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  I stepped over the rusty heap and walked up the stairs, sifting through whatever spells were still available. First, I activated True Vision in order to locate the guards the metamorph had posted outside. Then I activated the Haze of Invisibility and ran out into the inn's back yard.

  I was met by a line of golem crossbowmen facing the door. They loosed off their bolts at me — but a promptly cast Magic Wind blew the heavy projectiles out of my path.

  Attack Intensity: 100х5

  Defense: 750

  Attack has failed

  I responded by casting Diamond Sickle. The spell turned out to be surprisingly weak, only downing three of the four golems, the last one in the row only sliced halfway through.

  I was forced to attack the crossbowman with a trivial fireball. The blow threw him onto his back without dealing any damage at all. The golem wriggled on the ground, trying to scramble back to his feet. I grabbed the first thing my hand chanced on — a sledgehammer — and brought it down onto his enclosed helmet, again and again, until gearwheels from his pulverized head went flying all over the yard.

  An unbearable fatigue came over me. I dropped the suddenly too heavy sledgehammer and gulped a healing potion.

  Heath, +165/700

  Critical damage removed

  Penalties canceled

  My head cleared somewhat. The pain in my back subsided. I pulled the shirt off my inflamed shoulder. The mysterious symbols kept spreading over my skin.

  My XP continued to dwindle, rapidly approaching zero. And with it, all the months I'd spent in the game were going down the drain.

  My stat window now read,

  Status, Dark Wanderer

  Level, 44

  "I'll kill the bastard!" I growled, knowing perfectly well I couldn't kill him anymore.

  None of the higher magic was available to me now. I could only use the most primitive of spells. My weapon skills — both firearms and cold steel — began to deteriorate, too. One by one, my abilities and skills turned gray and unresponsive, then disappeared.

  Nevertheless, blood magic kept connecting me to the metamorph murderer. Which meant I could still bring the technical support experts to him. With the raven's death I couldn't contact them directly but every town here had post offices — the nearest one located right here in the city square.

  I hurried there, panting. By the time I reached it, I was seriously out of breath — something that hadn't happened to me since my first days in the game.

  I checked my stats again. My level had dropped to 35. Even the expiration of the fifteen-minute Shadow Mode penalty failed to cheer me up.

  * * *

  THE POST OFFICE was empty. The postmaster sat in his cubicle, looking utterly bored. The duty wizard was busy polishing his crystal ball with a cloth. A burly guard sat by the open window, munching peanuts.

  "How can I help you?" the postmaster flashed me a professional smile, ignoring my disheveled appearance.

  "I need to see the sorcerer," I told him as I walked past his cubicle, pointing at the crystal ball. "May I?"

  With a good-humored smile, the post wizard moved away from his communications artifact. But the moment my hand lay on the cold smooth crystal, his smile evaporated.

  A warning flashed in my mental view,

  Your social status has been changed!

  Your social status has been changed!

  Your social status has been changed!

  From now on, you're a stranger!

  You're an outcast!

  An enemy!

  I was an enemy! Every player's rightful prey and target! This was the system's way of marking cheaters and the most incorrigible PKs. But me?

  I didn't get the chance to answer my own question. The sorcerer's eyes flashed with a crimson fire. I dealt him a lethal chopping blow, burying his nose in his skull and resetting his Life bar to zero.

  Immediately I swung round, lashed out with a knife at the guard who'd finally left his position by the window, then hurried after the post master busy disappearing through the back door. I caught up with him and slammed his back with my hand, pounding him face into the wall.

  The post master went belly first onto the stonework, then slid to the ground. A translucent icon appeared over his head, reporting his Unconscious status.

  I heard suppressed wheezing behind my back. Steel rustled against leather.

  Attack: 45

  Dodge: 59

  Attack has failed

  I ducked to one side. The guard missed me, burying his sword into one of the desks instead. He was pressing his other hand to his slashed neck: the wound hadn't been lethal after all. Bug-eyed with fury, he lunged at me again. This time I didn't attempt to dodge his attack; instead, I parried it with a heavy stool, then gave him a good whack on the head with it.

