with surprise and hatred back into the unfeeling eyes of his own son.

The Player's knees went weak, and he hit the floor, gasping for air. "This game..." his voice cracked as he fought back the tears. There was no reason for him to cry. Not over that man.

ID# 188099 Battle: 10

Alkor 685/740  HP 193/108 EN (+1, -10)| Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Rage: 247/247 (-293) DMG: 85 MIT: 6

Cooldown Tracker
Nova Ascension is now on Cooldown (1 turn)
Shadow Explosion (2 turns)

Alkor returned the bow respectfully. "You're kind to say so." 

It was true that the world of Aincrad was lonely without others around, but for someone with a shop that intermittently relieved itself. Such was the situation here, more than likely. It was a welcome reprieve from one's own company. He watched the brief exchange between NIGHT and Iris in silence until their trade ended, and the frontliner turned her attention toward him. He raised a hand thoughtfully to his chin and tapped it a few times. "I was going to look into one of the Broker's rumors or grab a quest, honestly," he revealed. "I'm looking for items that'll help me put together armor, weapons, and accessories. It'd be ideal to figure out how the supply chain works now, so I thought to get a head start."

They were Guildmates, but Alkor rarely had much face time with anyone else among them. He was the oddest of the oddballs, especially when it came to isolating himself. He did try to keep the new intel pouring in where he could, since other Guilds were just as hungry for new information and wanted to grab everything they could as fast as possible. Firm Anima had a strangehold on the market before the system overhaul, so they were more than likely fiending to recapture their monopoly.

Now he had a chance to disrupt that and go around the social circles and cliques.

"...what about you?"

He gave a sigh and shrugged, the only visible or audible suggestion that he found the exchange tiresome. Alkor thought to make light of the situation, but it was apparent that some of the Frontliners who had been at the apex of strength had misgivings about the new situation. To be summarily brought down to the same level as many other Players with only a handful of caveats had to be harrowing. That was why he didn't press the issue much. It wasn't like Alkor hadn't been there as well, strong and then suddenly thrown back to the start of the climb to power. Circumstances were different, but he knew the struggle intimately.

"Wrong?" Alkor shook his head. "What a defeatist attitude. It's outside our control. There are things we can control and things we can't. The ability to overcome adversity and adapt to new situations is the sole factor that seperates men from baser animals." He left the implication alone at that point. Everyone understood Survival of the Fittest. Hell, their ability to live this long in Aincrad was an unspoken testimony to Darwinism. For NIGHT to call it Machiavellian seemed more tongue in cheek than anything. While she and ChaseR pined over the lamentations of the system overhaul, Alkor glanced out past the bazaar, toward the large tower that stood at the center of the city. Everything stretched outward from there, like a hub or the center of a great Imperial city. Perhaps that wasn't far off the mark, either. The insignias, the castes, the NPCs segregated into different ranks and cells- all of that fell in line with Auxillaries and Legionnaires. There was more in line with Roman Civilization with every observation.

He paused his synopsis when NIGHT talked about him "knowing what he was doing." Alkor glanced back over his shoulder. "I've done it before," he remarked dryly. "When I woke up after the Hydra fight, I changed from Straight Sword to Curved. I made the decision to switch back because of higher gross damage output potential when compared to higher critical hit rate. It's not like I did it on a whim." All three of them were logical thinkers, so he now realized the error in making a joke offhand. Both NIGHT and ChaseR had taken it literally, and if their situations had been reversed, he would have done the same thing. He shouldn't talk to this group like he did the rest of the people in Aincrad. "All the same, I haven't seen anything to suggest that there's much "outside" of the city. More accurately, it's feasible to assume that certain areas of the city aren't safe zones, and that some of the guards or people that look like NPCs are actually enemies." He'd noticed it while he was moving through the Bazaar. Some of the guards were flagged with different colored cursors, and simply hadn't lashed out at him due to the safe zone rules. They had eyed him in a vaguely unsavory manner, which threw the first clue that they might have attacked under different circumstances. They also moved in a pattern, sometimes leaving the safe zone for other parts of the city.

"I'm thinking we should be careful," he added after a moment. The System overhaul didn't leave out the possibility for new mechanics to be added to gameplay. Things like rogues who pilfered from people's pockets were entirely within the realm of possibility. Something might get knicked off them if they didn't stay aware of their surroundings. If NIGHT didn't want to leave the safe zone with Alkor, that was certainly her prerogative; but they had plenty of other things to consider.

When they started talking about the boss fight, Alkor's mind trailed off. He watched the movements of the guards a bit more, testing his hypothesis. Then, NIGHT mentioned the storm. Alkor whipped around. "Storm?" he asked suddenly. "I was on floor seven. There was a strange storm, black rain... and I don't remember much after that. It gets blurry." He wore a skeptical expression. "You mean to say that wasn't contained to the seventh floor?"

That made him go quiet. Extremely quiet. Things like that weren't normal. Events in Aincrad were generally isolated between floors. Their environments weren't shared. Not unless...

Not unless it was a system event.

NIGHT again prompted that they hadn't come just to talk, and Alkor nodded. After recovering from the sudden frightening implications, he spoke up. "We wanted to get a look around the floor," he ventured. "Find out how things work, what the deal is. Maybe scope out some quests before the Info Brokers can sink their teeth in."

ChaseR did nothing to hide the fact that he saw a significant difference between them in terms of previously ordained level, and it only made Alkor shake his head slightly. The difference between them wasn't much in that way. He'd always considered Chase stronger while they were leveling up, and the man had always been blunt. It was almost a surprise to hear him complain about the sudden equalization, though. The blue haired player had never seemed the type to get bent over something so trivial. Then again, there were a lot of things going on and he could understand a certain degree of anxiety. It wasn't worth ribbing the guy over.

"An experience system makes more logical sense from a programmer's perspective, I'd wager. It's hard to balance one to one with something as arbitrary as the same skill points that go into building your character traits. That just makes for things getting bogged down with too many parameters-" he stopped himself short, because he realized as he was talking that there was a vacant expression on the man's face. Either it was going over his head, or this kind of thing just bored the man to tears. Chase wasn't the type to pretend to be interested, either. "Anyway, breaking things down into different units makes it easier to manage in the code. It doesn't read the same things, and so the system won't become confused by similar or like variables. Also, smaller numbers are easier to compute. Having an arbitrarily high HP total for example- feels great to a Player, but it's unnecessarily clunky and hard to compute."

