Awaken Online (Book 3): Evolution Page 19

  The captain glared at him accusingly. “Are you telling me that you knew we would encounter that thing in the mists? Why didn’t you warn anyone? It damn near killed us all!” Jason could see the remaining crew struggling to their feet, stepping cautiously around the bodies of the fallen that riddled the deck and taking stock of their injuries.

  “I had no idea what we would face,” Jason said, meeting the Captain’s gaze. His dark mana flared forcefully, and the chill energy burned through his mind, leaving little room for doubt or hesitation. “I only suspected that there was a creature guarding the island and I did alert the crew to the possible danger.”

  “Tell that to the men who just died! Although, I bet you’ll get the chance soon,” the captain raged, gesturing at the damage to the ship. “We’ll all be sitting at the bottom of the ocean within the next few minutes. You signed our death sentence.” With this last statement, his hand started to drift toward the sword at his waist.

  Before his hand touched the hilt, Riley appeared behind the captain and her blade pressed against his neck. “I suggest you keep this conversation civil,” she said in a grim tone. “Otherwise, you won’t be around long enough to see this ship sink.” The remaining sailors on the deck froze, their hands already beginning to reach for their weapons as they watched the exchange.

  “Thank you, Riley,” Jason said with a curt nod.

  At a mental command from Jason, the remaining cultists turned to face the still-breathing sailors, elemental energy crackling along their hands. The rugged men and women eyed the zombies warily, but they didn’t seem intimidated. The fact that the Marietta was sinking might have had something to do with that. The threat of death held little weight in their current situation.

  “Let me be clear, Captain,” Jason began, turning back to the man. “We are going to that island. With or without your crew.”

  Jason’s gaze shifted to the bodies of the dead sailors that littered the deck. It looked like they had lost nearly half of the crew already. Outside of the Twilight Throne’s area of influence, he couldn’t create new undead NPCs using Undead Devotion, but he could do the next best thing. At this stage, there was no sense hiding his true nature. There was little risk that they would be confronted by players with that thing guarding the island.

  Jason pushed back his hood, revealing his black irises. Captain Razen flinched back as he caught sight of Jason’s appearance and Riley’s blade pressed more forcefully against his neck. Ignoring the captain’s reaction, Jason’s hands began to wind through an intricate series of gestures, dark energy twining between his fingers before racing toward the bodies of the fallen sailors. Their skin immediately began to turn a sickly pale white as their bodies jerked reflexively under the effects of the spell.

  Captain Razen and the surviving crew members looked on in horror as the dead sailors rose slowly to their feet, their vacant white eyes focusing on Jason. “W-what are you?” Captain Razen stuttered, the color draining from his face.

  “I suppose that there’s no sense hiding it now,” Jason replied coolly. “My name is Jason, and I’m the Regent of the Twilight Throne.”

  “You’re that Jason?” Eliza yelped, staring at him with wide eyes.

  Frank chuckled at her reaction, and the water mage blushed slightly. “He’s not a ghost,” the barbarian remarked in a bemused voice.

  Captain Razen recovered some of his fire during this exchange, spitting on the deck and glaring at Jason. “Well, I don’t care if you’re the Dark One himself. I’m not taking orders on my own ship – especially if it puts what is left of my crew at risk.” His hand was once again edging slowly toward his weapon.

  Jason eyed the man appraisingly. He could see that he was beginning to dig in his heels. The remaining crew also looked tense, eyeing the cultist zombies warily and ready to spring. This wouldn’t do at all. He needed their cooperation if they were going to make it to the island and return to Falcon’s Hook. Jason and his team certainly couldn’t operate the Marietta on their own.

  Then he hesitated. Or could they?

  With a flick of his wrist, Jason pulled up his Summon Information window and selected one of the newly-summoned sailors. A grim smile curled his lips as he reviewed the skill list for his new minions. He felt a momentary pang of guilt as he contemplated what he planned to do next, yet the numbing chill of his mana quickly swept away his reservations. He was this game’s villain after all. He ought to start acting like it.

