NOVEL NEXT Chapter 6: Pining
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Marie: I hadn't known long-distance would be so hard.
Vera: You've got a good head on your shoulders, Marie. You'll know when or if you reach your limit.
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Sol 488 FY 26, 16:32 Mars Time, Ghostlands, World's End Server, Sharcliffe (9320 viewing)
Aylin returned within a half hour. Her rough scrawl covered several sheets of velum in what appeared to be a fairly labyrinthine complex of caves she couldn't possibly have scouted in a half hour. Explanations appeared to be forthcoming, however, in the person of Eoin, a wizened and hunchbacked old man with a ratty grey beard down to his knees. "Yeah I know the caves alright," he complained at Artemis, upon the two of them meeting. "Should do, I worked for your dad in them half my life. Old trails are mostly still good, what's underground: we'll get your people up top sharpish."
Artemis looked absolutely touched by the old man's remembrance, and the scout team leader seemed pleased to have found such good intel. She stalked off to her berth without further commentary, anyway.
"As promised, the Bounty stands ready to receive your men," Jaz told Artemis confidently.
> xX_snakes_Xx: The Booty. HEH
> HipsLikeElviris: Batches of twenty OMG
Marie was asked to come through the caves—in case her use as a healer should come in necessary—so the girls split off on their own.
It wasn't long before they were well underway. Artemis had not, apparently, been kidding—one mage, a water mage, sat in a lotus position at the water's edge, and conjured a sheet of ice suitable for crossing to shore, and then they were off. The ice was slippery, but not much worse than the barge itself had been. Marie noted with annoyance that nobody had made any effort to move the icon that had almost foundered her vessel—they just drew chalk circles around it where it lay.
Then she'd made landfall on the ghoul-infested shore. Her boots scuffed as she climbed the scree, bandoliers jingling, eyes scanning the dark interiors of ancient fishing buildings—but there was no real need.
There was nothing nearby, of course—ghouls die upon the touch of water, and don't tend to frequent the shoreline. But up above, beyond the cliffs' edge, Marie had no doubt a horde was either gathering or would soon gather. It's how ghouls were—smart enough to scout, smart enough to gang together, smart enough to use weapons and armor. Gordon was more than willing to go on at length about how nice it was to play a game where the baseline enemy was smart enough to use tactics, but she'd never agreed with him on that point—she'd be happy with kobolds or something, and he could keep his creepy undead on the Earth server.
The thought struck her with a pang—she didn't really want him to stay on the Earth server, after all. She wondered if he'd like it in World's End.
"A bit distracted, are you?" came the basso rumble of a concerned Mars, passing by and nudging her to get her attention. "Best keep an eye out, they can hide damn near anywhere."
She nodded. Get your head in the game.
She'd chosen a support class because of the breadth of options the class presented in roleplaying scenarios, not for its combat utility, and had eventually been forced to admit that her class wasn't an A-lister for combat, or even a solid B. Time magic, for debuffing and utility, and potions, that's all she had. Against ghouls, it was enough, their being low-tier, but only if she was paying careful attention. Ghouls could hide and were fond of ambushes.
I still hate whoever designed them, she thought fiercely.
Her ticker count, which had settled around eight hundred, began to rise once more. "Wish me luck!" she told her invisible audience, who dutifully responded:
> Neopets30: Good luck pretty lady!
> Randoon_the_wizard: You can do this! Kick that ghoulie butt!
> xX_snakes_Xx : TPK incoming, just watch.
The cliff was not so much sheer as inverted, she discovered as she drew closer. The rough rock side bulged past the straight vertical, casting shade on the scree—gravel, small rocks, dust, the consequence of long-term erosion—at its base. The hardy flowers and clover growing in it held just enough structural cohesion to keep footing passible as they climbed the slope, heading for a vertical crack which Eoin swore was a cave entrance but which looked purely two-dimensional in the twilight, perpetual evening.
