[SP-PT-F10] Damned If We Do

[Warden 1]

stats

MORNINGSTAR: could use a shield

The message appeared on his HUD, unnoticeable to the players around him. Through the slit in his helmet, nobody would be able to tell where his eyes were looking. Under normal circumstances, he would have flocked to Morningstar in a heartbeat. But these were not normal circumstances.

He stood tall among three others, gathered far outside the walls of Yomi. The Endless Caverns were quiet, often empty, and difficult to navigate. They were ideal for those who wanted to keep a low profile. The abandoned prison, Tartarus, was also a useful location, as it was the home of the Banshee.

These players had discovered that Bottled Banshee Scream was a more effective way to disable a player than standard stun and paralysis mechanics. Status effects that were attached to weapons required a player to land hits on their opponent, but they were rendered entirely useless if that was not possible. Bottled Banshee Scream solved that problem.

A player, bound by a stun, lay against the east wall of their cave hideaway. He never left consciousness, even after the long hours they had kept him there. At last, this round of the stun was wearing off. Soon, he would move again. If he was quick, he could reach for a teleport crystal and escape…

One of Warden’s group, a twenty-something year old man called Hound, popped open the cork of his Banshee Scream. He put the bottle to his lips and chugged until it was empty.

“Stand back,” he told the group.

He sucked in an excess amount of air and paused with his lungs full. Then, he opened his mouth wide. A blood curdling scream escaped his throat, deafening in the stale air. The stunned player’s eyes grew wide, bloodshot from being touched by the vibrations of the high-pitched shriek. His body froze again, and his hopes of escaping shrunk tenfold.

“Warden. Do the honors? It’ll be your first kill as one of us.”

It would be his first kill in general, but he kept that to himself.

The orange cursor that hung over his head was a lie. It had appeared after he had committed an act of petty thievery in Urbus earlier that day. It was a small price to pay for a chance to make his way into a group of infamous murderers. For months, he had watched Hound and his bloodthirsty friends move about the castle. They made him sick. But he also recognized that they were a small segment of a larger player killer hierarchy. They reported to someone, he thought, but he could not figure out who.

What better way to find out than to join them?

Now, he was reconsidering his decision. Denying a fresh kill would only have brought on suspicion. But the man who lay at Hound’s feet was barely a man at all. How old could he have been? Nineteen? His facial hair was patchy and his skin was unmarred by the passing of time. To even consider killing him was abhorrent.

He had no other choice. Hound gave him some space, and Warden drew his sword. Beneath his helmet, his eyes were shut. No one, not even the boy below, would have been able to tell. The greatsword fell, and the last sliver of the player’s health crumbled away.