We hightailed it back towards the castle, cutting a swathe of destruction through the jungle and slaughtering our way across the plains. The trail of bodies we left in our wake highlighted how much stronger we had become since first leaving the castle in search of the Vault.
A Wuu-Tang leaped from its trapdoor. I caught it mid-pounce, grabbed a jaw in each hand, activated Soldertouch, and slammed its two heads together so hard that brains vomited out of each of its mouths.
“Wow!” said Zephyra, walking up beside me, her emerald eyes staring at the brain porridge dripping from my arms. “I have seen a lot of disgusting things since arriving, but that is something special.” She gagged. “Oh my, and that smell! You will have to walk a good distance from us.”
Paddy chuckled, though he laughed at almost anything the pretty Lutantha said.
I expected a biting comment from Ariel, but she remained icily silent.
The kid had barely said a thing to me since leaving the Parlay Parlour, walking separately and either muttering to herself—or to whoever was listening back on Earth.
“Eh?” I said, pretending to clean out one of my ears with a gore-coated pinky finger. “What was that, Zephyra?” I walked in close to her. “You’ll have to speak up. I can’t hear you through all the work that I’m doing while you lot relax on your Sunday stroll.”
Zephyra swatted at me and swayed away, giggling and gagging in equal measure.
Paddy’s smile fell. His eyes darted from me to her, and he gave me a look I couldn’t quite read.
High above, the roots and vines that clambered across the cavern’s ceiling were transitioning from green to amber to the first blushes of red. I flicked a glance at my black arm, at the Gosporian chitin I’d glued to myself with the sap of the trees from the planet’s surface. It had remained asleep thus far, but I still wanted to be back behind our castle walls before the red night fell.
“Right, let’s get back to it,” I said and pointed to where the tips of man-made towers peeked over the rolling hills, far in the distance. “If we push, we’ll make it before nightfall.” I eyed the pretty Lutantha. “You going to be alright out here?”
She rolled her eyes. “I am twice the warrior you are, Al-Lan. Deliver your rewards, receive your accolades, and return to my side. We have much to accomplish.”
We had discussed it on our way through the jungle—well, Paddy, Zephyra, and I had, while Ariel glared—and decided it would be best if Zephyra didn’t approach the castle. She was a member of one of the three enemy civilisations, and nothing I said would assuage the suspicions of our fellow humans. The last thing I needed was to antagonise Victor further.
I was King now, and I was going to give this leadership thing a good crack.
The rest of the trip passed with little incident, aside from killing another two dozen low-levelled Recycled scattered across the plains. I watched the count on my Soul Consumption with growing apprehension, remembering what had happened when I had killed Seth Indiana. What would happen if I absorbed the soul of one of these repurposed aliens?
Paddy tried to bridge the gap between Ariel and me, cracking jokes and being his usual Irish self, but Ariel was having none of it and he eventually gave up.
We crested the last hill and stopped, staring at the castle.
“Christ, lad. Looks like someone’s been busy, eh?” said Paddy.
He wasn’t bloody wrong.
When we had left, the castle, surrounding town, and perimeter wall had been a neat stone square rising two or three storeys high. It had looked more like a template of a castle. Now… I gawked.
Japanese, Indian, Germanic, Scottish, and more. It was as though the architects of a dozen medieval civilisations had a love child, and that child had built a castle.
“Wouldn’t want to take a run at that, eh?” I said, watching as a team of builders loaded a bolt the size of a sapling into a Greek scorpion ballista.
“Not for a cold pint of Guinness, mate.” He eyed me sidelong. “Or a schooner of Fosters for you, I guess.”
“Schooners are bullshit, and nobody drinks Fosters,” I replied absently, watching as the glowing blue of wireframe construction flashed and an iron portcullis dropped into place, fencing the barbican.
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The gates to the city were wide open, probably to let scouting and hunting parties through. We walked right in. A group of scouts on the battlements sprinted from their posts, heading deeper into the city, no doubt alerting Victor and his cronies of our return.
My crown glinted in the ruddy evening glow. Builders and soldiers gawked and gossiped, stopping to point as we walked past. My Jaguar Warrior armour set probably had something to do with it too.
A platoon of soldiers practised formations within the bailey. Their movements were polished, but I only watched them for a moment before something caught my attention.
“Ho-ly-shit, lad,” muttered Paddy. “The fuck is that?”
“No bloody idea,” I replied, staring at the wooden monstrosity on wheels. “Maybe a battering ram?”
“A ram, you reckon, lad? How do you know it’s not a sheep? I don’t see any bollocks.”
“Not a ram, a battering ram. Like the thing used to knock down castle gates.”
“Eh, if you say so. Still reckon it should be called a battering sheep.”
