Trojan: An Epic LitRPG Adventure (Afterlife Online Book 3) Read online

  TROJAN

  AFTERLIFE ONLINE

  BOOK THREE

  Domino Finn

  Copyright © 2018 by Domino Finn. All rights reserved.

  Published by Blood & Treasure, Los Angeles

  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to reality is coincidental. This book represents the hard work of the author; please reproduce responsibly.

  Cover Typography by James T. Egan of Bookfly Design LLC.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-946-00883-1

  DominoFinn.com

  Also by Domino Finn

  AFTERLIFE ONLINE

  Reboot

  Black Hat

  Trojan

  BLACK MAGIC OUTLAW

  Dead Man

  Shadow Play

  Heart Strings

  Powder Trade

  Fire Water

  Death March

  SHADE CITY

  SYCAMORE MOON

  The Seventh Sons

  The Blood of Brothers

  The Green Children

  -- Cutscene --

  In the beginning, there was nothing.

  Working out of his garage, Christian Everett barely had enough capital to keep the lights on. But home brew was where his heart was. He powered through those sparse days until he gained the mastery to separate the light from the darkness.

  He was the first to pioneer extra-virtual reality: a complex simulation that skipped headsets and could only be interfaced through brainwaves. EVR would be the next evolution in personal entertainment.

  But the technology represented more than a game. His investors pushed to model real-life experiences—virtual stadium attendance for concerts and sports. Those applications missed the greater picture. Those sims would be subservient to the real world. If the sim was perfect enough, it could transcend it.

  This wasn't entertainment; it was evolution.

  Many would later call Christian Everett an inspired genius. This was true, but his inspiration was more straightforward than many realized: a life fraught with tragedy. His wife died during the birth of their second child. Both kids grew infirm at a young age and were permanently relegated to a hospice. Christian, it seemed, was destined to be alone. All that was left was his work, and he intended to use it to build a better world. One where families didn't have to suffer. It was a noble, selfish dream.

  Which is why it surprised absolutely everybody when Christian Everett sold off his entire stake in EVR and opened a casual games company.

  Now a self-funded billionaire, he set off to grow a rapacious empire. Instead of hiring talent, he absorbed it. From China to Europe and the Americas, he acquired company after company under his fold. Kablammy Games was meant to explode the status quo. It was fruitful and multiplied. Record profits thrust the corporation into the limelight of the tech world.

  But their intellectual property was a letdown after the CEO's vaunted beginnings. Quick-and-dirty apps on mobile and social media became the new evolution. To many, gamification seemed a backward step.

  For Christian, it was an intermediate one. A missing link. The games weren't important, the connectivity was. Mobile was about people. Social was about data. And throughout the boom and bust of motion and 3D and VR and the next big gaming fads, he had his greatest talent working on a secret project: a new sim that would leave EVR in the dust.

  It wasn't easy going. Things being cyclical, the gifted genius returned to his old ways. He isolated himself. Spent without fear of consequence. Kablammy's shine faded in the public eye. Survive long enough and even heroes become villains. The cause of the industry's ills. Breakthroughs occurred behind the scenes, progress was met with delays; years passed, ideas stagnated.

  Although Christian had long been removed from his family, he never lost faith. They were, after all, his inspiration. They were what drove him to create a new world.

  As an idealist, Christian often ignored the harsh realities that obstructed his grand vision. It was nearly too late when he first learned of the threat to his work, to the greatest dream he had ever known: to one day see Haven go gold.

  1070 Tapper

  I burped loudly. The thick aroma of oatmeal coffee stout wafted up my throat and filled my sinuses.

  "Whoa," I said a bit shakily. "That's some heavy stuff."

  Kyle beamed as he leaned on the bar. "I know, right? It's a brand new recipe that doesn't take prisoners. I figured I'd name it Black Hat Brew, after everything we've accomplished here."

