MISERY

did you know that if you took all of the dna out of your body and laid it end to end, you could make it from here to the sun and back 100 times?

you'd also fucking die.

"Get up," MISERY commanded. He stood tall among the swirling blackness, the oscillating "fabric" of his cloak indistinguishable from the Shadow's influence altogether. Had one no prior knowledge of MISERY and the way in which he carried himself, they would likely think him a consequence of whatever hell had befallen the castle. Surely, he must have looked like one of them. A creature of the shade, born into this world as the progeny of Aincrad's most vile floor boss yet. Or, at least, that's what MISERY assumed this was all about. He couldn't fathom any other reason for such a crude and sudden onslaught.

"I said get up." An appendage of pure, stained bone ejected from within the confines of the cloak and seized the young boy by his neck, hoisting him from the shadows' ensnarement. The youth's body forcibly ripped from the infectious ooze, MISERY discarded him to the side, allowing his form to fall like a sack of body parts rather than a human being. 

Indeed, it was a strange feeling to help the very beings MISERY held the most disdain for. But it seemed prudent to keep them around in an instance like this. Were they all to die, it would only leave MISERY as the object of the shadows' and NPC's ire alike. If nothing else, they made for good distractions and good bait. He'd need them if he were to survive long enough to see what was at the other side of all of this.
 

So the NPC had managed to elude MISERY, deriding the Player's strength as minuscule and not worth bearing as a threat. If only he knew the sort of twisted machinations such a decision wrought.

"Take your breaths now, while you can," MISERY mused as the fiend made his escape, sprinting back out into the palpable blackness of the storm. As MISERY moved to chase him, he found his movements sluggish and difficult. It seemed that the puddles around his boots had grown rather attached to him - literally.

"Curious," MISERY breathed, wrenching his appendages from the obsidian quicksand. "What twisted being could have such heinous influence at a level like this? Is it an event? I've never experienced anything like it."

So far, it had been easy enough to resist. But after having only stood in one place for such a short amount of time, MISERY was surprised by the grip it had managed to hold against him. As the storm raged on, it would become harder and harder to overcome. Though, that was likely the point. 

Nobody was making it out of this alive. Cardinal had finally decided to swallow them whole.
 

He'd seen it all. An NPC had just murdered a child in cold blood. A real, human child. There would be no respawning for that tortured soul. Though MISERY had understood the gravity of the storm and its peripheral dangers, he hadn't stopped to consider the possibility of NPC-on-Player fatalities. Such an unimaginable feat may have shaken those with lesser mental fortitude to their core, but wicked grin stretched across MISERY's masked visage from ear to ear. 

So that's how it is, huh?

He shifted his weight.

So be it.

With the newfound knowledge that NPCs were just as dangerous as the storm, MISERY's next steps became abundantly clear. If he eliminated the NPCs, they would no longer be a threat. Maneuvering through the storm was becoming more difficult with each passing minute - the last thing MISERY needed was a surprise visit from one of the many hapless fools he'd looted throughout the ordeal.

Blending perfectly into the oil that now coated Nimbus, MISERY slithered along in a manner that resembled little more than sentient ooze, pursuing 'Hugo' until he saw the perfect opportunity to strike. He followed the deranged lunatic into a dark alleyway, springing from the soil and shoving the man against the wall of one of the nearby rickety structures. The wall bowed from the impact, but did not give. Yet.

"Guess it's your unlucky day," MISERY mused as he produced a skeletal sickle from the folds of his cloak. The hum of countless buzzing bees filled the alleyway as the weapon rose into the air, glinting a soft verdant as it captured the faint glow of a nearby crystal. "Wonder if you'll respawn in a storm like this."
 

As if the storm wasn't enough, obsidian primordial ooze now seeped through the soil to the surface and began skittering about the players. Those who remained immobile would find it creeping up their appendages and attacking their flesh. MISERY was certain he'd seen at least one poor fool swipe away a healthy collection of the black oil to reveal a crimson just as solid. It was, of course, overshadowed by the black again as quickly as it was revealed.