He glanced around. "But I definitely agree with you," he said as a chill ran down his spine. "They're more lifelike now. More interactive. It's like suddenly the system became more cunning about trying to give us Stockholm Syndrome. It wants to encourage us to treat this like less of a simulation and more of a realistic experience." Alkor glanced to Chase again and his shoulders sagged a bit. "I already hate talking to most people," he added, unenthused.

The sounds of trade and dispute grew louder and more boisterous with the moment, and a fight even broke out between two NPCs not so far away. Alkor watched as they traded blows until one of the many guards in the area stirred and made up his mind to put an end to it. The common garb in this region looked strange, almost renaissance era Italian in its style; but there were subtle vibes that reminded him of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Togas and nudity had phased out of style, replaced with drab, earthen tones and finery that denoted ones status in an overt fashion. Gilded chain links adorned the guard's neck, some sort of classification that Alkor had yet to decipher. Most likely, given the silver color of many others, it signified the man's rank.

They were visibly armed and wore the ornate plate of some noble house. The ones in this area were notably different from others he'd seen en route from the inn where he'd stayed. It was possible that different factions controlled different areas of the City, or at the very least, shared some measure of control. If that was true, was their interaction an important aspect of the Floor's lore? Alkor found himself fascinated with the prospect of factions and reputation, much like he'd seen in other online multiplayer games prior to Sword Art Online. Most often, they came with bounties if you decided to chase one hard enough.

That thought subsided when ChaseR joked about NIGHT's typing. "Probably something to do with simplicity and time management," he hazarded his best guess. NIGHT never struck him as the type to unironically type in shorthand, so if she was it was likely in order to save time. She was a very function over form person in his limited experience. She didn't mince words. None of them did.

He didn't need to confirm that he'd given her the directions, because no sooner was he inclined to do so than did she join them proper. With an addendum that she wasn't lost. Obviously. Alkor nodded. "Yeah, we were just talking about it," he said of the Update. "It's pretty well sabotaged a lot of the effort some people have put in for things. ChaseR for instance doesn't have a massive gulf in level between the two of us anymore, and I think his feelings are hurt because of it." Alkor smirked and shot the man a quick wink. They weren't usually the type to joke around, but sometimes it felt good to melt some of the tension in the air. Especially when it came to things like a massive system overhaul that caused Players to reimagine the entire game from the ground up. "Damn shame Akihiko didn't decide to throw in some patch notes like a good sport. We'll just have to figure everything out the old fashioned way." He shrugged. "Nothing new there."

He then decided to add, "It hasn't set me back any," he revealed. "I actually switched weapons fairly easily because of the changes, so it saved me some time and Col."

"Is this all you can do?" the shade that wore the face of his father and spoke with the same critical condemnation sneered down in contempt. Alkor swung his blade in a valiant effort, but the brute swatted his weapon deftly away. "All this time, all of the emotions you held in, everything you've fought for and this is the most defiance you can manage? You truly are pathetic." The was a look of disgust in the man's eyes as he watched Alkor struggle against him, wary that the Player might make another attempt. His observation was rewarded when Alkor took another powerful swing, and met with summary denial.

The riposte that followed took the Knight off balance. Alkor cursed himself for giving himself over to the anger, but it could no longer be denied. His body reeled as he hit the ground face first and continued to roll. There was no pain, but each impact gave him more awareness of where he was, what was being struck, and how he would ultimately land. When he came to a halt, he was crouched on a single knee and staring up at the figment of an augmented false reality with fire in his eyes. 

"You really thought that you could just face me with this kind of resolve?" his father asked. "I admit that it's more than you've ever been capable of before. I'm impressed that it took you this long to become only a modicum less useless. But it will avail you nothing. I'll undo my mistake here and unmake you. No one will ever have to suffer your ineptitude again when I'm finished. I won't have to live with the shame of knowing you exist."

Alkor panted harshly and struggled to see anything but red. Every poisonous word that came from the thing's mouth stain his soul with even more darkness, with more hate and anger that threatened to engulf all of his thoughts and dreams and leave him vacant. Deep inside, he knew that he couldn't let this thing win. He knew that, yet to put it behind him so easily meant claiming a stillness of mind that he did not have. With his eyes shut, he recognized the sensation of a blade biting deep into his form and he harshly gasped in air.

When his eyes opened, the figure of his father had impaled him with its blade.

"Just stand there," the image jeered. "I will end this quickly."

"Like hell," Alkor hissed. He was fighting with himself, both literally and figuratively. He wanted to lash out; but if he did, he would certainly lose this fight. He needed to quiet his mind and find the path forward.

"You've always been in my way." Alkor spat. "I used to think it was looking up to you, I used to try to live up to your impossible expectations. That's how I got here in the first place. I isolated myself trying to walk on that impossibly narrow path that you'd laid out for me. But it wasn't ever good enough. Now I know that it would never have been, and it won't ever be."

"You talk a lot for a kid with no future."

"Screw your idea of the future." He thrust a finger toward the man, toward the avatar of his rage. "You won't run my life anymore. I refuse to bend to your will ever again."

ID# 188048 Battle: 1 MOB: 8

Alkor 685/740 (-55) HP 102/108 EN (+1)| Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Rage: 247/247 DMG: 85 MIT: 6

Shadow Explosion is now on cooldown (3 turns)

"You wanna run that by me again?" His father's voice grew colder, more attentive. Alkor fought his way onto his hands and knees, able by sheer force of will to fight back against the pressure on his spine. Where his father's words were vitriolic and came from a place of bitterness, what drove him was beyond spite. The feelings he had clung to for years welled up like magma beneath the surface and now the rage broke through the cracks. He lost control of the rational part of himself for a moment, just long enough that the image of his father took a step back. "Are you doing it? Are you actually talking back to me?" A laugh rumbled forth from the man as he watched Alkor rise to his feet. "God, this is hilarious. I actually can't believe it."

"That's the problem," Alkor grit his teeth as his eyes found the same amber color he'd inherited from the man. Every part of his body that reflected this man was a constant reminder that a part of him was born from darkness, from an evil that culminated in a broken home and troubled youth.  "You've never believed in me. Not when it didn't matter, and even less when it did. You didn't believe in me, so you never saw me as a person. Even now, you still can't"

"Because you're not." His father clicked his tongue and spat on the floor nearby. He didn't make eye contact with his son. Eye contact meant respect. He gave none. "You've never had what it takes to be a person. You can't go places without falling to pieces. You can't even talk to people without shutting down. You can't call yourself human, because there's nothing about you that is."

