Back into the Nether…
Synchronizing…
Scyth ran along in combat with mobs hanging off him, and the minimap showed this was happening on the reptiloids’ island. In the several months of my absence—when I was l>ing in my capsule unconscious and then bringing myself round,—my alter ego had had a very hard time.
Nine finally came to the conclusion that Scyth was hiding on the archipelago’s islands, and got Three and Twelve involved in the search. All Scyth could do was farm shards right beneath their noses, leaving with Depths Teleportation to any other island at the last second. All the betas that pursued him could fly, but not fast enough to beat instant jumps from island to island.
Once, sensing that he was being watched on every island, Scyth jumped to Tristad and ran from there to the Mire. That provided a good boost of shards but in the end the mire beasts killed him, and he revived on Kharinza again. And Nine w^as waiting for him there.
Scyth was immobilized, taken to the castle and his tortures renewed. Nine dropped his level, but not beneath one thousand, so he still had all his ranks of Resilience.
The divine Treasure Hunter’s Bag successfully protected my property, and not only from dropping after death, but also from the Theft that Three attempted. So Scyth kept everything made by Inscription, although it took an entire month before he was left alone for a minute to escape using his Depths Teleportation scroll.
Three days later, he fell into the frying pan again. Scyth’s consciousness melded into mine and I took control of the character. I needed less than a thousand more Smoldering Nether Shards to make a rift!
Hesitating a moment, I stopped, looked back, then started running again.
A lizardfolk shaman blocked my path. He magically raised up a rotting log overgrown with sparkling mist and smoking mushrooms and launched it at me, shouting:
“Sh-sh-sh-shakh!”
Flashing with scarlet light, the log flew toward me at high speed. I deflected it with Hammerfist and it crashed into the chest of a massive reptiloid warrior, exploding in a shower of rotting wnod. The warrior flew back, crashing an imprint into the cliff and slowly sliding down it, leaving a bloody trail. My enemies’ speed was so slow that when I ran past the warrior, he was still sliding onto the ground.
Once I got inside the reptiloid cave, I ran down the familiar route to the long drop, thinking as I ran. Where to jump to? The Mire, or Kharinza? I decided the island might be under observation by the beta testers—Scythes memory told me that this time Nine had gotten everyone involved in the search.
The choice fell on the Mire. I could get the last shards I needed there.
Finding myself on the pathetic spit of dry land where I once met the little puddle of protoplasm that was a Sleeping God, I looked at the sky first of all. It shone clear. I could get to fanning.
“You’re very competent,” a voice said behind my back. “The scroll was clever. Nine is still kicking herself for not burning your scrolls.”
My eyes lowered and I saw Three floating a yard above the swamp. Shining threads extended from his arms above his head, wreathing through the air, encircling the space around our little island of dry land and forming a dome of an unknown nature—opaque, flexible, impenetrable. Nine’s friend raised a hand, clenched his fist and released black needle-like beams from it. As they hit the top of the dome, they broke down into soot, sticking to the surface from within.
My legs bowed under the weight of my inventory’ bag full of loot, and debuff notifications suddenly hit me. All my abilities turned inactive at once—that hateful and so familiar trio of buffs from Nine’s castle were applied once more: Pacified, Amnesia, Enchained. An hour-long teleport block joined them.
I was half a step from my goal and I got caught again! Baring my teeth, I gathered my strength to resist, but it was already clear that Three would give me no chance. All was lost!
From my calculations, five minutes in real life was around forty hours here, but if Nine caught me again, she could create a prison from which I would never escape.
Alright, I decided. I have to do everything in my power. But if I can’t get out in the next two or three dags, there’ll be no point in hurrying.
Then I just spoke to Three as if we were old friends meeting at… uhm… at a bar, let’s say. What was it Uncle Nick used to say? Show genuine interest in what people say to you. My interest couldn’t possibly have been more genuine.
“Hev, Three,” I said as calmly as I could. “I didn’t know you could burn scrolls in another player’s inventory. How?”
“A trick of dimensional magic,” he answered happily. “Not something Nine has ever been into, but she’s never needed to be. She just has so many abilities that she doesn’t always make effective use of them all. There are other options. For example, forcing you to pick up an item with a special enchantment.” Three descended to the ground and sat, patting the space next to him. “Where I’m from, they say there’s no truth on legs. Sit down, Scyth. There’s no hurry. Let’s have a talk.”
This was the first time I’d seen him speak with emotion. Until now, he’d always spoken mechanically. Even the Home Doctor delivered its analysis with more passion than Three.
I sat down next to him, crossed my legs, asked:
“And what would that item do, with its ’special enchantment’?”
“Blow up your inventory from the inside. The bag would break, the items would either be destroyed or thrown out in the immediate area. At random.” Three materialized two bottles of ale out of thin air and offered one