For those who remained on the move, such as MISERY, the sludge did not have the same effect. Though, with the chill that was filling the area, he surmised it was only a matter of time before he found it more difficult to will his legs into motion. Was it possible that the storm would eventually become too palpable for him to overcome? Would the whims of "nature" override his will to live?

Regardless the answer, he would find out in time.
 

Vibrating air oscillated all around MISERY as he strode to and fro, sauntering from home to home and plundering their belongings amid the chaos. It wasn't an honest living - nor a particularly lucrative one - but the mobile puddle of sludge took great joy in each and every treasure and trinket he lifted from the unsuspecting victims of the storm. Too distracted were they with what loomed outside to take note of the menace that lurked within.

Each time he emerged from one of the structures, he found himself bracing against increasingly sharp gusts. Wind and shadow alike pulled back at his frame. It seemed that, regardless of the direction he chose, he would always find himself facing headwind trying to push him back. Or did he have it backwards - that it was some unseen force behind that was trying to seize him and pull him back into the darkness?

Perhaps a mixture of the two. All that MISERY knew for sure was that he had no intention to relent.
 

As the maelstrom of shade cascaded against MISERY's frame, he did not buckle or concede. He was awash in the substance of his reckoning, bathing in the chaos that it wrought. Something was happening to Aincrad, and regardless of the outcome, MISERY would see it through to its natural conclusion.

He strode along through the city streets, largely unhindered by the wisps of obsidian that licked at his ankles and suffocated whatever light sources they were attracted to. It seemed that the shadows had already taken their toll on the guardsmen of the settlement, who hadn't so much as even noticed an orange player wandering amidst the hysterical delirium. Tired eyes peered through the holes in his mask and took in the view, counting the number of houses that were either unoccupied or unguarded. 

It was the "perfect storm," if he were willing to make puns at a time like this. Treasures to behold, and nobody to stop him from seizing them.
 

Then, finally, MISERY's slender fingers left the ivory and obsidian keys of the piano.

Never before had he come so awash with emotion and muse. The selection he'd composed was a masterful illustration of wonder, deceit, humor, misery, and death. It was chaotic, and glorious in that chaos. Never before, and likely never again, would he be capable of creating such a work of art. It was far beyond his technical skill as a pianist, and he himself wasn't quite sure how he'd managed it. His fingers had flowed across the keys as though possessed, while invasive, ridiculous imagery flooded his mind all the while. Even as he studied the notes he'd scribbled down during the whole ordeal, he wasn't sure that he would ever be able to play it again with the mastery and utility he'd displayed during its composition. It was equally as proud a moment for MISERY as it was filled with chagrin. His greatest work, and he might never be able to share it.

It was late, and he was exhausted. He left the bench for now, vowing to come back at a later time and attempt to emulate the masterpiece he'd composed. It could make for some good crystals.

"So this is it, then," MISERY muttered to himself as he took in the view of the panicked players, and then his own remaining health. It seemed as though things were reaching a close. And by that, he meant that all of the players in the area would soon die - including himself.

They were all so dangerously low that virtually anything could wipe them all out at this point. One single, raid-wide AoE would annihilate the entirety of Aincrad's active player base. There would be others that lived beyond this day, of course, but they had accomplished nothing. They had remained sheltered in their towns, waiting for the warriors of the Frontlines to push their way to the top of the castle and free everyone. MISERY had always seen it as a joke, but this simply confirmed it.

If everyone here died, there was no way that the players that remained would be able to take their place within a reasonable time frame. Likely, their bodies on the other side of the proverbial veil with wither away into oblivion long before they had a chance at reaching the top again - assuming these three mobs didn't do them in like they did these morons. One good wipe, and all the players of Aincrad were doomed.

Scary thought. It brought a smile to MISERY's face.

[No action taken.]