The cave was cool on her face, and cramped, and sloped sharply upward just as promised. Ropes were produced and tied to people's waists without ceremony, as though the developers hadn't thought this would be a very interesting part of the game. Another fifteen minutes of climbing and she was emerging in the half-light at the cliff's top, the surf's roar a distant memory, patchwork farmland spread before her eyes, overgrown with weeds and thistles, bowing in the wind. Once again, she closed her eyes and breathed in the pastoral, peaceful reverie—enjoying the moment while it lasted.
The wind was cool, but strong—it left her witch's cowl inflating like a weather sock, and blew the hems of her shirt back against her shoulders. She bunched up the cool-looking but impractical garment and shoved it down the back of her neck where the wind wouldn't pull at it.
Jaz and Jillian had beaten her there, with definitely fewer than nineteen soldiers, plus Mars. The airship, bobbing high above, was anchored to two strong lines staked into the surface, plus what looked a lot like a ship's anchor on a chain.
The ghouls came a moment later.
As always, it was their eyes she saw first. Back-lit like cat's eyes, ghouls would stare unblinkingly, their eyes either all pupil or without pupil at all—she'd never decided. Then the cheering, a savage tribal cadence, while she still couldn't tell how many there were, or where, and then the rush would begin from multiple directions, a pincer attack seeking to divide them friend from friend and leave them easy prey. And all the while the pleading, the cries for mercy, absolution, forgiveness, and, occasionally, companionship.
Emerging from the cave into the dim twilight of World's End, Marie glanced around, assessing their situation. They were bunched up, untangling from their climbing ropes, scattered in a disorganized, straggly line that had no business seeing off an organized attack. Her eyes flicked toward Mars—steady, watchful, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword like he could feel the storm coming too. Behind her, Artemis was fumbling with a piece of chalk, as if he could stave off disaster with preparation that was, frankly, too late.
The ghouls' cheering hit a crescendo, and she saw it: eyes, now dozens of them, gleaming like tiny flames against the darkness.
But when Marie said she wasn't an A-lister, that didn't mean she wasn't dangerous. She was nearly level 300, after all.
Her wand snapped to her hand, the motion muscle memory. She flicked her fingers, beckoning her power to flow from its source on her wrist, its silver bangle pulsing as mana streamed toward her. She chanted, a swift murmuring under her breath, and the structure formed—concentric rings unfolding around her in glittering filigree, locking into place.
Slow Time.
The spell spread outward in a shimmering wave, light warping at the edges of the effect. The charging ghouls froze mid-motion, their clawed, predatory bodies suspended in amber-like stillness, still moving—but impossibly, painfully slowly. The mana drain hit her like a cold ache, pulsing up her arm. The haptics did their best to mimic exhaustion, but the spell bought them precious seconds.
Behind her, someone exhaled sharply. Mars let out a low whistle.
Marie didn't look back. No time.
She unstoppered a few potions, tossing them carefully so that the shimmering droplets would catch most of the frozen mob. Then she did the smart thing—she ducked behind Mars.
"Sorry," she told him frankly. "But I don't have a sword or anything."
Mars barked a laugh, but his eyes didn't leave the battlefield. "I'd say you did your part."
Then the spell wore off.
Time surged forward. The potions' mist arced in midair, crashing down in a corrosive spray that hissed and spat as it ate through ghoul flesh. Limbs sloughed from bones, shrieks breaking the momentary silence as their bodies unraveled in the acidic mist.
"I'd get a sword, though," Mars added, as he pinned a crawling ghoul with his boot. Marie stomped on its head. "No good being unarmed when fighting alone."
The first wave was gone, leaving behind a steaming, twitching carpet of gore. A tense quiet fell, broken only by the wind and the distant, regrouping cries of the horde. It was a brief lull. While the geomancers hastily drew their circle, Marie saw Jaz and Jillian reloading and catching their breath scarcely a dozen feet away.
True to form, they were already snickering.