  The guy dropped where he stood. I straddled him and stabbed his face, aiming for his eye, but missed and sliced through his temple instead. I stabbed him again, going for his neck this time.

  The guard wriggled, trying to shake me off, but I kept stabbing, the knife handle in my fingers slippery with blood. It took me a lot of fumbling and fighting to finally finish him off.

  I rose to my feet, covered in blood, and took a peek out of the window. One look was enough to know they wouldn't let me out of the city alive. The Enemy status was worse than a brand mark: every newb would feel obliged to hurl a fireball at me or take a musket shot at my back.

  Not so long ago, I could have stealthed up and left this place unnoticed, lurking in the shadows. But not now. Defeating the guard hadn't brought me any XP which kept dwindling rapidly; and with it, my combat skills disappeared one by one. In the meantime, the mysterious symbols kept spreading over my body, creeping from under my jacket sleeves onto my hands and wrists.

  Status, Wanderer

  Level, 29

  I glanced at the body at my feet, pressed my hand to the dead guard's chest and used one of the few remaining Illusion spells. The corpse self-immolated, turning into a charred skeleton. I nearly crumbled under the half-ton weight of the Second Skin spell popular with newb sorcerers and necromancers. The last of my mana began disappearing fast.

  Mana consumption: -1/sec

  Resisting fatigue, I left the post office and hurried out of town, hoping to clear its limits before the spell drained me of the last of my magic.

  I didn't make it. A bout of pain surged through me as I stole along a quiet side street. My borrowed guise quivered, dissolving into nothing. That wouldn't have been so bad but just ahead of me I could see a tavern and two identical-looking musketeers standing by the hitching post.

  Both were level 22 against my 20. I wasn't a Dark Wanderer any longer but a regular one. My magic abilities opened at level 21.

  My teeth ached with a bad premonition. Still, I kept walking, ignoring the suspiciously dark shadow enveloping its tall plank fence.

  I didn't need True Vision to identify a magic illusion. I was an expert at these kinds of things.

  "Do you need help?" one of the musketeers moved toward me. He was a mere twenty feet away from me.

  By then, I'd already come near the suspicious shadow.

  "Let me through," I said.

  "But-"

  I whipped out the broadsword and slashed at the illusion, burying the blade deep inside. Blood gushed onto the road, mixing with the dust. A young sorceress materialized from the shadows and dropped into the gutter, her collar bone bleeding. The nearest musketeer hurried to raise his flint pistol.

  I got to him first. A charmed diamond flashed in the ring on my left pinkie, releasing a fireball. It momentarily struggled, caught in the man's protective aura, then overcame its resistance and exploded in his face.

  Fireball (a single-use artifact): 444

  Shield of Odin: 399

  Defense has failed

  Damage: -45/355

  Additional effect: Stun/Blindness. Duration: 30 sec

  The guy pressed his hands to his eye, spinning in place. Anot
her musket clapped from the direction of the hitching post. The heavy ball kicked me in the chest, pushing me onto my back. Luckily, my Skin of Rock ability was still active. I got away with a few broken ribs.

  Damage: -125

  Skin of Rock: Damage absorption, +125

  Additional damage: critical damage to your ribs

  -45% penalty to Stamina, Agility and Reaction Times

  -50% penalty to damage dealt by two-handed slashing weapons

  I tried to breathe but couldn't. My chest was on fire. My head was bursting. I was obliged to use my last remaining healing potion.

  I gulped the bitter drink and rolled over to one side, placing the wounded musketeer between me and his partner.

  "John, move aside!" the second musketeer shouted, reaching for a flint pistol from his saddle holster.

  His wounded partner didn't seem to hear him. He must have been delirious with pain. This game was for real.