Ariel groaned, our banter finally irritating her enough to break the silent treatment. “Bouffon. It’s a horse. A wooden horse on wheels. Obviously.”
Paddy tilted his head to look at the thing side-on. “Eh? Nah, I don’t think so, lad. Allan might be right after all. If you look at it this way, that section of wood could be a dangling nut-sack.”
Ariel let out a little hiss. “That. Is. A. Tail.”
I stepped up beside Paddy, tilting my head to stare at the hanging bit of timber. “Huh. You know, you might be right, Paddy.”
Ariel threw up her hands and spat out a long string of curses and insults that Priorita’s software didn’t translate. She stomped away ahead of us into the castle town.
Paddy let out a long cackle while I smothered my own laughter. The kid was pissy enough with me already, and I was trying to be a better leader.
We swaggered along the Main Street that led up the hill towards the inner castle. People stared and whispered, hanging from windows and balconies, pointing at my crown.
Music played from a nearby tavern—medieval strings and woodwinds with people singing along. I hummed to the tune and realised it played an accompaniment to the Predator’s Guitar that soundtracked my life. I’d forgotten that by becoming King, Priorita had extended that particular quirk to the entire quadrant.
The music rose step by step into a triumphant crescendo as we walked through the streets toward the keep, a gathering crowd pouring from the buildings to trail behind me like a guard of honour.
Paddy and I shared a grin.
He felt it too.
Being outnumbered in Victor’s Castletown should have made me feel nervous. But I wasn’t skulking in, tail between my legs. I was a returning champion, and I brought strength and glory for everyone.
No, not just a champion, I was a king.
And these people knew it.
As I ascended the great stone stairs that led to the double gates of the keep, somebody started cheering.
A single voice at first, but a second joined it soon after. Then a dozen. A hundred. More. A wordless roar that seemed to shake the stones.
I had a big, dumb grin on my face that I couldn’t suppress.
I turned to face them, aware that I should probably make a speech or something, but didn’t have a bloody clue what to say.
So instead I drew The Scrambler.
Raising the champagne sabre above my head, I ignited the blade, pumping in energy until it shone like a star. Then, I tilted my jaguar-skulled head to the sky and activated Intimidate, releasing a concussive roar so powerful that vines fell from the ceiling hundreds of feet above.
They fell around me like fireworks as I turned and walked inside.
Sound cut out the moment I entered.
Then a notification.
Ariel Du Bouchard has left the party.
I stumbled and had to grab the wall. Had she really been so mad at me? I mean, kids were emotional and liable to make rash decisions, but after all we had been through, I thought…
Victor’s watch was hot on my wrist, empowered from the short ignition of the Scrambler. A voice cycled through several languages before settling on English, speaking in a British accent.
It gave me pause.
I cast another glance at the portraits of my allies. Tammy gone. Then Tyler. Now Ariel. Only Paddy and Zephyra remained.
But the kid wasn’t dead, and I was sure she’d be back in no time.
The winding path through the keep to the throne room was peppered with sly-eyed functionaries still at level 2. I doubted most of these pricks had even left the walls, let alone fought or earned any resources.
Guards in matching plate armour were stationed at the entrance to the throne room. They opened the great doors for me as I approached, saluting and standing at attention.
The Predator’s Guitar started a tune I’d never heard before, but I ignored it and strode in.
Now was not the time to show weakness.
Folks waited in the throne room, lining the rich burgundy carpet that led from the entry all the way up to the throne where Victor lounged.
There had to be a hundred or more, all standing at attention, all here to witness my arrival.
I walked between them, my back straight, chin high.
Notifications and announcements pinged and popped, cascading down my feed as the many rewards for completing the Wargame Vault finally unlocked.
I grinned as the onlookers’ eyes glazed over. They were receiving the same notifications, and all around us fireworks and digital confetti erupted, celebrating my accomplishment.
Victor had risen from the throne, his dark eyes glittering. He now stood a pace to the right of it, leaving the path to the throne free.
The watching throng began to applaud, the sound of it so loud that dust fell from the rafters. They closed in behind me as I marched towards the raised dais, escorting me to the throne that was now mine.
“What did I tell ya, Paddy?” I shouted to the Irishman. “Welcomed with open bloody arms! People like Victor respect strength.”
He didn’t respond.
And I realised he was no longer by my side.
I spun, searching for him. My eyes flicked to my party portraits, then to my notifications, my guts turning to water as I noticed something I’d missed in the mess of achievements for returning with the Vault rewards.
Patrick O’Reilly has left the party.
I looked about at the faces surrounding me. The fake smiles. The malice in their eyes.
Then I turned to Victor.
He shook his head in mock disappointment.
“Oh my,” the politician said in his smooth baritone. “We are in trouble, aren’t we, Allan?”