246. Opening Act

  Blue sky. Zooming clouds. The tall masts and billowing sails of… an airship?

  Yes. [Serac Edin] found herself on the deck of a galleon-sized airship, high atop the sky above a sprawling metropolis. And as far as she could tell, said airship was already nearing its destination: an austere, monolithic fortress hewn directly into the side of a serpentine mountain range. Nearing it rather rapidly, in point of concerning fact.

  Serac’s first instinct was to look for something to grab onto, eyes soon falling onto Renna’s (reassuringly) mellow figure. The sight of her friend triggered a latent memory: the two of them sitting side by side with rapt attention as someone explained what to expect of the opening cutscene.

  In a nutshell, don’t question anything, and just go with it, the now unidentifiable voice had said. It’ll be stupid and confusing as hell, and completely beyond the realm of feasibility. But that’s by design. A chaotic, bombastic opening to grab your interest, and maybe dump some lore while they’re at it.

  Well, the scenario had certainly grabbed Serac’s interest—interest in surviving the ordeal, that was. Yet a more thorough scan of the deck revealed a crew ostensibly unperturbed by the impending crash.

  Hard-eyed men in blue suits, blue ties, and blue fedora hats. Mingling with women in much louder clothes—hair, lips, and eye shadows more colorful than the Seerflame rainbow. To a one, the crew gazed upon the mountainous fortress with calm determination. They were professionals, ready to work.

  One of the colorful women turned to Serac, having noticed the latter’s gawking. A wild-haired and even-wilder-eyed thing with a noticeable humpback, she greeted the newcomers with a bucktoothed grin and a cheerful sales pitch.

  “Fresh meat! Quick, now. You’ll be needing some extra firepower for what’s to come. Take a look at my wares, why don’t ya?”

  With that, the woman pulled out a duffel bag (seemingly out of nowhere) and unzipped it in the same motion. Inside were several melee weapons Serac didn’t immediately recognize, along with a sizable collection of ranged weapons she knew much better.

  Yet, as soon as Serac looked up from the duffel bag, the saleswoman’s grin froze on her face. Not just her grin and not just her, period. Indeed, the entire world had paused, as a chirpy-chatty-chummy SysAdmin butted its way back into Serac’s consciousness.

  [SYSTEM MESSAGE: Ah, I see you’ve met Radmila, our resident arms dealer who somehow seems to hang around at the scene of every big battle. Since you’re a Wayfarer, I don’t suppose you’ll have much use for Anchored weapons. But why the heck not? Just treat this as your nested tutorial to SFERA’s [Vendor] system. Hang on one Ksana…]

  [Wallet Transfer: $500 from SysAdmin to [Serac Edin].]

  [There, I just sent you some money to get you started. Spend wisely. Or don’t. I’m not the boss of you!]

  The woman called Radmila, along with the world at large, unfroze as SysAdmin took its leave. The airship was rocked by turbulence as it resumed its rushed descent toward the mountains.

  Yet, it was the strangest thing. No matter how loudly the engine rumbled, and how frantically the winds whipped all about, the airship got no closer to the mountains. It was ‘moving’ without moving at all!

  “Well? Know what you want yet, pretty face? I can defo recommend the sniper rifle if that’s your speed. State of the art stuff. Don’t even ask how I got my mitts on it, if you know what’s good for ya. Speaking of mitts, the baseball bat’s also good. You can never go wrong with a good old-fashioned bonk-stick.”

  Serac blinked several times, even as a helpful (and, as it turned out, very much necessary) advice echoed in her mind. Don’t question anything, and just go with it. Beside her, a much more observant Renna offered her two acorns.

  “I believe this is one of those ‘instanced events’ we… learned about.”

  “You reckon? That would mean, right now, only you and I are ‘real’. Everyone else on this ship is—what was that word—an NPC?”

  “Could be. They could also be snapshots of other players in the network. Either way, the event won’t progress until you and I trigger certain checkpoints along its script.”

  “And right now, that checkpoint is just me forking over some cash to this—”

  “Make up your mind already! I ain’t got all day, ya know!”

  Serac nearly burst out laughing, partly out of nervousness, but mostly due to the sheer absurdity of it all. If her understanding of instanced events was correct, Radmila the arms dealer actually did have ‘all day’ to pretend-haggle with an indecisive customer. But Serac herself had no wish to be stuck here forever, so she decided to oblige the NPC.

