Chapter 37: More—or Less—Than Human

  The crackle of teleportation died, and I stood once more in the crusted, blood-slick chamber where I’d absorbed Seth’s soul. My boots crunched across the floor, fragments of his memories clawing at the edges of my mind. I shoved them down. Not now. My team was dying.

  Four exits gaped from the walls, but I didn’t have a damn clue which to take.

  Zephyra stood in the centre of the room facing me, the jaguar throne at her back and the mesmerising dagger floating just out of reach. She trembled, fists clenched, chin tilted high, eyes squeezed tight.

  I raised my sabre, unsure but ready.

  Her eyes flew open, blonde hair whipping back like a banner as she jumped with a jubilant whoop, pure and childlike. She spun toward me, eyes sparkling, grin wide and mischievous, sharp little teeth flashing like she’d just won a prize.

  My lips twitched despite myself. Couldn’t help it.

  “What’s that about?” I asked.

  She laughed high and bright. “I wasn’t sure it would work.”

  “Work?” I cocked an eyebrow. “You mean the portal? Is that the reason you wanted into my party?”

  “Among others…” Her grin turned sly, a glitter of mischief in her eyes I hadn’t seen before. She pivoted slowly, taking in the room. Her gaze snagging on the dagger.

  Ah shit, not this again.

  I lunged forward, ready to grab the Lutantha before she touched the dagger and tripped the trap. But she only gave a soft, dismissive tut and pulled a bucket from her inventory. Kneeling, she scraped a hunk of dried blood off the floor, crumbling it between her fingers until the dust bled into the water, staining it deep red. Then she stood and hurled the contents, a crimson spray arcing over the jaguar throne.

  A faint HUD tooltip flickered as the dagger dropped, clattering off the throne and into a fresh puddle of blood. The copper tang curled into my nostrils.

  [Ritual Bind Broken: The Jaguar has been fed. Tek V’hor’s wards broken by infusion of heart’s blood].

  Zephyra sauntered over as cool as a cat, and picked up the dagger. She tossed it my way and I caught it out of reflex. “A useful tool, Allan. And one you should have taken sooner. There are always hints in this game.”

  I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but I was smart enough to keep my mouth shut. It was probably an obvious puzzle… if you were cheating.

  Tek V’hor’s Sacrificial Dagger

  Only heart’s blood may feed the blade to sever the soul within.

  My mind raced. That description. There are always hints.

  Zephyra took the lead, choosing a door without hesitation and winding down the stairs past sprung traps and rooms still scarred from battle. The signs of my team were everywhere—splintered arrows, scorch marks, and smears of fresh, human blood still gleaming on the stone. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth creaked. Whose was it? I should’ve been there.

  The now-familiar WARGAMES! theme song blared, stopping us in our tracks as Priorita made the daily announcement. I flicked to the relevant tab in my inventory and noticed that I’d missed a few of these… probably while unconscious.

  “Welcome contestants, to day six! Wow, it is fantastic to see all the progress and preparation for when the barriers come down! I bet you’re just itching to start killing each other!”

  I had grown accustomed to hearing Priorita as she spoke in the back of my mind—her personality and tone, the choice of words. Listening to the daily announcement solidified a suspicion I’d had for a while.

  “Hey Zephyra, does the Priorita that does your achievements and descriptions sound the same as the one that does these daily bulletins?”

  Her lips quirked into a sharp smile. “No, Allan. She is quite different.”

  That tracked. I wondered just how many of her were out there. Did every contestant have their own private Priorita?

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  I wanted to ask a follow up. To press her on it and point out how, sometimes, she spoke just the same as my Priorita—but the daily bulletin babbled on, and I forced myself to listen. Ariel’s HP flickered in the corner of my vision, dropping again. I shot a glance at the bar, then tilted my head for the dodgy Lutantha to lead the way. Together we wound down the tight spiral staircase as Priorita’s chatter echoed in our ears.

  “Over seventy percent of civilisations have now challenged a Wargame vault, though only around twenty percent have been successful thus far. A special shout-out to the Carne-Grande of the 7th Mesa Biome who just cleared their third! So fast! What formidable contestants!

  The Java-Huerras of the 15th sky quadrant also deserve a mention! Their en-masse vault assault ended in complete eradication! What a bunch of silly sausages!” She giggled like a demented toddler. “Their shield has dropped, so nearby contestants can invade the shared zone early and get a taste of the festivities!”

  I wondered if that meant rival civilisations could now attack each other through the breach, or if only the one zone was open. Guess it didnt matter unless the same happened in our quadrant.

  The staircase was dark here, torches long since burned out. I considered activating Predator, but ignited the blade of my sabre instead. Made my skin tingle.

  “The Parlay Club is now open! Teleportation points are accessible through your civilisation flag, or any forward settlement you have captured! But please remember: PVP is mostly disabled in the club—save that for the battlefield!—but you can negotiate, trade, and plot to your heart’s content! This is an iconic component of the WARGA—”

  A sudden jolt coursed through me, blinding and nearly dropping me to my knees. I slammed headfirst into a jade doorframe carved with pictograms, nearly knocking out my front teeth.