"Okay," Marie called over, unable to help herself. "What's so funny?"
"Well," said Jillian, "I was just wondering…"
"Oh no," Marie said, a weary smile touching her lips. "You're about to wonder out loud in front of my chat audience, aren't you?"
"Yep," said Jaz with absolutely no regret, snapping a fresh magazine into her pistol.
"So," Jillian continued, "if I'm under a slow-time spell and you set me on fire, do I feel it more acutely, or just for longer?"
Marie blinked. "I… don't know. Probably for longer? They wouldn't want to blow out people's rigs with too much stimulation."
"See!" Jillian said, vindicated. "I thought it would be intensity."
"And why did that make you giggle?" Marie asked, genuinely wary now.
"Well," Jaz chimed in, checking her cutlass, "I figured no matter which it is, I could think of a fun way to test it."
"Recreational and educational," chimed in Jillian.
"No," Marie said sternly, but the warmth of their banter was a brief comfort. "We will not be conducting any experiments on my stream." She glanced at her chat window. "And you've ruined my chat for the day, thank you."
> Randoon_the_Wizard: I have no idea what you're talking about.
Then the next wave hit, and the moment was gone. Her own fight was horribly formulaic. She had just enough mana for another Slow Time. She cast, threw her potions, and watched everything die in sync. It was brutally effective, but there was no uncertainty, no struggle.
Their experience, however, was completely different.
Thunder struck the battlefield, knocking a circle of undead ten feet across, prone and smoking.
A heartbeat later, two sharp cracks echoed as Jaz's pistols fired, dropping the stragglers she'd targeted. The remaining ghouls, shrieking, surged forward over the ashen, twitching bodies of their kin—and straight into Jillian's trap. The sigil erupted in a blinding flash of voltaic energy, stunning a half-dozen of them.
It was chaos, but it was their chaos. While Jaz began the long process of reloading, a lone ghoul broke through the crackling electricity, lunging for her. Before Marie could even think to cast, a bolt of lightning summoned by Jillian slammed into the creature, turning it to ash. Jaz didn't even look over; she just finished reloading, trusting Jillian to have her back.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Then it was Jillian's turn to be vulnerable, her hands raised to call another storm. Jaz was instantly in front of her, cutlass in hand. She wasn't a tank, but she was fierce. She choked up on the blade, one hand on the hilt and the other braced against the flat, turning the sword into a short, brutal spear to parry, shove, and stab, a whirlwind of defensive steel that kept the ghouls at bay while Jillian finished her incantation.
They moved with an unspoken rhythm, an easy camaraderie that made them more than the sum of their parts. Their classes weren't designed to synergize—a slow-reloading gunslinger and a stationary mage—but the players did. They covered for each other, anticipated each other, their every action born of an instinct that came from deep affection and trust. They were a real team. Them against the world.
And a sharp, painful spike of jealousy lanced through Marie. She wanted that.
Then she had just enough mana for another Slow Time once again.
The whole time, she could picture how this fight could have played out.
Gordon could've been beside her, switching between targets with complete confidence, firing off snap shots and doing flourishes, spins, and tricks. She'd freeze a group, and he'd mow them down before the spell even wore off. They'd carve through the battlefield like an unstoppable force, a perfect storm magic and metal.
Would it still be formulaic? Maybe. Some players liked that sort of thing. The feeling of being unbeatable.
But Gordon wouldn't let it stay too easy. He'd find a way to make it interesting, to push the limits, to one-up their own synergy and force the game to challenge them again. He'd make it fun. Maybe they'd fight dragons, or … or something.
Marie just wished that was actually happening.
That they weren't stuck on separate servers.
The thought punctured her contentment like a sudden stab. She was lonely.
She didn't play for combat. It was something to slog through, just a barrier between her and the good parts.
Mood sinking, she pushed forward, just wanting to reach a stopping point before logging out for the day.
Mars, still fighting beside her, shot her a glance—his expression mild, but concerned.
She didn't notice.