  “What are you smiling about, you bastard?” Captain Razen demanded.

  “I just realized that your services are no longer required,” Jason replied calmly. “But I’m afraid I’m going to need your body – as well as the bodies of the rest of the crew. My apologies for the inconvenience.”

  With a nod to Riley, she drew her blade across the Captain’s neck, blood jetting from the wound and staining the deck a brilliant crimson. The man let out a strangled gurgle as he sank to his knees, his hands clutching at his throat in a vain attempt to stem the red tide. Meanwhile, Jason’s zombies launched into action, bolts of elemental energy neatly severing the mortal coil of each surviving crew member before they could react – their screams filling the air once more.

  A moment later, silence descended upon the deck of the ship. “You just… just killed them all,” Eliza murmured, staring in shock at the fresh corpses that now littered the deck.

  “I had little choice,” Jason replied, glancing at her over his shoulder. “We don’t have time to stand here bickering with the ship sinking and they were about to mutiny.”

  “Won’t it be impossible to make to the island now that they’re dead?” Riley asked, wiping her blade on the former captain’s tunic before sheathing it. “It’s not like we can operate the ship…”

  “My new zombies retained all of the sailors’ skills. I should be able to raise their corpses and have them sail us to the island. Hopefully…” Jason added.

  “Well, that’s certainly confidence inspiring,” Frank remarked in a dry tone. “You know, now that you’ve already killed them all.”

  Jason ignored his friend’s teasing. They indeed had little time to stand there debating his decision. He needed to get below decks and assess the damage. With that chilling thought, his hands once again began moving through the gestures of Specialized Zombie. Soon, Captain Razen and the remaining crew were once again standing upon the ship’s deck – although this time they seemed much more amenable to Jason’s instructions.

  The ship suddenly shuddered, listing slightly to the side. Frank grabbed at the railing to steady himself. “This is all great,” he said, gesturing at the new undead, “but I think we’re still sinking.”

  Jason grimaced. “I’ll go check on the damage to the hull. You all can focus on cleaning up the deck and get the crew started repairing the sails.” He motioned to the heap of cloth that had collapsed against the deck – the monster’s flailing tentacles having severed several ropes during the battle.

  He didn’t wait for his friends’ responses, mentally commanding several of his cultist zombies to take point. Energy crackled around their hands as they moved into the ship’s interior. There were likely still sailors hiding below decks and Jason suspected that they wouldn’t be open to negotiating now that he had killed off the remainder of the crew.

  As Jason descended into the ship, his boots immediately sank into a foot of water. He was standing in a cramped hallway, doors leading off to the various crew quarters. As he systematically searched the rooms, he could see that the Tentacle Horror had done a number on the Marietta. The creature must have latched onto the ship underwater because holes had been torn into the wooden hull. Water streamed in through the cracks as the ship lurched from side to side.

  His group made their way forward slowly, the cultist zombies killing off the sailors that they discovered hiding below decks. The men and women fought bravely given the circumstances, but they were no match for a hail of elemental projectiles. Jason promptly raised the crew memb
ers and then set them to work repairing the damage to the hull. Perhaps he could at least slow the water streaming into the ship.

  After clearing the first level, Jason and his cultists journeyed further into the Marietta. Captain Razen had been clear that the cargo hold on the bottom level was strictly off limits and so Jason had not had an opportunity to explore this area yet. As he reached the hold, Jason’s eyes widened in shock. The water was much deeper on this level, rising nearly to his waist. Crates and barrels had already begun to float atop the water, creating debris that made it difficult to navigate the hold.

  Jason froze as he heard screams and cries of pain over the roar of the waves crashing against the ship and water rushing in through the tears in the hull. His cultist zombies responded immediately, two minions taking up defensive positions around Jason as the others investigated the cargo hold.

  A moment later, one of his zombies returned, speaking in a harsh voice, “Master, we have found more survivors on the other end of the hold. They are restrained and pose little risk.”

