Roland made a quick roll as he ducked under the claws of the tiger patterned bear creature that sliced through the space he had been standing moments before, rancid mud staining adding a new layer of mess to his already mess coated gear. As he rolled, a sharp stone pierced his side, easily passing through his now tattered armour and cutting another wound into his gashed body. His had felt faint as yet another source of pain flared through his body, and further faint from the loss each of those caused. Blood flowed steadily from the new wound, as it did from the others across each section of his body. With the gash on his head getting blood in his eyes, it was hard to focus, but he tried his hardest to track the creature’s movements. He knew that he would once again die, even if he won the fight, but he continued anyway, knowing that the bliss he would feel would be all the finer for it.
A day earlier, he had returned from the frontline, the edge of the territory that the players had secured into a reasonably safe state, to meet with some friends and to get new equipment. An alchemist and a blacksmith that he knew had teamed up with a sculptor, that he didn’t, in order to find new methods of improving equipment. Alchemist could create coatings, called oils, that granted powerful effects, but wore off when the liquid dried or got wiped off. Blacksmiths could engrave magical runes into equipment, but if the intricate rune got even slightly chipped or worn then the effect ended. Sculptors could engrave images into equipment that were very durable, and lasted as long as the equipment did, but they couldn’t control what effect the image would give. Two identical images on two identical pieces of equipment could give different effects, and the effects weren’t always good. With the three working together they had devised a new enchantment system.
First, the blacksmith devised the rune they needed for the effect they wanted and to ensure that the rune wasn't damaged they filled it with a resin that seemed to still allow the magic to flow through. In addition, to give the weapon a random chance of being even better, the sculptor would be the one to apply the runes so that the system treated it as an art piece. If the sculptor and the blacksmith both worked on it, it seemed that both effects would apply. That worked about half of the time. Sometimes only one or the other would apply, and other times neither would work. Furthermore, while the resin coating didn’t fade like normal oils, it did slowly dilute on contact with water. They had other resins that didn't, but the ones they'd so far found didn't conduct enough magic for the rune to work. The fact that the technique required three classes to work, and that one of the classes was a prestige class, meant that the equipment would be far too expensive to warrant the improvement for the majority of players. They gave up on that idea as a mass production method and, after selling what they knew to various other players, they looked for another way. The results of their trials were also posted to a development forum that had sprung up, and they handed Roland a prototype armour, complete with runes for hardening and weight reductions and an art effect that boosted his lightning resistance.
After trading monster materials for potions, oils and a new shield, Roland went to leave town. As he was leaving, he saw a group of people gathering. Curious, he went to see what it was about. A man, dressed as a mage, with a long pale green coat and hood that covered his face, was standing in front of the crowd. The robes also concealed any of the man's other features, even obscuring his build and height, to the point that Roland was only confident that it was a man from his booming voice.
“Hear me and fear, lowly people whom call themselves players,” the man said, with a voice that seemed to come from multiple directions at once, as if the sound level was consistent and not fading over any distance, “I am the Lord Demonist, Vash. The lowly you have built a town near my land, and have not paid onto me a tribute. If you continue to go on with such disrespect, don’t blame me for the plight you find yourselves in.”
As he finished speaking, a towering naked man with blood red skin arose slowly from the ground like a synchronised swimmer, graceful and clearly in control. Until then, Roland hadn't realised that the game's disregard for law was to the extent that even public nudity was possible. Vash stood comfortably on the giant’s palm as the monster walked towards the forest. The creature's pose while holding the demonist reminded him of an old caricature holding a pizza box. The extraordinary scale of the creature also dwarfed everything Roland had so far killed; even at a distance he would estimate the monster was at least five metres tall.
Roland quickly readied himself for a tough fight, and ran after the giant, eager to see where such a quest line would take him and how he compared to the giant.
He caught up to them after entering the forest and then some distance deep. Despite its leisurely pace, the giant still moved quickly, attributing to its size. Drawing his sword and bracing his shield, Roland charged forward, making the most of his speed to add to his impact force. The giant’s free fist slammed down to meet him, as if his fleshy hand would be able to stand the swords metal, but Roland ducked to the side at the last minute, not willing to test his blade on the giant's apparent confidence. The force of the fist sent out a bellowing wind that pushed him back, even as a missed attack, but not before Roland got one wild slash in. When he had ducked to the side, he slashed vertically with his sword, making a line along the monster’s forearm. Thick jelly-like red blood oozed slowly from the wound, as it twisted on one foot to turn towards where the wind had knocked him.
A sword made of fire condensed in the creature’s hand, several metres long and baking the earth just to be in its presence, and it swung a heavy blow towards him. As he had yet to completely regain his footing, he couldn’t move out of the way, and instead dropped his sword to take the attack with both arms controlling the shield. Pain shot through his arms and he felt like fractures had formed, but somehow he survived the blow. His shield wasn’t as lucky, however, as the metal overlay was melted and the wooden underlayer was cracked and burnt clear through. It wouldn’t have been able to take any kind of hit, so he dropped it when he picked his sword back up, freeing himself of its weight.