"Do you know how long I waited to hear that?" Alkor whispered. "If you'd said that you didn't care, if you'd just told me, I wouldn't have spent so much time trying to make you proud. I wouldn't have wasted all that time in my own thoughts, worried that I wouldn't measure up. I wouldn't even have tried, because I would have realized that your expectations are a joke." Alkor's hands were trembling now as his voice slowly rose, a storm surge coming to swallow up everything. "Instead of leaving without a word, you could have told me. You could have said that you didn't care what happened to me, that you'd never seen me as a son, and that you never would. Instead, you left us. Mom, Sam, all of us thought that there was something wrong with us. Mom thought that if she changed, you might come back. She cried herself to sleep for years. Sam idolized you. She made plans to visit you overseas, she abandoned her plans to go on to school for the chance at an internship at your company. But when that second round of interviews came up, you overlooked her completely."

He was crying. They were not tears of joy, but of the despair that festered for so long in his heart that it now manifested as wrath. Alkor wanted to destroy the image standing before him, sneering down in judgment. "I hate you," he whispered. Then, he raised his voice. "I hate you! I've always hated you! I hate that you controlled my mind, and the people I loved. I hate that I never once questioned you, and that I let you dictate my goals for the future. I hate that you robbed me of aspirations and made me hollow. I hate that I ever even loved you as a father."

"Is that all?" the man looked to his wrist, for a watch that wasn't there. "You hate me? After all this time, you waste my time for that? I could say the same. I could say that I hate you, because you're a failure. Because you're worthless, and because you never had what it takes to succeed in life. I could say that I hate that I created a waste of space like you. But that would be a lie." 

Alkor looked up, his vision blurred.

"I don't feel anything at all," the image of his father revealed.  "I never had time to waste on you. I've never stopped to think if things could have been different. Mine are a diligent people, who take pride in all that we do. You're not my son. You're no more than the child of a [censored] who happened to steal my seed." The man reached back and made a fist, and in his hand a blade appeared. It was wicked looking, twisted black iron wrought into an infernal shape. Alkor unsheathed Witchfang and took up a stance. "Are you finally ready to do something useful?" the image asked, bored.

"I've been ready," Alkor hissed.

Alkor 740/740 HP 101/108 EN (+1)| Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Rage: 247/247 DMG: 85 MIT: 6

He glanced up when an unfamiliar voice came directed toward him. The Player was silver haired and tall, built like a brick shithouse. From Alkor's precursory glance, he could see the man used a dagger. The archetypal choice of attire came at a stark contrast from what he imagined a skulker might opt for, but he wasn't the type to judge someone based on their weapon choice. It was more likely that he just preferred it to other types of weapons, or there was something else going on. "You're here about the rumor?" he asked for confirmation. "If so, then yeah, you're in the right place." 

"Well aren't you lucky?" Lara asked with a smirk. "He's pretty cute," she whispered in his ear.

Alkor swatted at the Info Broker, who was already more of a thorn in his side than any number of Hydra heads. "I'm Alkor," he introduced himself to the newcomer. Though generally he wasn't the type for formalities, he extended his hand in greeting. Many Players, he found, liked that kind of interpersonal approach. "I put the word out to another Player from my Guild, so we have at least one more person on the way. What's your name?" he asked.

Lara spoke up at that point and interjected, "and I'm the Info Broker who provided the scoop," she stepped from behind Alkor with a bright smile and a wave. "Name's Lara. I'll be waiting here for you guys to get back." 

"Give him a look at the rumor." Alkor gestured toward Valentine and Lara opened her messaging menu once more, then showed it to the other Player. "So, we'll be headed over to inspect the crown at the Profaned Peak. Shouldn't be dangerous, but there's always a chance. That's why we're going as a group." His gaze shifted to a woman nearby who seemed to have witnessed the whole encounter and suddenly realized that he should have been more judicious about sharing the map data and rumor out in the open. "Hey," he called to Astreya, "you interested in checking this out with us?" Though she wasn't particularly strong looking, he would rather keep her with the group than have her gossip about what she'd heard before Alkor, Valentine, and NIGHT had a chance to scope things out for themselves. These kinds of rumors sometimes led nowhere, but on the off chance that the was something more to it...

"Like I said," he reiterated, "my name's Alkor. We're going to be investigating one of the rumors that are circulating through the Information Broker network. There's no telling if it'll be dangerous or not, but with the group we've got so far, the risk is pretty low on floor 9." It wasn't his best pitch, or even a good one. This was one of the few times he truly lamented his ineptitude at talking to other people.

"And you are?" His eyes strayed back toward the teleporter for a moment, concerned with how long it might take for NIGHT to arrive, but also moderately aware of any other potential eavesdroppers. When he looked back to Astreya, he managed an uneasy smile. I've always been horrible at running parties, he reflected. This is a fine mess I've gotten myself into.

The room he entered was initially blinding. White burned his eyes and erased reality around him, only to rewrite it as the scene slowly came back into view. The outline of a house, green walls and the pungent odor of smoke heavy in the air assaulted him when his senses returned. Thom recognized it without any strain. It wasn't fear that awakened in him when he remembered this place. He felt the sting of embers against his flesh as the memory of agonizing pain returned. The cigarette went out on his digitized flesh, but there was no real sensation. Aincrad never allowed for that. Instead, his scream was reflexive. A learned response.

"You always were obnoxious." The source of that pain regarded him coldly, but never looked at him. There were others present, men with glazed over eyes and vacant faces who took no interest in what happened right in front of them. He could see a pipe with residue tossed carelessly aside. The sticky, sweet smell lingered on his father's breath as a hand met Thom's face. "I spent years in the US, thrilled to have a son. I thought I'd have something to be proud of, if only I put in the time and effort to make something out of you." He hit the floor, hard. He made no effort to get back up, either. "Get back on your feet," the man commanded.

He refused to move. A foot took him in the ribcage. "I said on your feet," his father barked. Still, Thom refused to move. "That's the problem with you. You've never listened to me. You never listen to anyone. How was I supposed to groom you to be a businessman? Do you know how reckless and irresponsible your decisions have been? What it's cost me? How much time I've wasted on you?"

Alkor closed his eyes. It always ended the same way. Eventually he got tired, or too doped up to continue his tirade. Eventually, his father gave up, even in his dreams. He ran away. 

"I don't have time for that anymore, though," he told Alkor. "I finally got a job offer, back in Japan. I finally get to go home. It finally feels like all my efforts paid off, even if I couldn't get a worthwhile heir out of the deal." The man lit another cigarette and promptly kicked Alkor again. He shuddered. The pain was only a memory, an illusion, yet the words still stung. "That bitch of an American woman that birthed you, she always said 'let's give him a chance, don't hit him, he'll resent you. You hear that, boy? Do you resent me?"