  Brandishing his pistol, the second musketeer dashed toward his friend. I was quicker though. I whipped out a pistol from behind the wounded guy's belt and shot his partner in the head. The heavy lead slug caused a critical hit, rending his skull apart. I changed my grip on the gun, stepped back and pistol-whipped John, smashing his temple.

  The guy dropped face down, sporting the Unconsciousness icon. His Health bar began to dwindle rapidly due to an internal bleeding.

  I threw the discharged pistol into the ditch, picked up the musket lying in the roadside dust and hurried toward the hitching post. I untethered the horse closest to me, climbed into the saddle and urged it hard, trying to put as much distance between me and the city guards as I could before they arrived to the sounds of the shooting.

  WHEN I CAME ROUND, I was lying face down across a forest trail.

  My face smarted, grazed during my fall from the horse. My broken nose was bleeding. My Horse Riding skill had deactivated in full gallop, throwing me off the horse.

  Status, Wanderer

  Level, 11

  Luckily, my steed hadn't gone far. There it was, grazing peacefully on the fresh grass. I picked up the short cavalry musket, walked over to the horse and pulled out the two pistols from the saddle holster, just in case. I pushed them under my belt, put my foot into the stirrup, scrambled onto the horse and gave it a light nudge with my knees.

  The horse trotted unhurriedly along the forest trail. For a while I rode unthinkingly until suddenly I sensed a sharp pull similar to that of a tightening fish line. This was the phantom cord connecting me to the murderer pulling at me again.

  The metamorph was here somewhere. Either he, or his discarded trophy.

  I climbed down the horse, very nearly collapsing in a heap on the ground. Musket at the ready, I traipsed through the forest until I came to a small hill. Once I climbed it, I saw a hunters' lodge which looked a carbon copy of the one which had started all this.

  Only this time, its owner was at home. A forest ranger sat on the porch, a pitchfork pinning him to the log wall. A pool of blood had formed at his feet. The air swarmed with flies.

  Neither the kidnapped boy nor the metamorph himself were around. Still, I knew they were inside. That's where the magic cord kept pulling me.

  I crept down the hill and stole toward the hut. Immediately the hairy bulk of a werewolf lunged at me from out of the bushes. My Accuracy had long been gone: I wasted a bullet which missed my opponent and split a thin young fir tree instead. The level-40 werewolf growled his triumph and went for me.

  The sapphire on my ring finger flashed and disintegrated, emitting a blinding white ray of light which hit the werewolf and paralyzed him, winning me a few precious seconds.

  Needle of a Witch (single-use artifact). Attack Intensity, 60

  Natural immunity, 41

  Your defense has failed. You've been paralyzed. Duration, 19 sec

  I didn't waste time. Pulling the suddenly heavy and unyielding sword out of its scabbard, I gripped it with both my hands and brought it down onto the monster's clawed paw the way an executioner aims his axe.

  The sharp blade clove through the bone with ease, the monster's black blood hissing on the Dwarven silver.

  Damage: 150/1050

  Critical damage

  -25% to Agility

  Regeneration: +5% Pt. Health/sec

  Additional damage from silver: -4 pt. Health/sec

  The severed limb dropped to the ground, the terrible wound emitting acidic smoke. I slashed at the creature's back leg but the sword blade barely brushed it so I had to attack him again. This time my sword lodged deep in the creature's joint. The charmed runes covering the blade began to glow, bright and fierce like the desert sun. I dealt a few more blows which completely exhausted me but at least I'd chopped through the mob's leg, leaving it hanging on a fine strip of skin.

  The werewolf collapsed to one side, gradually recovering from his stupor. He snapped his greedy jaws, barely missing me. I dodged his attack and darted for the hut. The wounded werewolf was no running match: he span in place, whimpering and clawing the ground with his two surviving feet.

  As I ran, my eye detected a faint shimmering haze hanging in the air. I stopped just in time and sent a quick query regarding the nature of this new anomaly. A box appeared in my mental view, reporting its damage numbers. It was over a thousand!