  I blinked away the suds, trying to keep a straight face. Kyle was the brewmaster, after all, and this was a reverent moment for him. I didn't want to infringe on his choice of flagship brew. Besides, there was nothing wrong with being rough around the edges. It sort of defined us. I turned to Izzy on the barstool beside me.

  "It's good," she said with a shrug. "It's not subtle, but it's good."

  Warmth spread through me as I surveyed our fledgling guildhall. It was a simple pub with classic accents: mahogany counters, tin ceiling tiles, wrought-iron sconces. I could no longer contain my grin. It wasn't just the beer. It had been a pleasurable month.

  You might be surprised due to my rocky early days, but living in a digital-reality afterlife didn't entail world-ending threats every day.

  Four weeks had passed since we'd exiled the corrupt bishop and his catechists from Stronghold, and while we'd participated in small-scale quest events and raids, and had trouble with the aforementioned catechists, life within these stone walls had been peaceful.

  Much of my focus had turned to my new faction, the Black Hats. And that meant spending a lot of time planning—and dreaming—with my two favorite people in Haven.

  Kyle hadn't been his usual frat-boy slacker self. With the erecting of the new guildhall, he'd been given not only a purpose, but the fame that came with fulfilling it.

  The purple girl with the dragonfly wings? Well, she was my rock. Izzy was toughness and smarts rolled into a snark burrito. Well, a taquito, at least. But there was no way I could've strategized everything without her. Even when it came to her input on beer.

  Hey, I didn't say it was all hard work.

  "Have you boys figured out what you want to name the place yet?" asked Izzy.

  I shrugged. "I dunno. We could keep it traditional: Haven Public House."

  "Or lounge chic," suggested Kyle. His hand reverently caressed the air. "Aroma."

  Izzy winced. "What about something hipster nouveau, like Water & Wheat?"

  "Too pretentious," said Kyle. "We need something cool but simple."

  "Something purposeful," I added. "I want this place to mean something."

  Kyle nodded. "We have plenty of time to figure it out, bros. For now I'm focusing on the substance."

  Izzy smirked. "You mean the suds."

  We clinked glasses and enjoyed another pull. "There's more than beer though," said Kyle from his bartending perch. "As Stronghold's public house to end all public houses, I'm setting up grub specials."

  "Cook?" Izzy arched a skeptical brow. "What do you know about cooking? I doubt you can recite the ingredients of a grilled cheese."

  The brewmaster took the sarcasm in stride. "Not true at all. I already have a preliminary menu laid out. Pepperoni pizza, Philly steak and cheese, meatballs and mozzarella, chicken broccoli and cheddar—"

  "Wait. Those sound like Hot Pocket flavors."

  He hiked a shoulder. "I thought that was clear. What do you expect? I'm not Gordon Ramses."

  "Ramsay," I corrected. "He's a celebrity chef, not one of the greatest pharaohs of ancient Egypt."

  Kyle furrowed hi
s brow. "Whatever. If Ramses was so great, how come he didn't host his own reality show?" He turned to Izzy. "And everybody likes Hot Pockets. They're headlining the menu alongside Totino's Pizza Rolls."

  Izzy puffed out her cheeks and gagged. "And on that note, I think I need some fresh air before I hurl." She set down her half-full beer and stood. "Beer and junk food. All this place needs is a stream of Saturday-morning cartoons and it would be nostalgia Heaven."

  She'd meant the comment as a jab, but Kyle and I put our heads together in weighty contemplation.

  Izzy rolled her eyes. "Just don't forget to do your rounds, boys." We barely acknowledged her as she headed out.

  The brewmaster picked at the countertop and jutted his lips out. "So... GI Joe?"

  "I was thinking Transformers, Batman, and a heavy dose of Gargoyles, but I'm flexible."

  His hands boomed together in a single clap. "Awesome! I'll get—"

  A muffled explosion rocked the back wall. Kyle spun around as smoke seeped from under the kitchen door.