Focusing on dodging, he avoided several more attacks, getting pushed around by the air all the while. The ground they had been standing on was filled with holes and craters. He realised that if the giant wasn’t holding Vash, Roland would have been dead a long time ago, and he was thankful for the handicap. Knowing that, he pressed that advantage. He remained on that side of its body, forcing it to make unnecessary moves and turns to attack, and it would hit with reduced force with the difficulty of keeping his hand as a steady platform. Whenever completely safe, Roland would make a quick, shallow cut, but he never risked a heavy attack, knowing that the giant could lash out with a kick if he was ever in one place for too long.
As the fight went on, the ground became even more damaged and uneven with potholes, causing Roland to trip. As he tried to get to his feet, the creature stamped its large foot, with all its heavily weight, onto his back. He could feel the force through his body, like a pressure cooker boiling his organs. He survived only on the merit of his armour, which had small breaks throughout it.
He focused his effort and energy into his arms, willing himself to stand or brace himself against the weight, or just avoid the next attack, when he suddenly found himself falling.
The ground couldn’t take anymore and it fell, revealing a long since buried cave system. Having fallen for several seconds, he met the new ground with a heavy greeting, slipping into the peaceful sensation he was growing attached to. When he spawned once again, he found himself still in the cave. Nearby was a natural alter, a resurrection point that occurred naturally and were known as a warrior’s blessing. Until he went to another town, he would be stuck reviving in that cave.
Looking around, he could see that Vash and the giant also died from the fall. Not knowing what else to do, he took a look at their bodies. Vash had a belt pouch bag, which reminded him of a large perse, and a wand of some kind. Inside the bag were some coins, scrolls, broken potions and a book. Although the game translated everyone’s spoken languages, it didn’t change written languages without associated skills. As such, the book and scrolls were worthless to him. He put the wand into the bag and dumped it into his own bag; even if he didn’t know what they were, they might be worth something to someone.
From deep in the cave, he heard a low growl. He could see a monstrous tiger approach the area slowly. Readying himself, he looked for his sword, and found it not far away. As he lifted the rock that it was half under, he found his luck was worse than he thought. It wasn’t that the sword was half buried; it was simply that there was only half a sword.
As it was his only option, baring the even smaller peeling knife in his bag, he gripped the half a weapon and waited for the beast to come closer. As it did, he could see it more clearly. It was light orange in colour, with black stripes decorating it. Its large body stalked slowly forward, with a heavy frame more bear like then tiger, though with facial features that could easily have been from both. The claws on its paws were like jutted curved blades, both heavy and sharp. It stood up on its back legs and let out a cry, with the volume of a tigers roar. Foam filled its mouth and it charged, moving forward on its back feat with its front claws held ready to slash. It moved far faster than it looked like it was capable of, and closed the distance before he could blink. The creatures paw smacked his left arm and sent him flying into the wall closest to the alter.
As he tried to get up, he could see his arm was in pieces, several breaks in the bone had pierced through the skin. He stumbled to his feet, only to be met with claws through his stomach. His newly forged armour seemed to have no effect against the creatures claws. He fell to the ground once again and waited to be finished off, waiting for the sensation. Another blow never came. The tiger-bear watched as he bled out, its snout distorted into a sick smile.
After several minutes of torment and pain, he eventually died, giving the precious few moments of clarity he craved. He spawned again, only to have his head severed before he could even react. He revived once again, and this time dropped to his knees to avoid the hit. It didn’t help much, as the creature’s second hand scooped him up with its curved claws and sent him flying upwards, entirely out of his control. He landed heavily on his neck and died, with the familiar suffering of if first. A sick kind of nostalgia.
After ten more near-instantaneous deaths, Rolland started to get an understanding on the creature’s abilities and patterns. The difference between them was beyond ridiculous and he felt like a speed-runner taking on the final boss with just starting gear. He started to be able to narrowly avoid attacks, or at least reduce the depth of the cuts. After another ten deaths he was starting to be able to slightly put up a fight.
After taking a roll on a sharp rock, he felt that he had lost too much blood to continue. He still fought on anyway though, ducking the fearsome attacks that were coming his way. Exhausted, he fell over once again and waited for an attack that would just heal him up to start again. When the beast once again didn't finish him off, he thought that it was just the sadistic nature of the creature; he was surprise when he opened his eyes. The creature was bound in vines and, descending from the cavern in a beam of light, were two beautiful figures. The golden haired angel sent lightning down from the heavens as the back haired angel bound it with the gentle ferocity of nature. As the tiger-bear struggled against the vines, the black haired angel sliced into its head with a scythe, barely long enough to reach the creature's neck in her frail looking arms.
Although the weapon barely managed to break its skin, its struggles grew weaker with each passing moment. As the beast grew still, Rolland’s mind gave out and he fainted. He later awoke to find his wounds treated, and there was a ladder next to him. The shine had been cleaned and an earthen dish filled with a soup was covered in a vine mesh next to him. His amour had been removed and slightly patched and, while his sword was still broken, some daggers made from the beasts claws were prepared for him.
He didn’t know what his title, favoured of the 12th world meant, but it seemed that the 12th world, whatever that was, had sent angels to save him.