This was officially starting to get a little freaky... even by MISERY's standards. Some of the players had lost their minds and begun flexing back at the mobs. Other players had created a ring of cultists around the battle field. Some were apologizing to the very being trying to end their existence. Others had either given up, or were whipped into such a frenzy that they may as well have. And the rips in spacetime? Just another rotation in the fight against the Living Meme Squad.

MISERY's amusement had turned to disgust.

There was nothing to learn here. No magical insight to glean from this situation. Just a bunch of chickens with their heads cut off, and the three individuals holding the axes. They players may live for a bit longer, but they couldn't survive without their heads for long. And something was telling MISERY that they'd see to that.

[No action taken.]

If MISERY was impressed with the diabolical machinations of Cardinal before, he was absolutely elated now. Not only were these beasts slashing the players' collective vitality efficacy in half every turn, but they were capable of being revived. Damn, this computer really knew how to knock people down a peg.

Even players he'd heard of as being particularly powerful, such as the ever-arrogant Bahr - "Crimson Marauder," "Bloodedge," "I'm-Too-Cool-To-Make-My-Guild-Info-Public McGee," or whatever it was he was going by these days - were being stamped into the mud amid the frenzy spurred by these creatures. If MISERY were in the market for a mentor, he'd choose these three in a heartbeat. He doubted anyone else so adept in crushing dreams existed within Aincrad.

Other, less renowned players such as Jackpot and Lilik were there as well - not that they'd done anything of note. MISERY had been keeping silent tabs on them ever since their first encounter in the former's shop. But who else was with them? A white knight and a total noob. Great. Maybe they weren't as interesting as MISERY had been hoping.

For now, MISERY recognized his incompetence in this fight. The monsters were immune to status effects, and it was the only way in which he could inflict damage. Trying to attack them now would not only be futile, but absurd. So he continued to blend into the crowd, making himself one with the chaos.

[No action taken.]

What a strange time for a joke.

MISERY cackled at the Kings' arrival, his shrill shrieks twisted and contorted by the modulator that rested in his mask. It seemed that Cardinal was even more cruel than he was. What a masterful display of psychological warfare. There was no way that defeating these things would set them free.

Still, the players struggled against them as though victory might actually turn them loose from this cycle of torment. How naive could they be? If anything, this was a lesson for MISERY. The people of this land are gullible, and will latch on to hope with every fiber of their being. They'll execute every molecule of effort they are able, even in obvious futility, to see if their dreams could come true. It was something he could take advantage of easily once this was all over, provided he could survive it.

The mobs had eviscerated his health, so MISERY decided to lay low and blend into the crowd as best he could. There was no use approaching literal gods in this state. He was more than happy to sit back and watch the others do the heavy lifting.

[No action taken.]

Look at these fools. They have no idea the chaos they've wrought by gathering like this.

MISERY stood at the peripherals of the crowd, atop a hill shaded by a particularly comfortable oak. Not that he partook in such trivial pleasantries, of course. He was merely here to witness whatever hell Cardinal had decided to put her constituents through this time. 

Like fish in a barrel. Were I better equipped, I'd put them all out there misery myself.

The shade and isolated locale made it quite easy for MISERY to spectate the ordeal unnoticed. He likely wouldn't even participate in the event - rather, study the proclivities of his collective nemesis. Try to discern what made them tick. Figure out which strings to pull, and on whom, when the opportunity presented itself.

They really think they're above consequences.

There were faces he recognized. Many more that he didn't. This event had made it very easy to find new puppets. He only hoped he would have the utility to move them in the way he saw fit.

But to even get that far, he would need to see what they were made of. So in accordance, he slipped into stealth, his frame melting until he was little more than a puddle of amorphous ooze that crawled along and through the grass toward a crowd that was none the wiser.

Luckily, MISERY had managed to slip past the guards of the first floor and make his way to the tenth. There, his stealth skills were really pushed to the limit as he did what he could to survive the gauntlet of mobs that roamed the floor. One way or another, however, he'd managed to make his way to his destination. Jackpot's shop was a hole in the wall - literally - but MISERY had heard rumors of the man's exploits in finding unique enhancements. Particularly for newer players.