  I scratched my cheek. "Um, is that a normal step in the beer-making process?"

  "Oh, crap. I was supposed to check the boil." He scurried to the backroom brewhouse.

  I sighed and took another swig of beer. The stuff grew on you. I imagined a day, not far off, when the guildhall would be bustling with lively characters and heated opinions. The pleasing thought distracted me, but only for a moment. I jerked around as I detected someone's silent approach.

  "Sorry," said the man, hands raised. "Didn't mean to startle you. I have a habit of walking quietly." He was dressed in simple leathers and wore a hood. The green name above the player's head read [Poe]. His eyes scanned the empty bar as he set his heavy bag on the counter. "Did I just miss the bartender, or is this joint not open yet?"

  "It's a soft opening," I explained. "The grand opening's in four nights. But you're free to have a drink."

  He sighed in relief. "Music to my ears. I could really use one." He rapped the countertop with light fingers and huffed as he waited on Kyle.

  "You're not a Black Hat," I noted.

  "No, but they're why I'm here."

  "Yeah? Thinking of joining?"

  "It's always a possibility, but that's jumping the gun. I'm here to see what they're about first." He scanned the empty bar. "I'll tell you this: I like what they've done with the place."

  I chuckled. He didn't know who I was. Either he didn't recognize the name Talon, hadn't bothered to check it, or was really focused on getting that beer.

  "Look," I said, "the bartender's dealing with a minor opening issue and we don't have the taps set up yet. But if you like you can preview our flagship stout." I pointed to Izzy's glass. "If you don't mind a gently used glass."

  "I should've known. You work here." Hungry eyes landed on the drink. "Thanks for the gesture, friend." He downed the mug in several gulps.

  I chuckled magnanimously. "I don't just work here, you know. I'm—"

  I didn't have time to complete my humble-brag because Poe slammed the empty mug on the top of my head.

  1080 Modern Warfare

  Glass fragments compacted against my skull and spilled to the wood like a jumble of marbles. I hit the floor more like a toppled refrigerator.

  Ambush!

  67 damage

  Stun!

  You are stunned. You may not use skills, move, or attack for 20 seconds.

  I blinked stupidly. Poe stood over me flaunting a vicious smile. His class info filled in beside his name: [Level 7 Assassin].

  "I know who you are," he spat. "Like I said, it's why I'm here." He slipped a dagger from his cloak and checked the area. The weapon was distinctly skinny, built like a rapier from hilt to tip, but much shorter. "Don't worry, that first hit was just to pacify you. This second one's the killing blow, and it won't hurt one bit."

  I struggled against the crippling status effect. Despite being locked out of movement and attacks, I could flubber around on the floor and shield my face. "Kyle!" I screamed.

  Poe chortled darkly, leaned in, and slipped his blade clear through my chest.

  Critical Hit!

  191 damage

  I writhed in pure agony. Talk about a killing blow, except it hadn't actually finished the job. I was still alive, with 3 health left, and I fucking hurt.

  The assassin pulled the needle free with a curious expression. "I'm impressed," he said without sarcasm. "An explorer class with that much health. You must've invested a lot into your strength attribute. Then again, I might have just underestimated your level-9 stats."

  I growled fiercely, attempting to fend him off with spite alone. But Poe's 20 seconds were up. As his blade came at me again, I triggered my dash skill from a sitting position and skidded across the tavern floor. Even when the traversal boost ended, I continued the momentum with a lunge and a somersault—right through the front door.

  Sunlight surged over me, blinding me for a brief moment, but it was enough time to produce a flask of red liquid and chug it down. My health bar smoothly refilled.

  Poe sighed from the doorway. "You're gonna make me work for my money, aren't you?"

  The dragonspear blinked in my grip and I snarled. "No, I'm gonna make you eat your own dagger." I flipped to my feet ready to defend myself. Poe slipped back into the bar.