  “Take me to them,” Jason commanded.

  After trudging through several feet of water, his group was soon standing in front of an iron gridwork that had been installed directly into the ship’s hull. Given his recent experience, Jason knew a prison cell when he saw one. Inside, desperate-looking men and women were chained to wooden benches, their eyes sunken and their bodies emaciated. Iron collars had been attached to their necks, red glowing crystals embedded into the metal.

  These weren’t crew members.

  Jason recalled Captain Razen mentioning that they were transporting “animals.” Clearly, he had really meant slaves. He could see that the captain had tried to hide the cell, piling up crates and barrels in front of the holding area – the wooden containers having floated away now that the cargo hold was taking on water.

  As the slaves caught sight of Jason’s dark-robed form, they called out to him, their voices frantic. In their seated positions, the water had already risen to their chests, and they didn’t have much time left.

  A woman near the edge of the cell reached a feeble hand toward Jason, her eyes wide and scared. “Help me, please!” she croaked, her lips cracked and bleeding. “Please don’t leave us.”

  Jason stood frozen in indecision as he watched the men and women straining against their manacles and the wild terror in their eyes. They didn’t look like they were in any condition to help repair the ship. Even if he freed them, his group wasn’t exactly in a position to be helping a group of slaves – they would all likely be underwater within the next hour.

  Suddenly, the world around Jason stuttered slightly. He glanced at the slaves in confusion, noting the way they sat rigidly on the benches, their mouths open and frozen mid-shout. As Jason looked around the hold, he could see that the water rushing into the ship also hung suspended in the air, the torrent of water stopped by some unknown force.

  “It has been a long time, boy,” a deep voice spoke from behind Jason. He turned to find the familiar, cloaked form of the Old Man standing behind him, his feet resting lightly upon the top of the water. The god’s wrinkled hand gripped the rod of his scythe, and he seemed unperturbed by the water lining the bottom of the cargo hold.

  “I suppose it has,” Jason replied noncommittally. “We should really stop meeting like this.”

  The Old Man barked out a harsh chuckle. “It is good that you are able to jest given your current predicament.”

  “About that. I have a few pressing matters to attend to,” Jason said, gesturing at the slaves and the holes carved into the hull of the ship. “Is there something you need? If not, maybe we can wrap this up and let me get back to it.”

  “Still so impatient,” the Old Man grumbled. “In fact, I come to offer some assistance.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. The dark god’s help never came without strings. “Really? What exactly are you proposing?”

  The man’s lips curled into a grim grin beneath his cowled hood, the rest of his face hidden in shadow. “With the slaughter of the crew, you created enough dark energy to allow me to appear to you. Depending on how you choose to proceed from here, I may be able to offer you and your ‘friends’ salvation in your time of need.”

  “Get on with it,” Jason replied, irritated by the Old Man’s ambiguous explanations. “What do I need to do?”

  “Simple. Kill the slaves,” the god replied curtly. “Their deaths should give me sufficient power to help address your current troubles.”

  Jason hesitated, his dark mana faltering as he considered what the Old Man was asking. His gaze shifted back to the desperate men and women chained up inside the cell. The woman’s hand still hung frozen in the air, her fingers clawing at the air as her mouth hung open – likely begging and pleading for help. If he killed them here, their deaths would be permanent. He couldn’t raise them as NPCs this far from the Twilight Throne.

  The Old Man wanted him to slaughter a group of defenseless slaves.

  “You hesitate,” the Old Man commented, watching him closely. “Why? Your quest and the lives of you and your groupmates depend upon this sacrifice.”

  Jason didn’t answer at first – in part because he wasn’t sure why he was hesitating. His thoughts turned back to the encounter with the players on the way to Falcon’s Hook, the massacre of the guards outside of town, and the confrontation with Captain Razen. He had taken the lives of those people without hesitation – striking first and without provocation. He was beginning to change, and he wasn’t certain he was comfortable with the result.

  “You’re asking me to kill innocent people,” Jason murmured.