"I need these identified," MISERY proclaimed curtly as he placed the items on the counter. "Quickly, please."
 

2150 col sent to Jackpot.

QUEST COMPLETED

Rewards
3 SP
3200 col
(14) T1 Materials
Familiar Mastery: Protector (Rank 1)

 

He was nearing the gates now. It was nearly showtime. He was so close, in fact, that he could see the guards from where he stood. And they could see him. He hadn't yet drawn their aggro, but they were paying attention. Their looks of disapproval were a signal to MISERY. "Enter here and be punished," their eyes said. Enter I will, MISERY though. But punishment, I will not find.

He hid behind a nearby bush to prep his nearby stealth gear. As he sifted through his inventory in search of Cassim's ring, he noticed another unusual glint in the grass next to him. Why, it was another crystal. This one was bright and clear, the polar opposite of its cousin, which MISERY had scooped up only moments earlier. It, too, seemed equally out of place on the floor like this. Perhaps he could use it in tandem with the crystal before it to produce something truly special. There was no guarantee, but he intended to at least try.

Alright. It was time to go in.
 

As he strolled through the fields on his way back to town, MISERY contemplated whether or not he would be capable of infiltrating them and remain undetected long enough to make his way to the teleportation plaza. His goal, in the end, was the tenth floor. The idea of using the stairs to make his way all the way up there was undesirable. He hoped he could make it, at least long enough to teleport away before the town's guards attacked. He could deal with getting out of the town he arrived in.

He was so distracted by these thoughts, in fact, that he almost didn't notice when his boot collided with something. It skittered across the grass, glinting in the sunlight, before coming to a stop beneath a nearby tree. MISERY approached, squatted, and scrutinized the artifact. It was a dark crystal of sorts - something that was out of place in the fields of the first floor. He retrieved it, stuffed it into his inventory, and continued along his merry way.
 

The sun was still high in the air. It was probably around midday. If the legends were true that a man had indeed spent an entire day training his familiar, MISERY was equally impressed as he was amused. Despite how long and arduous the process of training his bees had felt, it had only been a fraction of time in comparison to the gauntlet the other man had had to go through. But that was the sort of thing that happened when one chose a boar as their familiar. What a silly pet to try and train.

Though, MISERY now understood the man's plight to train it in the ways of accuracy. He'd never missed mobs so often in his entire life. It was a good thing that the final build he hoped to accomplish wouldn't have any need for things such as accuracy enhancements. Avoiding a strike that came from the shadows was a nigh insurmountable task. MISERY doubted that anyone, man or beast, had the wherewithall to accomplish a feat such as that.
 

Considering how the last bout had gone, MISERY had his doubts that the bees had progressed to any significant degree on the durability front. But he'd be wasting his time if he didn't at least check.

He fumbled through his cloak. Their numbers had dwindled, and it was more difficult to get his hands around one than it had been previously. He would need to allow them time to replenish before their next excursion.

Finally, he got one between his fingers. When he held it up to inspect it, he found that it had a particular sheen that he hadn't seen before. He then tried to squash it between his thumb and index finger. When its exoskeleton wouldn't give, he tried harder. Still not luck.

Perfect. Only the strongest and most durable bees had survived. He released his striped companion, knowing that these bees would breed more bees of similar durability.

He'd done it. They could now protect him adequately. The deed was done.
 

Eureka. It was finally over. As MISERY raked the razor sharp blade of his scythe against the hide of the boar, bleed took effect and finally plunged the remainder of its health bar into oblivion. The boar, too, evaporated into nothingness with similar swiftness, leaving nothing behind but scattering blue glass and a loot panel.

Another weapon. At least the struggle had been worth it, provided the weapon revealed something that was actually useful. There was, after all, always the chance that it would end up with something as wretched as Keen attached to it.

Keen. Utter garbage.