In Ghostlands, as it turned out, geomantic rituals—earth magic—functioned more like a mini-game than Ghostlands' other 'traditional' spells. The Mysteria Geologica crew had drawn their circle, sealed it, and as long as the boundary held, the spell would eventually complete. If the circuit broke, it wouldn't. Simple. They just had to run out the timer.
Which—of course, they would. The second wave was faltering. And…the girls were laughing. It had taken her a moment to notice.
Maybe her blood sugar was low. That was possible. Or maybe she was just tired. Tired of the screeching, the endless waves of enemies, the never-changing formula of fight after fight. She wanted it to be over. She wanted to be done.
The thought startled her. Normally, she cared—really cared. The fights were supposed to be the price she paid for the parts she loved: the exploration, the stories, the moments of connection. But right now, it didn't feel worth it. She felt hollow, detached, like she was going through the motions just to get to the end.
A spike of guilt pierced through her fatigue. Was this burnout? Or something else? She shook her head, flinging another potion at the oncoming horde. The acid hissed and spat, dissolving a cluster of ghouls as easily as it always did, but it didn't feel like a victory.
The work was easy, but she found herself circling round the same, intrusive thought.
It would've been easier to do this with a companion—someone to laugh at the ghouls' screeching, or to cheer when the acid hit just right. Gordon would've made a game out of it, turning even the repetitive grind into something... fun. She was lonely.
Marie used to game with her parents and then with her engineer buddies, but unfortunately, the synergy was never there. They were always looking for the next best weapon, crunching numbers, or trying out exploits. It wasn't the right vibe. Her mom had spent hours fishing or gardening—peaceful, but not quite the feel she was going for, either. Marie had gone solo so she could role-play.
Gordon role-played, too. She'd been excited to watch during his level 200 delve, when he'd found himself in a courtroom drama involving a noble's assassination. He'd had to play the expert witness. His social stats had been terrible, but his role-play had gotten him through. She'd thought then about how they might work together, how they could have fun and immerse themselves in the ever-changing landscape of Ghostlands. She wondered when they'd be able to afford to. Half a year was a very long time.
As always, thoughts about finances clouded her thoughts, and the commentators in her chat thread today didn't help her spirits:
> Stormbringer777: Hey, Mama, make that ghoul soup for me!
> SlimeNinja64: You guys are all perverts.
> Just_A_Myth: I didn't say anything!
"Mother's mercy!" came the shrill scream of another ghoul. More were coming over the newly formed wall of frozen ghoul-flesh from all sides. Marie heard Jaz fighting in the middle distance—fifteen or twenty feet away. When did they become separated?
When disaster struck, it struck quickly. A large group of ghouls charged from the side while the tide of them closed in from the front.
"We've got them all!" Jaz shouted. A bolt of lightning flashed from her hands.
Jillian turned back to make another colorful quip, but one of the "downed" ghouls sprang back to its feet and shoved its grimy, corroded spear up under her rib cage, ending whatever she was going to say with a choked "HRRRK!"
"Jill, no!" Marie yelled.
"Heal!" Jaz shouted. "What happened to your settings?"
Game injuries weren't real, but that didn't mean they couldn't hurt you. Marie had read the horror stories and had no desire to develop PTSD, so she kept her pain relatively low. Jaz, on the other hand, thought the bonus to hit points was worth it. Jillian had been hemming and hawing about her own setting, wanting to keep up with her more daring girlfriend. Her spirit was willing, but she didn't share Jaz's pain tolerance. There would probably be a conversation following this. For now, though, Jillian was staggered, unable to take a deep breath, and, crucially, unable to focus on the fight.
Marie turned instantly.
With skills honed from thousands of hours spent throwing and catching, she sent a health potion expertly into Jaz's waiting fingers. She then turned her attention back to the horde, casting three spells to make a triangle around them—a perfect bulwark.
"I didn't watch my six," Jillian gasped. "My bad."