He listened to his father's laughter, still sprawled on the floor of a grungy old duplex. The floor was stained from tar in the cigarette smoke and burned his nostrils with each breath. His eyes watered, and Thom remembered why he hated this place so much. Why he hated his father so much. The Player no longer knew whether he was crying or his eyes were just burning because of the poor conditions of the room. He no longer cared.

"Pathetic. Can't even answer a simple question."

With a harsh motion, his father stepped on his back- in the middle of his spine. He ground his heel in, and Alkor gave a weak cry. He wanted to scream. Anything to make it stop, anything to never hear that voice or see his father's face again. Only this time, it didn't stop. The weight on his back persisted. The body didn't move, and it continued to hold him down. "If you can't even speak up, you're better off dead," the voice told him.

Alkor felt the flames in his heart burning even hotter. His father had said such a thing, once. He remembered it vividly. The one person who should have supported him thought everything told him to just... die.

"...you..."

"Eh?" he spoke up again, grinding his heel even deeper.

"Fuck you."

Alkor 740/740 HP 100/108 EN (+1)| Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

He stroked the pommel of his blade with his thumb. In all their brief meetings, Alkor couldn't recall NIGHT giving much praise. In fact, they'd only recently shifted to 'getting along' since that time they saved Koga and that newer Player, Starla, from death. He managed to smile. "Thanks," he said offhand, not entirely sure what else to say. Compliments had always been hard for him. 

Alkor nodded. "Yeah, I didn't think I'd heard of anything like that," he replied to Iris after she finished. "Seems like everything turned out alright with it, honestly. I liked the idea of a sword that inflicts status ailments, so the rolls definitely ended up in my favor. In the future, I'd like something with a bit more raw damage potential, but I think that'll be increasingly more difficult to achieve now that the system is... like it is," he fell silent after those words, contemplative about the rarity of more difficult to find enhancements. The ones he'd seen on Frontliner weapons that made them more vicious, like radiating holy light or becoming suffused with Stygian darkness. Rumor had it that those things made a blade deal massive amounts more damage. Perhaps more exotic than that was an enhancement that made a stroke ignore mitigation. 

"I'd say you did a pretty good job," he told the Appraiser. "I'll keep you in mind when I need more work done." He wasn't sure how he might rectify some of the awkwardness between the group of them, but he tried to at least make Iris feel engaged. 

NIGHT immediately put the girl back to work. Alkor felt for the girl, in her own shop forced to feel like an outsider. Then, his guildmate spoke up about quests that had seemingly vanished with the update. "That right?" he asked. "I can't say I'm surprised. We don't have a full grasp on what's changed, but it makes sense that some of the older quests that don't fall in line with the system update got terminated or lost." He failed to mention how worried he was that the system updated with them still inside. The human mind was fragile, unlike a computer. Wiping memory from RAM or ROM couldn't kill someone or leave lasting damage. Altering human memories was much more of a moral gray area. "But, the Essence of Steel quest was pretty important for people trying to upgrade weapons. There might be some kind of replacement quest, we'll just have to keep up with the Info Brokers to see what turns up."

He glanced to Iris again, preoccupied with her work. 

"Sorry," Alkor said. "I don't mean to exclude you from the conversation. If you have questions about anything, feel free to ask."

When he looked back to the sea, Alkor noticed that the waves started to roll again. He was no longer frozen in time, in terror of that moment. Likewise, the moment no longer sat still in wait for him to engage it. Instead, the faces had shifted once more, returned to blissful, happy tourists enjoying a beach. He saw his grandfather there, playing with his sister in the water. Instead of a younger version of himself, though, Thom was present as he was now, a soul trapped within Aincrad. He took a deep breath and pursed his lips.

He knew what he had to do. 

Footprints in the sand trailed behind him as he strode toward the sea. Waves washed across his boots and swept away any trace that he had ever been there at all, all the while drawing him deeper in. He could hear the banter between his family members and saw his destiny creeping closer. It had been a stormy weekend in the summer, winds were raging and yet the Hurricane warning seemed not to discourage his grandfather at all. So long as they kept close to the shoreline and away from deeper water, they would never have cause to worry over the undertow. That was what he'd said.

Alkor took one step further, and horror seized his thoughts. The water tugged him under with almost no effort. As he went to swim away, the sudden current ripped his feet out from beneath him and the swordsman was caught in a mad spiral of fluid motion. He gasped for air, but saltwater filled his lungs. All that Thom wanted in that moment was to breathe, but even that was denied to him. He wanted freedom from the tyranny of nature, from a fate he had never wanted. The voices of his grandfather and sister were washed away, replaced by the feral instinct that told him he was not going to survive. He reached out, but the tide thrust his arm aside. Every attempt he made was denied.

In a final effort, he let go. 

Every thought he had telling him to fight against the current tried to override him, but Thom closed his eyes and surrendered to oblivion. Hopeful that the tide would end his panic and suffering quickly, he allowed for his thoughts to move forward. He had survived back then, and he had faith that he would again. If this simulation only replayed his memories, there was no other reasonable outcome. He silently prayed that he had not become a victim of Aincrad like so many others before.

When he reopened his eyes, Alkor stood in a nondescript space. He saw ahead of him and to either side a door, and in the middle, there was a figure with nothing more than a pale smile. It said nothing, but seemed to watch him expectantly. With a subtle gesture of its hands, the being indicated the three doors. Behind him, another door slammed shut, and he heard the faint sound of a lock. So that's the direction I came from, he surmised quickly, all the while maintaining a clear view of the strange, unnatural creature that shared the space with him. It seemed disinterested in attacking him, but he had just fought a childhood friend. Looks could be deceiving.

"So?" he questioned the disfigured smile. "Where to next?"

For a second time, it indicated the three doors on any given side of them. It did not speak, however.

"That's helpful," he muttered to himself as he glanced toward the door to his left. "Okay then. I'll go this way for now."

The figure watched him move to the door, open it, and disappear through it. When it closed, Alkor was alone.

Alkor 740/740 HP 99/108 EN (+1)| Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Nova Ascension is off Cooldown

Alkor sagged backward, away from her. With the most serene smile he'd worn in as long as he could remember, the Knight sat back on his haunches and came up on the balls of his feet. He stood himself up and readied his weapon. The girl took a few steps away from him and looked up at the sky once more, her expression hidden from him. "You know, I'm just a figment of your imagination." The statement seemed different from the jeering before. She didn't turn to look at him as she spoke, but waited for him to respond.