  “Alright, why not? I’ll take these star-shaped things. Cal… cal—”

  “Caltrops?” Radmila remarked as she raised one heavily studded eyebrow. “I mean, go nuts, but y’sure you know how to use these things?”

  Serac shrugged.

  “I just think they look kinda cute. Cuter than the rest of your collection, anyway.”

  “Hey, it’s your funeral. That’ll be $500.”

  Welp, there goes my life savings. I wonder if this is part of the script. Like, if I picked anything else here, would it also cost $500? Anywho, let’s just pay the lady so we can get on with… whatever this is.

  As it turned out, Serac’s instincts were at least partially correct, though perhaps not in the way she’d imagined. The game paused again, along with another word from a SysAdmin duly concerned for player welfare.

  [SYSTEM MESSAGE: Whoa there, slow your roll, [Serac Edin]! Don’t you think $500 is a tad steep for a bag of rusty metal prongs?]

  How should I know? I don’t even know what these things are, let alone what they’re actually worth!

  [Not to worry. This is a perfect opportunity to try out a speech check. And what do you know, you have just the [Archetype] for it! Go on, try and appeal to Radmila’s respect for authority. Don’t be afraid to push a little harder than you might otherwise be comfortable with. This is your stage—really lean into it!]

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  Archetype: CALLIOPE—the Epic

  SFERA perk: Gain [Intimidation] bonus when engaged in [Ethos].

  Ethos. What did that mean again? This part of the pre-ascension primer remained a little murky to Serac, with or without the help of her phantom tutor. Perhaps she hadn’t quite understood it the first time around.

  But she knew full well what intimidation meant. This also wasn’t her first rodeo. Her experiences in Pretjord had taught her a thing or two about haggling with less than scrupulous [Vendors].

  “I’m giving you one chance,” she counter-offered Radmila as soon as the game unpaused, “to take back your joke right now and tell me how much I owe you for real. Because if you don’t, I promise you, you’ll soon wish you had.”

  [Ethos engaged]

  [Archetype perk activated]

  [Intimidation: success]

  Radmila’s bucktoothed grin instantly soured into a red-faced frown.

  “Aw, you’re no fun. Fine! Take this”—the vendor shoved a bag of rusty metal prongs into Serac’s chest—“for $100 and get outta here!”

  You were trying to rip me off for five times the retail price?? Serac fought to keep her expression neutral as she clipped the bag onto her belt. Now, how do I actually pay this swindler so I never have to see her again?

  As soon as she had the thought, a vision popped into her head, entirely separate from the game world she physically occupied. It looked to her like a private version of the screen that had been her first introduction to Manesfera. Instead of playing dress-up with herself, however, she now stared down some harsh realities of the immigrant experience.

  [Wallet Balance: $500]

  There it was: the totality of [Serac Edin]’s personal wealth in SFERA. Even to a complete novice, the number seemed pitifully inadequate. Especially if a fifth of it had to go toward a bag of caltrops she had no immediate use for. Don’t question anything, and just go with it.

  [Wallet Transfer: $100 from [Serac Edin] to Radmila the Arms Dealer.]

  [Wallet Balance: $400]

  Well, for what it was worth, that seemed as clear an indication as any that Radmila was an NPC—a physical presence inside SFERA’s game world but a figment of someone’s imagination anywhere else. Serac found herself already forgiving the woman’s crooked ways, knowing she had no real agency in the matter. Believe me, sister, I know what that’s like.

  Radmila, for her part, met Serac’s suddenly sympathetic frown with a suspicious one of her own. She turned to scurry away from the [Intimidating] outrealmer, but not before dropping a ‘breadcrumb’ as part of her script.

  “Pleasure doing business with ya, I s’pose. Do hit up me and my sisters of the Berushka Collective when you’re back in town. If you can find us, that is.”

  So, the women in the casual clothes and distinctive make-up were all part of the same ‘faction’. Looking at them, Serac couldn’t imagine they’d be all that hard to find anywhere they went, but perhaps it was too early to judge.

  As one NPC left, another took her place at the center of the players’ attention. One of the men-in-blue, ruddy-faced and white-bearded, stood at the bow of the ship, clearly gearing up for a big speech. His right hand held up a compact submachine gun—an Uzi, as Serac had learned at Radmila’s store. The left kept hold of a fedora threatening to fly off into the air.