  Had I not stopped, it would have roasted me alive.

  The werewolf howled behind me. I had to activate the ring on my index finger. The magic neutralizer penetrated the charmed veil protecting the hut, smothering it until the shimmering haze flashed and exploded in a cascade of illusory glass fragments.

  Still, I couldn't get inside without help from some powerful sorcery artifacts. The web of black symbols had already spread over my body, creeping up from under my collar onto my face. I had virtually no XP left, turning into a useless newb by the minute.

  Status, Wanderer

  Level 7

  This was awful.

  I didn't want to turn into a newb! This drop from the heights of my superiority to the rock bottom of helplessness was just too much to bear.

  Now I wasn't even driven by the desire to save the kidnapped boy anymore. I just wanted to get to the hacker who'd had the audacity to destroy my character.

  When you have nothing to lose, you can become capable of anything, no matter how stupid. So I stepped inside without even considering the consequences.

  The hut turned out much bigger than it had looked from the outside. The boy lay spread-eagled at the center of the room, his wrists and ankles nailed to the floorboards with long steel spikes. A naked girl stood next to him, busy grinding the curved blade of a predatory-looking knife. She turned to the sound, raising a surprised eyebrow.

  You have a real timing problem, her voice rustled in my head. As if on cue, viscous black shadows began flowing from the room's corners toward me.

  Mental attack strength: 68

  Immunity to powers of Inferno: 13

  Immunity to hypnosis magic: 5

  Class bonus: 2

  Defense failed

  The shadows wrapped around my legs and began climbing higher, freezing my body motionless. My numb fingers dropped the sword. In one final effort, I managed to throw my left hand overhead, activating my last ring.

  The Fire of Holy Exorcism had 99 pt. Attack on it, destroying all the summoned demons and spirits. Its magic had already helped me out earlier back in the inn's cellar. Here too it did the trick, burning the shadows in its invisible glow and throwing the metamorph to the wall, contorting like a vampire impaled on a wooden stake.

  The problem was, the metamorph had failed to crumble to ashes as he was supposed to.

  He hadn't even lost his footing!

  Nor had he revealed his true face.

  The guise he was wearing had protected him from the spell's attack, although his dead eyes were now bleeding. The seams of his patchwork skin oozed claret.

  "What, is that it?" the creature snickered the moment my ring's ruby glow
died. "Whatcha gonna do now, newb? Are you gonna laugh me to death?"

  I was now level 1, the lowest in the game. I had no hope in hell of winning even the easiest of fights, luck or no luck. Still, when the metamorph finally released himself from the wall's grip, I didn't even think of fleeing. Instead, I pulled out my flint pistol.

  "What is it, lead?" his soft laughter rustled through the air. "Please. This isn't funny anymore."

  We stood barely twenty paces away from each other. The boy lying spread-eagled on the floor was even closer. At this range, a newb like myself had no chance of hitting a target. Still I drew in a slow deep breath like I did every time at the shooting range. In one smooth practiced motion I raised the pistol, pointed it at the boy's head and squeezed the trigger.

  Flint grated on steel, creating a cascade of sparks and igniting gunpowder in the priming pan. The shot resounded. In this brief moment the metamorph lunged into the ball's path trying to block it with his own body. He didn’t make it. The heavy ball of lead hit Alex on the head, dashing his brains everywhere and throwing him out of the game.

  "No!" the murderer yelled. "You bastard!"

  His body began to grow, expanding. Its delicate girly skin split open, exposing the flesh of a demon.

  "You're mine!" the monster croaked. "I'll have you wriggle at my feet for the rest of eternity, you worm!"

  This I could believe. Trust this hacker to imprison me in virtual reality. He had all the power he needed to prevent me from returning to my human body.

  Oh yes, I believed him all right. Which was why the moment he reached his ugly claws out to me, I whipped out the other pistol and pressed the barrel to my chin.

  The sound of flint against steel, the flash of igniting gunpowder. The brief moment as I awaited death.