"Yeah," he muttered gruffly. "I know."

"So this conversation, it doesn't really count." She said it for his benefit more than anything. In this world, it was easy to delude oneself. If Alkor wanted to, he would have clung desperately to the resolution he'd found inside of Aincrad- perhaps longer even than it held him hostage. In that way, he would have remained a prisoner even long after this world had ended. "You get that, don't you?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I get that. She doesn't know. She can't know, unless I tell her. You're the one who said that, right?"

"But," she finally turned around to smile brightly at him. "I did get to see your memories, so I have a feeling she'd be proud of you if she knew."

He gave a shrug. "Maybe so," he fell into a fighting stance reflexively, readying Witchfang to ruin his opposition regardless of what face it wore. This world was a battlefield, and even if the faces were dear to him, he knew better than to pretend like they had any connection to his innermost thoughts or secrets. By its own admission, this reflection was only a fake. "But that's in the past," Alkor smiled. "And what's in the past can't change. Only the future. I can only go forward."

"Then get ready, Thom," she said, holding her hand out toward him. For a moment, he thought she wanted him to take it. A split second before he thought to reach out, a blade substantiated in her grip. It was a sword not unlike one he'd wielded in the past. Deep crimson like blood. The weapon Lessa forged for him, that he'd used in that tournament and soundly beaten her with. Nightbringer. Betrayer, he'd called it. How fitting that it now stood across from him, in the hands of an enemy who sought to stand in his way.

Even back then, Alkor had resolved that nothing would stop him. It rang more true now than ever. "You too," he said. "Because I'm not holding back."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she told him, closing her eyes for a moment before dropping low into a ready stance. Her fighting style mimicked his back when he was on the Frontlines the first time. "Here I come!"

Alkor exploded forward in a flash of motion, more powerful than he'd ever unleashed in Aincrad. The blade danced wildly, tearing through the image once, twice, three times- more than he could keep track of before he stomped forward from behind the wall of strikes and shoulder checked her. The impact knocked the wind out of the enemy, its eyes wide and filled with confusion in the seconds it took for its health meter to tick away.

"You... have gotten... strong," she whispered just before her image blossomed into data.

Remember...

ID# 187781 Battle: 10

Alkor 740/740 HP 98/108 (-10) EN (-12)| Dmg: 19 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Anxiety: HP: 0/185 (-294) DMG: 65 MIT: 5

Nova Ascension is now on Cooldown (1 turn)

If that conversation had happened, Thom might never have shut himself away from the world.

He found no shortage of irony in the fact that he found it inside of a Virtual World. In the warmth of her arms, for those short moments in the flow of time, he found himself wondering what would have been if only he'd been stronger. If events had transpired differently, where would he be now? There came a moment of lightheadedness, a sensation like warmth and emptiness in tandem that made Thom waiver. She released him when he went limp in her arms, and he managed to sit upright. "You still deal with that, don't you?" she asked quietly. "You still think that you have no value on your own, except for what you can give to others."

Alkor shook his head. "I did," he admitted. "For most of my life, I've operated with that mentality. It never seemed problematic to me if I'm being honest. When I look at other people, I notice that most of them are preoccupied with what services people offer, or what they can gain from someone else. I guess I've always just assumed that the natural state of the universe is use or be used." It was a warped thing to admit, but it shed light on things he had buried deep inside. "Even now, I feel like the most important thing in this world is who I can help. Who I can save. I've never once wondered... about saving myself," he told her.

She closed her eyes. "If you don't, how can you save anyone else?" she asked. He stopped short of speaking and looked at her. "Remember what happened?" she asked, repeating the same question she'd first posed. Only now, it referred to something new. Alkor immediately understood. He nodded slowly. "You remember all those times when we should have talked? When we could have worked through things, together?" 

How many times had it been? He remembered so many different instances, times when he'd fled rather than fought for the friendship that he'd placed so much value in. He'd idealized her kindness, her warmth, and wanted nothing more than the validation she symbolized. But his doubts, those demons that screamed inside his mind had wrested control away from the rational part of his mind and cast it to the incredible. Things he knew, or that he hoped twisted into things he did not want to believe, things that terrified him. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled at him.

"Thom," she said quietly. "I can tell that you've come a long way. I can see that you've grown, and that you've become a stronger person. But you have been scared for too long."

He sighed. 

"Even now, you're worried. You feel like you haven't handled things the best way you could. You feel like you've shown weakness, and even though you know none of this is real, you think someone or something might take all of this and turn it against you."

"Cardinal already has," Alkor resigned himself, fully understanding her words.

She only nodded. "You always were sharp," she chuckled. "Think you're up for it?" she asked.

"Do you think you can beat your inadequacies?"

Alkor 740/740 HP 108/108 EN | Dmg: 17 Mit: 30 Acc: 4 Eva: 3 Blight: 32 [afflicted target loses 20 Mitigation for duration] Bleed: 48 Paralyze

Anxiety: HP: 185/185 DMG: 65 MIT: 5

Alkor froze. 

His gaze swept over the beach and toward the water, unmoving and yet daunting. The disembodied voice asked him if he remembered. Despite all of his yearning not to, Thom did remember. The water never needed to move for him to feel the anxiety crawl down his spine. His body nearly spasmed as he failed to tear his gaze away. "I remember," he managed to whisper. The cruelty was purely of his own design. The voice seemed dispassionate, not at all interested in the terror that clearly gripped the Player as he stood there, rooted in place. 

If you want to leave this place, it stated, calmly, you can't turn back now. You know what happened here. It cannot be undone, because it has already been done.

He faced the water now. In his mind, screams. The sensation of salty water filling his mouth, stifling his attempt to call out. Suddenly, his lungs burned. His flesh, bones, muscles, all of his being seized with pain. Without ever touching the ocean, he could feel it. Alkor shut his eyes. "Is that your answer?" He gasped when the warm breath hit his ear and nearly jumped free of his skin. Thom stared now at the face of a girl, her smile causing even more pain in his heart. "I always wondered, you know," she folded her hands behind her back and walked in front of him, eyes on the clear blue sky. For a moment, he remembered the feelings that he'd had. The stirring in his heart at simply having a friend, someone who cared about him. Thom remembered how he had complicated everything, and how he never conquered his fear or anxiety to undo the damage. Still, now, he wanted to know. He wanted her to finish the thought, even though he knew she was a figment of his imagination. 