  “You have killed before,” The Old Man replied. “And many of those people were innocent – at least, depending on your perspective.”

  “But not like this. These people haven’t done anything to me. They’re defenseless.”

  “And the people of Peccavi? Were they not defenseless?”

  Jason shook his head. “That was different. They were sick and starving. I offered them a choice, and they decided to sacrifice themselves.”

  “And yet your motives were still selfish,” The Old Man replied, a faint trace of amusement coloring his voice. “You used those people and their desperation for your own ends. I fail to see the difference here.”

  Jason was taken aback by the dark god’s response. He was having trouble refuting his logic, but he still hesitated. “It just feels wrong,” he finally replied, even though his response felt hollow.

  The Old Man scoffed. “Right and wrong are concepts for weak minds and weaker men. You are a leader now, boy. Your decisions must be judged by their consequences, with the welfare of your people in mind. Are you ready to fail here for the sake of your conscience? Are you ready to let down all of the people that now depend on you?”

  Jason winced as he listened to the god, the image of Angie’s face flashing through his mind. The Old Man was right. He did have people that relied on him, and he couldn’t afford to die here. How would they find another ship? How long would it take to return to the mists? Assuming, of course, they were somehow able to survive the tentacle horror’s attack a second time. He could feel the certainty of the Old Man’s words pressing in on him, his logic cold and inexorable.

  “Fine,” Jason finally said, raising his eyes to meet the god’s. Yet he discovered that the Old Man had vanished, and he now stood alone within the cargo hold with his undead. Time began to gradually unfreeze, the water slowly cascading from the hull and the desperate pleas of the slaves once more echoing through the hold.

  “You will have your sacrifice,” Jason murmured.

  With a mental command, one of his cultist zombies stepped forward. Ice coated the zombie’s hand, and he pressed it against the padlock swinging from the holding cell. The chill energy swept over the metal until a thick coating of frost covered its surface. Jason then stepped forward and slammed the butt of his dagger against the lock, causing it to shatter into small fragments. His
zombies wrenched the door open – the action made difficult by the rising water.

  Unable to listen to the pleading and screams of the slaves, Jason’s hands began moving through Curse of Silence. A moment later, sharp needles of malignant energy pierced the bodies of the slaves and their pleas abruptly stopped.

  Jason approached the woman who had begged for her life. She looked surprised when no sound escaped her lips, and she struggled more urgently against her bindings. For a brief moment, Jason considered walking away and letting his zombies kill the slaves. That would be the easy thing to do. Yet he forced himself to keep approaching the woman. If he was going to do this, then he should own his decision.

  He placed the blade of his dagger against the woman’s throat. She stared at him with wide eyes, her mouth moving but no sound escaping her lips. “I’m not doing this because I want to,” Jason said softly. “I do this because I have to.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as the blade cut through the woman’s throat. Blood gushed from the wound and drenched Jason’s hand. His stomach churned as he watched the scene, the images of the dead teenagers lying on the floor of his room once more appearing in his mind’s eye. He forcefully summoned his dark mana and willed himself to continue, walking between each of the slaves. He whispered apology after apology and then took each of their lives.

  A few moments later, the deed was done. Jason stood staring at the bodies of the fallen men and women, the water swirling around the cage now stained crimson. Almost mechanically, he raised their corpses one by one as his cultist zombies removed their manacles. There was no sense letting their corpses go to waste.

  His task complete, Jason made the journey topside. He felt numb as he stepped back onto the ship’s deck. He had expected a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts or desperate guilt. He had expected something. Instead, he just felt hollow.

  As Jason approached his teammates, the ship suddenly lurched once more, tilting to the side. However, this time, the sudden movement was different.

  Glancing up sharply, Jason could see the ship around him beginning to change. The cracked and aged wood transformed into a smooth dark ebony, and the tears in the ship’s hull began to repair themselves. At the same time, the once tattered and toppled sail began to piece itself back together as ropes whipped through the air.