"It's fine, you're gonna be fine, just hang on," Jaz prompted, pouring a health potion down her teammate's throat. A rope snaked down from a brand-new aperture in the airship above. "Yeah, we can use this as an excuse to update our look," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "Who says priests have to wear robes all the time?"
Jillian coughed wetly. The potion was working, but structural damage had a severe penalty to her speed. As long as she breathed, she was slowed.
Marie's slow-time spells wore off all at once. A wave of ghouls, previously falling in frozen rigor mortis, surrounded them in a chill, white fog.
"We'll just get you up to the airship," Marie said to Jillian. "You're going to be alright."
Jaz threw Jillian's arm over her shoulder, straightened up under her weight, and began to support her retreat, batting one-handed at anything too close.
A javelin pierced through Jaz's open mouth in a cloud of gore. There would be no healing that. She collapsed backward with a wet, twitching crunch. She would respawn in the city. Marie would have to go get her. It was a setback, but not a big one. In Marie's current mood, however, it felt weighty, like an omen of things to come.
That's what comes of being an optimist, she thought sourly, helping the wounded Jillian over to the rope. "I'll help you reach the ship."
"Don't forget Jaz's airship captain outfit," Jillian rasped.
"Really!?" Marie groaned.
But she knew she would go back for it.
She had to strip the corpse before it despawned. She hated this part.
Sighing, she cast a time shield around herself. The insubstantial barrier giving her time, she got down to the grim business of stripping her friend's corpse.
It was an obstinately realistic process; you didn't just click to get loot, you had to pull the pants off over the feet. As she worked, she pictured Jaz, already respawned and sipping a virtual coffee back in the familiar bustle of Cerza City. That left Jillian to fly the Bounty back alone. It had come up before—they had a system for it—but Marie still felt a knot of worry tighten in her chest. She hoped they would make it back okay.
Jaz had sprung for the fancy gear. Buckles up every inch of boot. Then a button every couple of inches up the outsides of the calves to get the pants relaxed enough to come off. Except, then she had to go up to the shoulders and slip the bandoleers and gun harnesses off her shoulders, and go under the coat for the suspenders — necessitating putting the corpse down, turning it over, and picking up the coat and letting her flop out of it. And then there were all the layers of lace around the neckline, tangling with the ammo belt.
> xX_snakes_Xx: I would have thought watching one woman stripping another would be somehow… sexy.
> Randoon_the_Wizard: It's like watching baggage handlers at work, if you had your pet poodle in your suitcase.
> xX_snakes_Xx: She dropped her on her head. If her neck wasn't broken before, it is now.
Huh. So it was.
It would have been so much more convenient if Jaz hadn't insisted on all the fancy, layered airship captain gear. As she pulled the last piece free from the lace, she was able to get the straps down to the waist and pull the pants free. What she saw next appeared to be the default equipment, other than being clearly labeled "crotchless panties".
"Way to keep it classy, Jaz."
Marie felt a wave of relief that she did not play with the Adult Content mode on. The adult items shop item would have had a completely different appearance otherwise. She was not ready for that kind of scarring at her tender age of twenty-five.
"I guess I'm not retrieving everything," she commented.
She refreshed the time shield.
The top was easier. "Who had 'bodice-ripper' on the board for me today?" she quipped. Whoops.
The bundle of enchanted cloth in hand, Marie made for the airship's remaining tether, releasing her spell.
She couldn't open team chat—they hadn't officially grouped up—so she sent a quick Q-link call. Both of their faces popped up in her viewscreen almost instantly, side-by-side. They were streaming from the same pod. How was there even room?
"Got your stuff, Captain," Marie said, trying to keep her tone light as she sent the bundle of gear up the rope.
"See? Told you she wouldn't forget," Jaz said, nudging Jillian with her shoulder. Her digital avatar was already back in its default city clothes. "Did you find my lucky undies? The enchanted ones?"
"I found them," Marie said flatly. "And I don't want to know what the enchantment does."
