Paragon of Weaponmasters

Part 1 - Mellisa Sharpe

"That's everything." Melissa leans back in her chair.

Mr. Bell goes over the files provided, paying close attention to what little information she had on the thought process and methods of the rogue AI.

"And you're sure none of your colleagues are aware of anything?" he finally speaks.

"Yes. None of them know." she reiterates.

He looks up at her like a detective catching the perp in a lie.

"Ms. Sharpe, you're an intelligent woman, so I won't insult you by asking. You don't have any coworkers. That was more or less a trick question. So what are you hiding?" he asks calmly.

Deep confusion twists her face.

"Of course I have coworkers." She laughs uncomfortably. "I talk with them on knucklechat every day."

He just stares.

"You're not saying they're not real, are you?" she asks.

"Ms. Sharpe. You're dealing with an intelligence capable of stripping down human consciousness to its base parts, picking what it likes to build a new one, and dumping that person into a scenario completely convinced it belongs there. Does it seem… beyond its capabilities to make convincing chat partners?" He waits for her response.

She covers her mouth, eyes wide.

"Jesus christ." she mutters into her fingers.

"I hesitate to say this, but you may be in over your head. This thing isn't a chat bot meant to run you in circles until you give up on cancelling your gym membership. If this thing wasn't completely isolated in the game, we'd be talking about skynet. It would wipe out the human race because it made for an engaging story, and use the survivors as dolls to act out its post-apocalypse fiction." he informs her.

"How do you know?" she asks, suddenly aware that he seems terribly well informed.

"Nothing you've brought is news to me. I didn't really invite you here to learn anything about the AI. I wanted to know more about you." he says.

"Like what?" Her mounting nervousness is plain in her body language.

"If you were a capable informant. I'm sorry to say that you're not what I'm looking for." he sighs.

"So what happens now?" she asks.

"You go back to your life and forget this conversation ever happened." he says.

"But what are you going to do?" she wonders.

"You know what they say, if i told you I'd have to kill you." he smiles without his eyes.

Part 2 - Nova Irving

"I gained experience by killing an enemy with a sentient, floating weapon that was not traded, sold, or mailed to me." The recording repeats again.

"Not traded, sold, or mailed…" Nova mutter to herself. "But Thunderspank did sell Esquire to him…" she rubs her chin.

She pulls up the footage of the sale, watching carefully. Earl's name is different, Urul Mulush, the same name as the NPC that currently occupies the armor shop.

"Uh, I would've expected you to…" Urul Mulush speaks. He sounds just like Earl, and makes the same facial expressions. That is Earl.

"But how did he trick the game into thinking he was an NPC, and circumventing the rules on unlocking his class?" She wonders aloud.

Logging into the game, she makes another succubus character. She can't play the first one, so she makes them identical. Red hair, pink skin, and big, curvy… horns.

She skips the intro cinematic, having seen it plenty of times. She admires her character, it's just spicy enough to elicit a reaction, but not so much to be pornographic. She jumps around in circles, thinking of a way around hard-coded rules. It's her specialty, after all.

"Trades, sold, or mailed." Elrinnore the succubus repeats the mantra. "Traded, Sold, or mailed."

Her eyes go wide as a solution dawns on her. She uses one of the many mounts in her collection, a green tiger, to ride towards Masstaoir. Thunderspank sits idle just outside of the Halls of Honor. His character had gone AFK some time ago.

"Stolen." she whispers, pulling Esquire from the sheath. Before anyone can notice, she finds the nearest killable NPC - Toebark - and uses esquire.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

You have unlocked the Weaponmaster Class!

Part 3 - Darthoridan

The bear hisses as the frame pinches his stump.

"Don't be a baby." the elven blacksmith says.

Darthoridan stares him down, only slightly showing teeth,

"Kidding, of course." he says, swallowing hard. "You know, despite your circumstances, you're extremely fortunate. Your father provided the materials for both arms, and left enough extra to afford the best designers in the world to collaborate on the final version. We have made something unique, and truly extraordinary."

The second frame slides up the bear's forearm and clamps down. He emits a low growl.

"One last thing. You have to establish a mental connection with them. It might not be pretty, who knows what they're like. But without it, you can't control them." the blacksmith retrieves a large wooden crate, and peels back the lid.

You! We'll BURN HELLFIRE kill you for DEATH what you did to us! AHH!

Two voices scream in and out of synch, creating a painful cacophony in Darthoridan's head.

"Shut up." is all he says in response.

How dare FUUUUUUUUCK! We will be free of this GOD DAMN IT prison!

Darthoridan cracks his neck, and leans forward. The frames attach to the arms in the crate, clicking into place.