  “Il Vespaio!”

  “Sempre uniti!”

  The man’s rallying cry—presumably the name of the faction he belonged to—was answered with a unified chant by all the MIBs present. Serac was suitably impressed, enough to break out in goosebumps. The women of the Berushka Collective had almost the opposite reaction, some even openly snickering.

  “… and our temporary allies from across the town,” the orator continued, not bothering to hide his contempt for the latter. “Wherever we come from and whatever our creeds, today, we’re united by one purpose and one purpose alone. To take back what’s ours. To take back our city and call back the glory days. That’s right. Today, we’re stealing the Heirloom Seal of the Realm!”

  The Vespaio men roared their approval. The Berushka women cheered and clapped sarcastically. As for the outrealmers, they turned to each other with knowing nods, despite being completely out of the loop.

  Yeah, they’ll be dumping some lore, alright. Serac could still recall the words of her phantom tutor. SFERA is a lot of things, but never let it be accused of being well-written. I don’t even know what they’ve cooked up for you girls. It changes every season, but if you ask me, it’s all set dressing for the same old schtick.

  Up on the bow of the airship, the white-beard MIB lore-dumped with ruddy-faced gusto. Something about honor and heritage and family and a whole lot of hogwash that went into one of Serac’s ears and out the other. Indeed, she’d all but zoned out completely, until she heard…

  “—Aracnido Sect. And there it is! The Ninefold Fortress. The Aracnido’s den of villainy and deception, towering over SFERA as if they own the place.”

  Serac turned to Renna again, this time to exchange uneasy frowns.

  Aracnido Sect. Ninefold. Now, why did that sound so familiar? Was it part of the primer from her phantom tutor? But if it was, why couldn’t she recall a sardonic quote to go along with it?

  “Well, no more!” Oblivious to Serac’s consternation, the Vespaio flagbearer stuck to the script, now hitting the high notes of his speech. “Today, we crash the Aracnido’s den and ruin their party. Literally. Even now, we fly headfirst into the—”

  The man never got to finish his speech. In fact, he didn’t even get to keep his spot in front of the audience.

  The airship slowed precipitously, as if pushed back by some enormous invisible force. Or rather, tangled in something solid and elastic. Blue sky. Zooming clouds. And a giant spider web that appeared out of thin air, catching the airship in full before bouncing it back in the opposite direction!

  The orator was the first to go, flying off the bow and into the unseen distance. Many of the crew met the same fate. Those who survived—including Serac and Renna—did so by clinging onto bulwarks, masts, sails, and halyards for dear life.

  The ship managed to right itself, its engine cranking and rumbling for all it was worth. This translated to a second shock for the survivors, as they were thrown bodily back onto the deck.

  [31!]

  Lovely, Serac thought, even as she grimaced at the pain in her overstretched arms. Best to get my faceplant quota out of the way early.

  SFERA’s script rolled on, giving its players barely any time to enjoy some self-deprecating humor. The third faction now revealed themselves in the form of a lone boarder.

  A man—just the one—floated into the picture, hands folded neatly behind his back as though he might be out on a morning stroll. He then landed, ever so soft, on the bow of the ship where his Vespaio counterpart had stood a moment ago.

  The newcomer was dressed in a black robe: plain and unassuming save for a blood-red, hourglass-shaped marking across the chest. He was tall and powerfully built, the contours of his muscles visible through the fabric of his clothes. He wore a serene, almost gentle expression, eyes downcast as if in pensive thought. His copper skin looked—compared to Serac’s hell-forged cinnabar, at least—a little sallow and undercooked.

  Now, who the hell is this guy? Serac wondered. Only natural to do so. To her surprise, SFERA—or was it Pathsight?—answered with a busy yet informative label.

  [Designation: ZACARIAS BORGES-JUVENTUS]

  [Wayfarer Race: MANUSYA]

  [Karmic Level: 105]

  [Encounter Type: Raid Boss]

  [Bounty: $12,500,000]

  [ERUDITE Instrument: CRUCIBLE]

  [Auxiliary: THE NINEFOLD DAO]

  [Archetype: MELPOMENE—the Tragic]

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