Jaz just grinned. "They give you a… morale boost." Jillian groaned and playfully shoved her.
"We'll catch you next time, Marie," Jillian said, her voice sounding stronger already. "Don't worry about us."
"Yeah," Jaz added. "Wouldn't miss it. No worries."
They were good people. The best.
The call ended, leaving Marie in silence.
She turned back to the fight. She was alone, unless she counted Mars's steady presence. The gnawing feeling in her gut was back, stronger than ever. It might have been low blood sugar, but she knew better. She maintained the border with increasingly formulaic fighting—Slow Time, potions, repeat—until the geomancers finished their ritual.
Spikes of earth stabbed out of the seabed, throwing mist high into the air with thunderous concussions. The waves they generated sloshed around the bay like water in a sink. The cries of ghouls rose like a tornado siren, omnipresent, intense.
Eoin stumbled out of the cave, face puce with anger, shouting something over the noise. She didn't care what. Later. She'd figure it out later. Right now, it didn't matter.
A fighting retreat wasn't much of a threat—not really. Her tactics were repetitive—but effective. Slow Time. Potions. Repeat. She'd done it a hundred times, maybe a thousand. Usually, she'd feel a flicker of satisfaction watching the ghouls drop one by one, the acid biting through their twisted forms. She'd even enjoy the rhythm of it, the way everything clicked into place like a well-rehearsed performance.
> Randoon_the_wizard: Guys only want one thing, and you won't believe how disgusting it is!
> xX_Snakes_Xx: What's that?
> Randoon_the_wizard: Victory!
Marie sighed, but stayed calm. "Thank you for your support," she said, keeping her tone above it all. "That's it for today."
She logged out, her vision blanking and then resolving into the inside surface of her pod.
The air in her VR pod was stifling—hot, humid. Her own body temperature come back to haunt her. She stood up abruptly, stripping off her wool socks and throwing them into the bin to join her uniform before peeling out of her haptic suit and putting its gold-threaded folds onto a hanger. Barefooted, she padded across the cool metal tiles to the kitchen, searching for a clean glass, then brewed herself Camomile. She leaned on the counter and tapped her fingers on the counter while she waited for it to beep. The brushed aluminum finished surface was cold against her skin.
That had taken forever. And. . .it looked like he'd fallen asleep without talking to her again. What a waste.
Her time in the Ghostlands still usually made her happy—her sessions were still her reward at the end of the day—but something was missing. She'd talked to Gordon about it before, and he'd agreed: she wanted to play with him. She wanted to have fun, try new experiences, and spend time doing what she loved—but she wanted him to be there for it. He'd said he'd see what he could come up with, which wasn't quite the reciprocal affirmation she'd been looking for.
As always, when she realized that and thought about the distance between Earth and Mars, her mood soured. The game lost its attraction. So did food, she thought with a huff, annoyed at herself. She'd been eyeing the cookie jar for a while now, but was no closer to lifting the lid.
Her tea now properly steaming, she took it gingerly to her room again, wedging it on her insufficiently wide bedside table next to her hardbacks, flashlight collection, and watch. The mini suite, adjoining her parents', had been her home for almost a quarter of a century. It felt lived in and comfortable, but when she was missing Gordon, also small and cramped. They'd have to get their own full suite, their own dedicated hab. When. If.
She ran a fresher cycle, listening to the quiet hum of the machinery as it scrubbed the interior clean, then shut her VR pod and sat down on her twin-width mesh bed. The freshened pod smelled faintly of disinfectant—efficient, clinical, like everything else in her Martian life.
The real world was too small, too quiet compared to the vibrant, immersive expanse of Ghostlands. She browsed her book library for something she hadn't read recently, scrolling through the endless covers and synopses, her focus slipping. She sent Gordon a video message, knowing he wouldn't get it tonight. She went back to listless scrolling, finally picking one at random, and resolved not to think about anything in particular for the rest of the night.