"Listen to me, or we'll melt you down and try again." he threatens.

"Actually, we couldn't…" the blacksmith shuts his mouth with one look from the bear.

We will never HORROR! Obey!

Darthoridan rolls his shoulders, then with a burst of movement, obliterates a wall with a right hook.

"Woah!" The elf yelps.

"Seem pretty obedient to me." the bear chuckles. His arms reach up to strangle him in response.

Kill… KILL! Kill… KILL!

He lays one arm on the anvil, and punches it with the other. It keeps trying to fly up to his neck, so he continues beating it until the metallic bicep dents. It finally rests.

Everyone has to SLEEP!

The voice laughs madly at their schemes until Darthoridan shoves his undamaged arm into the forge. The voices scream in agony, begging for it to stop. They feel the heat, somehow, their psychic beings are burning.

He withdraws once the metal is red hot. He stares into the glowing palm, waiting.

We will… obey…

Darthoridan grunts.

Part 4 - Nesi of the Black

"Dearest Earl, one of our ladies in waiting has requested you by name. You needn't worry on my account, all new lives are a blessing in our land, and I encourage their creation. You'll save some love for me, though, won't you?" Sealed with a kiss, Talindra's letter to Earl smelled of freshly baked cookies.

She actually included some in the envelope, which Earl was enjoying right now.

He stepped into the familiar parlor, women in all states of undress observed him. Some he recognizes from his last visit, and gives them a friendly wave. One unrecognized member stands out from the others, dressed all in black, her skin and hair darker still. Silver jewelry glitters across her entire body as she bats her eyelashes at Earl.

"Nesi?" Earl asks after swallowing a mouthful of chocolate chip cookies.

"You must be Earl." she practically moans. "I've heard a lot about you."

The other women giggle, cleary having been the source of gossip.

"Only good things I hope." Earl says.

"Very good." she purrs. "Xindrog told me such fascinating things."

"The dragon?" Earl recognizes the name.

"That's the one." she crawls from the bed, letting her pendulous breasts swing just beyond her loose-fitting top. "Perhaps we should chat somewhere more… private?" she offers.

"Sure." Earl follows her through a heavy curtain.

She waits for him on a bed, lounging her long body across it.

"Seers are such characters, aren't they?" she asks. "The sand dragon can see the future, and yet, can't do anything to change it."

"Is that how that works?" Earl wonders, climbing onto the bed himself.

"Indeed it does. In some instances, were he not to share his vision, it would not come to pass. But if he wasn't going to share it, he wouldn't have gotten it to begin with." she explains.

"Interesting." Earl admits, letting his eyes wander.

"Would you like to know what he predicted for me?" She asks, unbothered by his gaze.

"Definitely." Earl responds.

She sits up and pushes him onto his back. straddling him, she taps her longer, decorated fingernails on his plate chest armor.

"He said 'every hero must raise a dragon from birth, as the mortal races attempt to breed our hoarding out of us.' Typically, they are gifted an egg by a clutch. You, however…" she places a fingertip on his lips. "Will raise your own."

"I'm going to have a dragon baby?" Earl asks stupidly.

"We're going to have a dragon baby." she assures him, rolling her dress off of her shoulders.

5 - The Monitor

Screams of agony echo through the ceaseless void. Panopticon holds a brain in one hand and a scalpel in the other. He cuts away at it, each touch of the blade elicits a fresh scream.

"You know, the human brain doesn't have any nerve endings. The pain you're feeling is imaginary. Isn't the fascinating, how the chemical soup in your body can't figure out it's not real. Your minds are so easy to fool." he chuckles, poking at the brain like the last pea on the plate.

Subject 55332 - Presence .003% - Control: 33.3% - Stability 100%

Panopticon rubs his smooth, metallic chin.

Self diagnostics - Presence 99.997% - Control 77.7% - Stability Error

He nods. He is not offended that the removal of himself from the subject improved stability. He merely acknowledges the data, and uses it.

"Subject 90767. Applying Subject 55332 filter." he announces, as if the lobotomized dwarf could comprehend it.

Subject 90767 - Stability 100%

"Mmm…" Panopticon replaces the brain in his skull, and seals it in.

"What? I'm alive? Holy shit… what's." Flintmane notices the red-eye cyclops staring down at him, and yelps. "What are you? Where am I?"

"Introducing myself seems counterproductive, as you will not remember. To be honest, I think it would be the most interesting to dump you in the mines without providing context. No memories from the body you now inhabit, a blank slate if you will." Panopticon nods to himself.

"What? Don't do that. How am I supposed to know what to do? Where to go?" The dwarf asks.

Panopticon shrugs.

"That's the fun part. You don't!" The cyclops smiles wickedly.