Her voice called back emotions he had locked away, deep. "I wondered why, when you had the opportunity, you walked away from it. Didn't you like me?" she asked.

Thom felt the words choked, stifled behind his terror. His face was sheet white, covered in cold sweat. All over again. "Are you just going to do this again?" she sighed. "Were you always a coward, Thom? You must have known how embarrassing it was, how hard it was for me to go through all of that. You know what it feels like as a girl, to be told someone likes you the way you like them? And then, when everything feels like it's going to work out- he doesn't even talk to you? He won't?"

He couldn't even begin to tell her. Where would he? How many nights had he lost to the dread, the very chance that he may have hurt her? A tear streaked his face as he trembled, but still could not manage to speak. His grip on Witchfang tightened. It would have been so much easier if this were a fight, if it were to be conquered by swinging a sword and sending a foe bursting into pixels. But this enemy was words, it was thoughts- these were the very insecurities he fought against, the enemies he never told anyone that he had.

"You dyed your hair, huh?" she changed the subject suddenly. "What's up with that? I always thought you were cool, you know. I thought that you were a nice person, like you were someone who would be there for your friends, but you got older and you changed. What stole that light from you?" she asked him quietly. Blue eyes, eyes that he looked into and lost himself, ones that pierced his heart and robbed him of words met his now as she leaned in close. She'd done that before. Scarily close, to the point where he took leave of his sensibilities. He could smell her hair, and her lips got close, so close that he had to take a step back. "...hah," her smile became sad. "You still run away from everything, huh?"

He felt the fire beneath his skin building when she spoke those words. She had never been cruel, even if she had enjoyed teasing him. It was how she'd flirted, even if he hadn't understood at the time. And if he had hurt her, he could even forgive her scathing review. But for her to say those things, to pry deep into his most intimate thoughts and call to question his bravery... he chewed on his lip as his foot touched the ground.

"Did you know?" she asked. "You had to have known. There's no way you didn't see my excitement, or how happy I was when we talked."

"...it took me too long," he said.

"What?"

"Back then," Thom said, "all I could ever think about was 'am I doing this right?' 'What if it doesn't work?' 'Am I good enough?' 'She deserves better than I can give her.' 'Don't inflict yourself on her.' 'She needs a chance to be happy.' Don't you get it?" he asked, his voice strained.

"How could I?" she asked, her voice rising, shaky. "How could I know anything if you didn't tell me?" Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. Alkor stared at her, barely able to hold himself upright. His legs had long since turned weightless, his guts suspended in air. Thom felt like he might freefall through the sand beneath his feet. "You were trapped in your mind, but you never reached out for help. You never even tried."

"How could I?" he barked, eyes screwed shut. "Everyone always expects so much! Everyone wanted me to be a scientist or a doctor, they wanted me to take my studies seriously, they said I wasn't doing enough! Nothing I did was ever good enough! And if I complained, I was weak! Useless!" Thom was screaming now, unbidden tears flowing free. "They always told me that you never show weakness," his voice broke, and he fell to his knees. "But I knew that I was," he finally admitted. "So how was I supposed to come to terms with that? How was I supposed to tell the one person I cared about that I wasn't... worthy...?"

She sank to her knees in front of him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she pulled his face to her chest. "But you were," she whispered. "To me, you were," her voice quieted as she held him in comfortable silence.

Calming the Soul

It was hardly a secret anymore. In the Jungles of the Sixth floor hid a waterfall rumored to have once been of religious significance to the people of Aincrad. The mossy overgrowth abolished whatever thoughts Alkor had about that detail becoming problematic immediately. A ruined Torii nestled at the edge of the falls, a spiritual gateway said in Japanese mythology to lead to another world. Its destruction went unnoticed, or perhaps uncared about for countless ages and now, if any god or demon sought safe passage they would not find it here. Instead, the Players who came to this place were rumored to leave it completely changed. Few of them spoke about their experience, but the ones who did uttered words of caution.

Whatever you find there, it will make you question everything you know. And if you aren't ready, it may swallow you.

Those words resonated with Alkor. Since that strange event on the Twenty Fourth floor, the Knight sought greater meaning. He wanted to know more about his so-called "purpose," and to find some semblance of significance within himself. If this quest could even scratch the surface of that desire, Alkor cared almost nothing about the dangers it posed. He wanted to grow, as a Player and as a person. In order to do that, he had to show willingness to confront even the things he was not comfortable with. Alkor was no stranger to questioning himself. He hoped this would prove only a slightly more rigorous.

Meditate beneath the falls. Do that, and the way will open for you.

It seemed simple. The cascading water hardly crashed at the bottom. It would not crush him with its intensity. Alkor stepped onto the rocky, narrow path that curved behind the water and the light grew dimmer, refracted through the gentle flow. With a cautious movement, he reached out with his fingertips to caress the water. It felt cool.

Satisfied that there was nothing incredibly dangerous about it, Alkor stepped under the waterfall and shivered. The sudden sensation filled his lungs as he gasped in surpise. Icy cold shot through his veins as he began to shiver. "This is nothing," he reminded himself sternly. "The Atlantic is much colder in the springtime." His thoughts were on his youth suddenly, about his grandfather teaching him how to swim in the open ocean. As he took a seat and his eyes closed almost reflexively, the scene that unfolded in the darkness was inviting and warm. His mind broke free of his body for a moment, unraveling the tether between reality and fiction.

Is that what you see? a strange voice shot through the darkness suddenly; but somehow, it was familiar. The heat in his face rose as he looked in the direction it had come from, but he saw nothing. Rather, what he saw was not a person, but a place. The frozen image of something he'd repressed, a sea filled with waves that would never again ebb or flow. Thom felt his heart stop as a thousand faces he had known but forgotten stared back, but through him rather than at him. It was home, but it was not home. It would never quite be home again; yet during that time of his life, it had been.

His heart ached.

"Who's there?" he asked, but his voice came quiet. Choked. "Who are you?"

There was no wind, despite the breeze that he suddenly, albeit recalled from that day. He looked out toward the water, to where he should have been and to where his grandfather would undoubtedly be. He wasn't. Neither of them existed in that frame. Only a thousand hostile, unfamiliar masks in place of emotions. It was nothing like his memory, yet everything else was the same. Everything he had forced himself to forget suddenly waged war against everything he was being forced to see.

"Don't fuck with me," he hissed, a hand on the pommel of Witchfang. "Show yourself!"

He turned slowly, staring all around for a sign of the voice's origin. Do you remember? it questioned him suddenly. What comes next?