Even then, if it had something like Burn, it would likely be worth keeping. MISERY had heard of quests that would provide him with an item to fill the final slot of the weapon. With something like Burn - or better yet, Blight - he could supplement with Bleed later on. Assuming, of course, that it didn't already have it. He would need to wait and see.
 

A repeat of the last turn. Scythe swung. Boar hit. No bleed. No thorns. No nothing.

This had become the worst slog of the day thus far. MISERY hated being the sort of person to complain, but he just wanted this entire ordeal to be over. It was exhausting swinging this thing around over and over again. Contrary to how the beginning of this battle had played out, now nothing was working as intended. If they were, the boar would have been dead long ago, and perhaps MISERY would have concluded this seemingly unending effort to make his bees useful.

Lord knows they weren't as they currently were. The small wars waged throughout the day were a testament to that.

And now he waited. And waited. And waited some more. For this turn to be over, so he could start the next. With the hope that maybe, just maybe, it would be the last turn of the battle. But he wasn't about to hold his breath.
 

Another swing of the scythe. Miraculously, this time it struck the boar. Hard enough to force it off track and away from MISERY. What didn't happen was the bleed affliction. And since MISERY had so lovingly swatted it away from him, there was no thorns damage either.

And thus began the cycle of finding another way to fill the time.

He couldn't describe it, but it had always felt like a certain amount of time had to pass between each of these actions. Like there was some predetermined number of words he had to conjure and play through his head until the "turn" had been satisfied. It must have had something to do with being trapped in a game, with an oppressive system controlling the whims of absolutely everything that happened. It could get a bit exhausting, but it wasn't like there was actually anything he could do about it. He would be forced to toil away under Cardinal's rule for the foreseeable future, so all he could do was try his best to get used to it.
 

MISERY took another step forward and swung the scythe in a wide arc. The boar ducked underneath and charged toward its would-be assailant. Instinctively, MISERY sidestepped the frenzied rush, but immediately cursed himself for doing so. He had no reason to try to avoid such a weak attack, and had it hit, the bees would have had another opportunity to finish what they'd started. Instead, he'd robbed them of the chance to even prove they could.

So it was another turn wasted. Longer that MISERY had to wait. He couldn't have imagined something like this happening even moments before. The boar was supposed to be dead by now. Yet it persisted. And the battle persisted. And the godawful reminder that MISERY's set was left completely up to chance continued to haunt him. He was playing the odds as best he could, but they didn't seem to be rolling out in his favor.
 

The problem with building up one's expectations, however, is that the fall from grace stings more than it ordinarily would.

As MISERY lurched forward to deliver the killing blow, he was surprised to find that the weapon swished gracelessly through the air and collided with nothing. There was no excuse for it. The reality was just that he had missed his mark, and badly.

The boar was sure to take advantage of this lapse of depth perception by rushing in and smashing its tusks into MISERY's ribs while he was off kilter from his embarrassing blunder. To make matters worse, the bees failed to inflict the thorns damage that would have otherwise obliterated the foolish mob.

A complete and utter failure. A waste of a turn. All of the momentum that MISERY had built up evaporated in an instant, and the mob that should have already disintegrated stood strong in defiance of the player's whim. It had to be put down.
 

He stepped forward, his foot carrying him without him even realizing it. Let the blade fly. It caught the second boar, and sliced it in twain. The two halves simultaneously burst into clouds of polygonal blue fractals, leaving behind only the first boar, which began to slowly back away.

Hah. It knew its end was coming. MISERY had hit a stride he'd never dreamed of, and the power was absolutely intoxicating. There was no hope of slowing him down. Everything, even the bees, were running together flawlessly. He was on a roll that just wouldn't stop.

Whitney would be proud.

Composure had been cast to the wind. Now all that remained was the drive to eviscerate everything that stood before him. Perhaps it was foolish, considering his low level and the environment. But he couldn't help himself. This was the most fun he'd had since getting trapped in this wretched game, and he was going to ride the high for as long as the system would let him.