  I pounced forward with a vicious swipe, making sure the stranger couldn't get an easy shot at me as I entered. My breath stopped short; I stared at an empty interior.

  "You've got tricks," I said dismissively.

  A quick peek at my health showed it max out at 261. The red stuff was invaluable, but it could only be used once a day. I'd need to watch my back or I'd be in a world of pain.

  I took measured steps through the tavern. "Assassino!" I called out, looking for signs of movement. "You working for the catechists? Is this revenge for Bishop Tannen?"

  No one answered. Poe was still around, though. He'd already revealed his motivation for being here. He couldn't leave without his payday. I scanned the shadows. It was daytime and there was enough light in here that my darkvision was useless.

  "You rigged the boiler in the back to blow, didn't you?" Quiet. "Kyle?" I called out. "You back there?"

  No answer again.

  Oh shit.

  Kyle.

  I set my boot to rush to the brewery when a flash glimmered at my side.

  Backstab!

  77 damage

  I punched the spear straight back and spun. Nothing. I fought off a grimace. Missing the assassin wasn't a big deal, but the fact that he was still invisible was. Poe had somehow successfully backstabbed and still managed to slink back into the shadows. It was my turn to be impressed.

  I swiped the air horizontally, testing the surroundings with my superior reach. It was a good disappearing act, but it didn't make him invincible. I was willing to bet I could take out a good chunk of his health. If only I could find him.

  The brewmaster emerged from the kitchen. "Dude, were you tinkering with my suds?"

  My head snapped to him. "Assassin," I chirped.

  Kyle frowned. "I don't have an assassin beer, but I like the sound of it." He splayed a hand across his field of view as if presenting a new product line. "Assassin IPA. When you're in the mood for killer hops."

  "No, Kyle, I mean—"

  My body went to full alarm. The last time Poe struck I'd been distracted by Kyle, and here I was again. Out of position, out of time. Without giving the strategy ample thought, I activated crossblock and tornado spin together for a combo. My body rotated in quick circles as the dragonspear slashed anything within two yards.

  And my weapon found the assassin.

  You dealt 17 damage to [Poe]

  He grunted and hopped backward.

  Skill Evolution!

  You learned Spinshield

  Whoa. It wasn't a lot of damage, but I'd just given a nerfed skill new life. The spin had covered all angles of attack and had rebuffed the backstab. Even better, Poe was no lon
ger hidden.

  Kyle furrowed his brow. "Who's your friend? Is he the one who came up with the new beer idea?"

  "ASSASSIN!" I screamed.

  Kyle straightened and shouldered his crossbow. Poe flung a throwing knife from his belt. Instead of targeting Kyle he hit the heavy bag he left on the bar. It exploded in a flash of teal light. Some kind of spectral net engulfed my roommate. He fell to the floor struggling against it.

  Poe lunged at me next. With him out in the open, I was ready for it. I crossblocked and fended him off with my spear. Then I followed it up with a deadshot to his chest.

  Combo!

  You dealt 87 damage to [Poe]

  He tumbled to his back.

  "Who sent you?" I demanded.

  "A good contractor never tells, but I don't come cheap."

  "Whatever they're paying, it's not worth it."

  He scoffed. "It's not about money in my pocket; it's about taking it outta yours." He was referring to the death penalty. It would mean 25% of my ample silver, down the drain. "And it's about making a statement. What kind of faction leader gets killed in their own guildhall?"

  I gripped the spear tight. "Not this kind."

  This time when I triggered dash, I used it offensively. He gulped a health potion as I skidded along the wood floor like a rocket.

  Impale!

  You dealt 65 damage to [Poe]

  I had him straight through the belly. He drove toward me anyway and stuck me with his knife. I twisted away but he yanked it out and popped it back in.

  "Goblin lover!" he spat through bloody teeth.

  I should've just dropped the dragonspear attaching Poe to me, but it was a legendary weapon and I didn't like conceding it that easily. Instead I hefted it, and him, into the air.