The Bazaar was less crowded than labyrinthine, but the sheer volume of bodies made it difficult to navigate. Even when Alkor thought he'd found a clear path through, someone made a sudden movement or happened to trip up and he found himself dodging or weaving. It reminded him remotely of a more crowded city, like Tokyo or New York. It wasn't necessarily that the buildings were close in proximity to one another, it was just the heavy rate of commerce that made it inconvenient. He managed to find an open plaza within the Bazaar where there was a break in the flow of motion, and that was where he waited for ChaseR.

He turned to regard the voice that called out, the familiar tone of the blue Player. "The best I can tell, it'd be a patch," he reckoned. The servers were still open after all this time, but the company had likely shut down due to the SAO incident. Alkor couldn't imagine that the Government wouldn't step in and seize everything to ensure their safety and condemn the actions of a psychopath. But even that was conjecture at this point, because this was their reality. Communication with the outside world was impossible. That left grave implications for this scenario. Who would have thought to patch Sword Art Online at this point? It had to have been the creator, but to do it with all the Players logged in... that had to be dangerous.

No wonder portions of his memory were entirely gone.

His lips tugged downward into a slight frown as he explained further. "When a system is outdated or there are bugs, or something needs a hotfix, the programmers take the server down for a brief time and update things. Normally, it'd force out Players for the duration and use specific protocols to save their progress. That's what's bugging me about this situation. We didn't get booted out, so we got treated just like part of the program. There's no telling what the implications of that are, especially our memories, how our minds work... it's like a science experiment and we're guinea pigs."

That was the most Alkor had postulated about the state of Aincrad in a long time, and it gave him no small amount of existential dread. "That said, I feel fine," he shrugged. Alkor didn't want to make Chase uneasy, though his words had already struck that chord. He paused and glanced up, toward the network of small ships jetting between buildings. They seemed like worker bees moving about a hive, an integral part of everyday function. That was about the time that they received a message in unison.

>Alkor, ChaseR

NIGHT: Whr r u?

He blinked, then realized Chase must have invited the woman because she was just as confused as the rest of them. He hit the reply button and began typing quickly.

>NIGHT

Alkor: It's an area of the city called the Aquilinean Bazaar, the map should show you. It's a safe zone.

The next moment, he sent the message and turned back to regard ChaseR. "I wouldn't say that the changes to the system have overall changed the way things work," he began, "because so far, much of the experience has been the same. Levels and health totals, item overhauls, but functionally the everyday options like movement and sleep haven't changed at all. At the very least, we haven't been further digitized. I can assume the base template for interaction hasn't shifted at all. Combat should work pretty much the same, for example."

It was just a guess, but when they did system changes in MMOs, they were content to gut character creation, customization, skills, items, and all of the other frills that contributed to the overall experience but programmers rarely messed with the real guts. Combat in some of the most tried and true MMO games remained constant from inception through to their twilight days. He was willing to take that to the bank. "When NIGHT gets here, we can get a better idea of what's going on. Maybe."

Honestly, Alkor didn't know NIGHT all that well. She seemed like a no-nonsense type of person. Between the fluctuating sounds of the market around them, the boisterous merchants and displeased nobles and the intermittent chink of guards in armor as they stepped in to handle disputes, he found himself distracted from that thought. Unlike previous floors, the Twenty Sixth had more real time interaction between NPCs. Everything felt like a crisper, more realistic experience than before. This was unlike the previous experiences in SAO, where the Players would interact with a single NPC at a time and move between quests. Now, the NPCs were bickering, fighting, treating each other like living, breathing creatures instead of strands of code.

And they seemed to take active interest in Players, as well. A curt nod here, a bright smile there- it wasn't like the way they used to attend Players only when prompted. Now they would engage. A quirky greeting or a scowl, realistic expressions of emotion... 

Alkor felt a chill run down his spine. Before, it felt like they could disassociate all of this as a game. Suddenly, that didn't seem like an option.

"I don't like it."

[Floor 9 - Yōgan Village]

This is where it happened, isn't it? This was where everything ended.

Alkor opened his eyes as the data that made up his avatar filtered into the teleporter of Yōgan village. The haunted expression lingered only for a few moments before stoicism returned to his face, but several sideways glances still found him. It was disconcerting whenever a Player showed any sign of discomfort, and to do so right as he entered the settlement made people whisper. For a moment, he looked around and assessed what should have been a familiar sight. This village was nothing like Vulcan, the place where he slept for two years of his life. Whatever strange storm had ravaged Aincrad and left its people to rebuild brought with it a renaissance of architecture to even this hellscape. When he looked to the floor beyond the safe zone, he became even more aware of broad, sweeping changes.

Active volcanoes made sense, but an entire range of them and rivers of magma made the Ninth floor far more imposing than when they had faced down the Hydra. Alkor opened his menu and checked the messages there to ensure that this was in fact where the Broker promised to meet him, and satisfied that he hadn't misread things, he dismissed the window and found the mischievous smirk of a young girl, a Player in outlandish garb. "You must be Alkor," she hailed him with a wry smile, "word on the street is that you were at the Floor Boss fight right here," she gestured to the world around them to indicate the ninth floor. "But everyone thought you were dead. Wanna tell me how that happened?"

Info Brokers. Always looking for the next hot piece of intel to peddle to the right people. His gaze swept over her for a moment, pensive. He then glanced toward the most massive of the volcanoes on the floor, Mount Stylahm. Creases of violent red flecked its face, like angry cracks in the face of a crone who disapproved of the world around her. Fire did not scare Alkor. Even the heat during the battle seemed insignificant, neutered by the system that held them all prisoner. "I'd prefer to talk about the present," he stated flatly. Her bright blue eyes seemed to darken a bit, and her demeanor as a whole seemed to dull with his disinterest. 

"That's so boring." The blonde girl made no effort to hide her disdain, but Alkor found that refreshing. At least she wouldn't pressure him any harder. "But alright. I just got this scoop from Hikoru not too long ago, and provided you're willing to pay me for it, I've got no right to complain." The girl was sixteen, maybe seventeen by the look of her, and she reminded Thom vaguely of his younger sister. She was nominally more annoying, however, because his sister never talked to him. Not that she could anyway.

"Yeah, we agreed on..." he held up a few fingers for her approval. "...this much?"

Her eyes sparkled as she took a step closer. "That much? Gee, mister Alkor, you seem like a really swell guy." 

Alkor watched her for a moment before he opened the trade window. "And I take it he told you about our deal?" he asked.