  My HUD strobed with black boxes for a few seconds, the installation of Victor’s program pulsing before it jumped from 25% to nearly 50%. I froze, staring at it. What the hell did that mean?

  Zephyra had turned to me, fingers pausing on the rail. For a tiny moment, I thought I saw real concern flicker in her alien expression.

  Then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the polished obsidian wall.

  “What the fuuuck?” I breathed, and as I did, a glowing nimbus of light spilled from my open mouth.

  Priorita yammered away, but I’d missed whatever she said. I lifted the unlit, stubby blade of my sabre, using the polished steel to get a clearer view. It acted as a much better mirror than the black glass wall.

  I’d assumed that because I hadn’t grown any new limbs, or tentacles, or whatever, that Priorita hadn’t shafted me with the evolution thing. Wrong. Of course she bloody had.

  My mum had always said she saw nothing of her in me. That I might’ve been switched at birth if not for the chocolate-brown eyes we shared. I felt a pang. They were gone now. Instead, my eyes glowed like neon blue bulbs, crackling with silent lightning. When I opened my mouth, my teeth glowed too.

  I flicked my character screen open and scrolled to the evolutions menu.

  My personal Priorita gushed as she read the description.

  Allan Alberghini: Human – Lumivorous Variant (2)

  Lumivorous beings consume energy, metabolising various forms as fuel for survival and combat. Your presence is unsettling to sensitive beings, like standing near a living battery primed to discharge.

  Isn’t that just delicious? I built it just for you!

  I didn’t respond. There was an icon there too, a new ability that I added to my hot bar. Discharge. The icon was a lightning bolt and it was flashing frantically, like it was ready to blow.

  The evolution explained how I could hold the sabre—I was drinking in its heat. It also explained why I felt so damn good despite my only rest in days being unconsciousness. But the power unsettled me. I remembered the first time I’d triggered Predator: the rush, the intoxicating sense of limitless possibility… and the way it hollowed me out, stripping away what made me human. I couldn’t afford to lose myself like that again. Especially when now I’d truly crossed the line into something more—or maybe less—than human.

  I let out a long slow breath, trying to slow my racing heart. The air around me shimmered faintly and my breath made the hairs on my arm lift in a wave, as though charged by a static storm. But as the current rolled across Victor’s watch, those hairs fell limp as though discharged—and my HUD strobed. The install spiked to 57% in that fraction of a moment. This time a sound bled through: a muffled voice, heavily accented, speaking in some foreign tongue—Arabic? Mongolian? My skin crawled. Coincidence, or was the stored energy of my evolution feeding the programs progress?

  The ping of Ariel’s HP dropping to 20% dragged me back to the present.

  Priorita yammered some more about cutting deals in the Parlay Club.

  Zephyra’s eyes flashed, darting from my mouth to the watch. She mouthed the word delicious.

  My antivirus flickered open and shut like it was seizing.

  What a bloody mess.

  But what could I do except push onwards?

  The clock was ticking.

  I forced the whole lot from my HUD and rose, pushing off the wall with my armoured arm, it was almost as black as the obsidian. At least the infected limb had remained asleep while in this tomb.

  “Let’s move, Zephyra.”

  She hesitated, eyes darting, flashing. I wondered who she was talking to. I didn’t wait, pushing past and down the stairs.

  I counted nine rooms as I descended, each strewn with puzzle remnants and combat scars. At the bottom of the spiral staircase loomed a dead end—massive, monolithic, carved into a dead-eyed funeral mask.

  I pulled the jade mask fragments from my inventory and pieced them together. I didn’t have the full set, but the pattern matched the door. There will always be hints, Zephyra had said. What did that mean? I had already dumped all my free stats into Intelligence. Not that it had helped. I still had no bloody idea what any of it meant — still the same idiot who regularly confused earth and live wires back home.

  Ariel’s HP was now just below 15%, while Victor’s program install surged to nearly 70%.

  A familiar bubble of stress and anxiety rose in my gut. Everything was always happening too fast. The stakes too high.

  “What are your skills, Allan? We must strategise for what we may find within,” said Zephyra.

  I eyed the portraits, that blinking Vessel icon. Shook my head.

  “No time, mate. It’s got to be now.” I raised the Scrambler, its stubby blade bursting to incandescent life and filling me with energy. “Keep my team alive. That’s the plan. Betray me and I’ll burn you too.”

  She clicked her tongue. “And if it’s not so straightforward? What then?”

  Ariel’s HP dropped to 14%.

  Installation pinged and rose by two percent.

  I ignored her and slammed my fist into a big red button beside the door. The giant mask’s mouth dropped open to form a yawning doorway.

  But in my gut I knew Zephyra had a point.