"Yep!" she interlaced her fingers and smiled up at him from behind her hands. "I'll stay right here, and you'll report back with whatever you find. If it's interesting enough, I give you half of the money back for your contribution to the network."

He nodded. "Yeah, that sounds about right. Now, give the the details so I can get right to it."

The girl narrowed her eyes. "You're not even gonna ask my name?" she pouted. 

"No," he replied concisely. "I don't care. I asked Hikoru to meet me in person."

"My name's Lara," she announced proudly, ignoring that Alkor had shown no interest. "And you'll have to excuse the boss, he is a really busy guy running things across basically every floor of Aincrad. We Brokers do an important job, you know?"

"Talking my ear off is an important job?"Alkor blinked.

Lara stared at him for a moment, taken aback. "He said you weren't great at talking to people," she muttered.

"So he really does know everything." The Knight held her gaze for several heartbeats before she sighed. 

"Alright, fine. Here's the information you wanted." Lara opened her messages and scrolled to the intel from Hikoru. When it opened, she turned so that Alkor could glance over her shoulder at the words and verified that no one else was around to peek. Client and purveyor privilege and whatnot, obviously.

Quote

The crown at the Profaned Peak has begun to hum with power, and hover a few inches above the throne. Both NPCs and Players sense that something is about to happen, but they can only speculate as to what it is.

"So, who are you taking with you?" she asked him.

"What?"

"You know, these things can get pretty dangerous. Some of these locations are pretty new after the update, and we can't be sure that they won't scale to the level of the strongest Player and leave you fighting something way beyond your ability to handle alone. You know?" Alkor stared in disbelief at the young woman, who seemed more aware of Aincrad than she let on. With a wink, she added. "I'm a Broker. Careful is my job, you know?"

He grunted, then turned away to open the messaging system. Who did he want to do this with?

 

I need more hearts for this.

Alkor accepts, with big thanks!

"Yeah, no problem," Alkor assented with a nod as he stepped back to allow Iris to deal with NIGHT. A fellow Guild Member though she was, Alkor and NIGHT still lacked a real sense of camaraderie and still hadn't become used to something as simple as normal conversation yet. Then again, that wasn't unusual for him.

When NIGHT asked about his sword, "sort of," he replied. "It's the same sword I've been using, but I just had her change up some of the Enhancements for practicality's sake," he said, indicating Iris. "She did some pretty cool work, so I used an Item to alter its name and appearance to match."

He knew that referring to her sideways when she was present in the room might feel awkward for Iris, so he tried to do what someone with more social prowess might and include her in the... almost... conversation. 

"This whole system overhaul is... weird."

Quote

Yo, what the fuck is up? Help me out, let's meet up.

The message from ChaseR appeared across his HUD in the moment that he pushed the door to the inn open, and obstructed his view of the world beyond. He blinked. If Chase of all people didn't know what was going on, then Alkor was at a total loss. The Blue haired boy had a penchant for finding new knowledge and a borderline obsessive pursuit of any means to beat the bastard system. Alkor adapted quickly because of his previous experiences with online gaming, but the two were on entirely different levels. He frowned.

>ChaseR
Alkor: I thought you'd be the one with the inside scoop on this.
Alkor: The Frontliners cleared the boss, right? What the hell happened?
Alkor: Meet me on Floor 26. We can figure things out while we look around.

With the message sent off, Alkor dismissed the window and found himself staring out into a world unlike anything he'd seen in Aincrad. The city was vast, perhaps greater even than the Town of Beginnings, which was designed to impress and beguile the nubile Players into a false sense of wonder. "What the f-" Alkor started to say, but the words died on his lips. He watched in abject wonder as the sound of a steam engine overhead stole his attention. Flying machines, no, airships. There were many of them, not simply one illustrious example. It was a staple of the architecture and technology of the Floor, something he quickly surmised as he noted them moving from location to location like a taxi service. Some of them went further, and he postulated that they could ferry Players to more isolated locations as well.

The city itself was a wonder, with the quarter where he stood immediate revealed on the map as the "Aquilinean Bazaar." It matched the description perfectly, with fine linen and expensive orientals on display as an obvious display of the Mercantile affinity for acquisition. The men and women who flecked the marketplace were swathed in finery, golds and silvers and silks that only made the surroundings seem more pompous and stifling. With guards present to preserve their interests, every merchant seemed nonplussed, utterly disinterested in the possibility that they might be robbed.

These were not like the guards in other settlements, however. They were standardized, disciplined. With what he knew about ancient history, Alkor surmised that they were clad in uniform armor and emblazoned with the sigils of some power inherent to the Floor. With some careful deduction, he might even be able to glean what the arms etched into their garb indicated. Alkor paused for a moment as his mind reeled from the sudden overload of information. A new floor meant new story, new enemies, new quests, and new possibilities. It also meant more to process. The Frontliners had moved from an oceanic world to a labyrinth and finally into what appeared to be a world of vast wealth and influence. It must have been harrowing for them. Modern humans rarely experienced culture shock on that level. Many never left their habitats for anything that wasn't nominally familiar. Life in this era wasn't as exciting as it had been in ancient times.

Perhaps that was something Kayaba Akihiko set out to rectify when he designed Sword Art Online.

>ChaseR
Alkor: I'm in the Aquilinean Bazaar.

While he could have hoped for more forward, damage enhancing effects, a full retinue of Enhancements that would greviously debilitate an enemy had its own merits. Blight was different now than before. It's hideous affliction degraded the victim's ability to defend themselves while it whittled away their health- a horrifying prospect to say the least. But now, it also bloodied them, forcing their health to chip away even faster, and with the precise application of force it could do all of that while they were powerless to resist. The weapon had transformed into something malevolent, a force of unbridled devastation.

His gilded eyes flickered up to the woman as she introduced herself, and he smiled. "Alkor," he told her his name when she asked, "and you have my thanks, Iris. This blade will serve me even better now."

Alkor gently accepted the weapon back from the Appraiser, who's efforts had made the Demonic Weapon's name worthy of changing. "I think I'll call it Witchfang," he decided absently as he withdrew a strange ticket from his inventory and held it to the blade. After several seconds, the item dissolved into data and the sword glowed faintly, a deep red color, before it changed shape to fit the description Alkor had given it.

Now, the blade was straight and deep black. The edges were honed, jagged and almost wicked looking. He slid it carefully into its sheath and replaced it at his hip. 

"I really appreciate this," he reiterated. His gaze moved around awkwardly, as though he wasn't sure what else to say. Maybe she was busy. He didn't want to keep her long.