Бесплатный фрагмент - Algoritm of oblivion

I. Prologue

Max stepped out onto the porch, leaving the guests to their revelry inside the house.

It was his birthday — he was turning fifteen. But this celebration served only as a sharp reminder of the tragedy.

Five years ago, on this very day, his father had died.

He was supposed to arrive that day, for the first time in ages since his parents’ divorce. But the car, operating on autopilot, veered off the highway, breached the barrier, and plunged into the bay.

Ever since, Max had loathed every birthday. Yet, every year, around the time his father was due to arrive, something compelled him to step outside and wait… Wait for what? For his father to miraculously spring back to life and drive up? He didn’t know himself.

Max settled into the wicker chair on the veranda, propping his cheek against his palm, and stared aimlessly at the darkening evening sky.

The last rays of the setting sun were fading beyond the horizon, painting the heavens in hues of orange and violet.

The quiet suburb sank into twilight, and the air filled with the sharp scent of ozone, signaling an approaching storm. Time seemed to stretch out endlessly.

Suddenly, from around the corner of the neighboring house, a brightly painted delivery truck appeared, inadvertently drawing his gaze.

It was an old, rust-eaten van, blue in color, angular with sharp body lines, clearly built long before the age of high technology, resembling a drawing from an anime more than an actual vehicle.

“What a charming piece of retro,” Max mused to himself, “Looks like someone decided to transport grandma’s piano. Or whatever else they ship using such a prehistoric method.”

The vehicle’s round headlights, resembling eyes, seemed to look upon the world with an unconcealed weariness, making the truck look like a living, unfortunate creature.

In stark contrast to the standard, brightly polished, egg-yolk yellow autonomous delivery trucks used for ferrying most cargo through the city, this one was piloted by a man.

And he stopped the vehicle right in front of Max’s house, even though the delivery manifest for the day was empty — everything needed for the party had arrived yesterday, and those invited had either offered their congratulations in person or sent their gifts ahead of time.

A sturdy man in a rumpled jacket climbed out of the cab. His face was weathered and lined, seemingly forever marked by the imprint of hard labour.

Ascending onto the porch, he addressed the teenager: “Hey kid, you know if a certain Maxim Gromov lives here?” “Yes, that’s me,” the boy replied.

Max intensely disliked conversing with strangers and thus felt instantly guarded.

“Then this is for you.” The courier decisively extended a small cardboard box and a tablet for a signature.

Max mechanically took the box. It was light, but the packaging was immaculate, as if something truly valuable was concealed inside.

The packaging bore the logo of the company ‘Dream’—that very company whose intrusive advertising, encountered everywhere — on vehicles, billboards, stickers, and in the subway — promised an escape from reality and complete oblivion in the most realistic VR MMO game of the modern age, one of which Max’s father had once co-authored.

“And inside this box is the immersion device for VR?” Max thought.

“Who is this from?” he asked, feeling as if he stood on the threshold of something momentous, precisely like a character in a novel plot about to unfold.

“Don’t know,” the courier dismissed, “there’s a note.” He gestured towards a small white envelope, then turned and headed back toward his van.

‘Who on earth could have sent this?’ A cascade of possibilities flashed through Max’s mind: ‘Relatives? No, they would have warned me. Friends? Maybe someone who came to the party today? Also unlikely; they would have handed the gift over personally, not just sent a box.

‘Max impatiently tore the envelope open. On his palm lay a note with the laconic inscription:

“See you in the dream.” Signed: “Grimnir.”

Max’s heart began to pound faster, and tears unexpectedly welled up at the corners of his eyes.

“Grimnir”… He knew that name. His father frequently used it online and elsewhere. It was also the username of his character in the very VR game his father had created.

The Hermit, level 32, a hero who had deliberately sided with the darkness.

One of the lead developers of “Dream,” branded a traitor by the company — that’s what they had said back then. He had hidden the game’s key artifact, the one that allowed the alteration of core game rules, deep within the most inaccessible location.

His story was known to everyone familiar with VR technology, or even those who had just heard whispers of it.

But his father could not possibly have sent him this box.

This gift felt like a message from another world, from a past he was desperately trying to forget, but which, it seemed, refused to let him go.

“Wait!” Max shot up from the chair. “Who gave this to you? Who was the sender? Can I know?”

But the truck had already pulled away, obeying the driver’s will, moving along its route, leaving Max without answers, burdened only by endless questions that, like all mysteries, tended to accumulate over time, settling like dust under a bed. The primary one burning loudest was: “How could his father possibly send him this message from beyond the grave?”

II. CITADEL OF DARKNESS

Five years prior…

The sun, dazzlingly bright earlier in this desolate location of the virtual world, was already beginning to set, staining the sky in vibrant reds and oranges. Over the battlefield, where thousands of players representing the Light and Dark factions clashed, hung a thick veil of smoke and dust.

The ground beneath their feet was fissured and saturated with blood, strewn with the wreckage of torn banners and the bodies of fallen comrades. Amidst this chaos, a distinct line of defense was visible — the great Bastion of Darkness, an imposing, unconquerable cliff face of fortress walls surrounding the city, which was besieged by an endless army of the Light.

The Dark forces resisted fiercely. The air was pierced by bolts and arrows, resembling swarms of enraged hornets, flying toward both the players and the AI-controlled characters they commanded.

Humans and Orcs fought side by side, having forgotten their ancient feuds for the sake of battling the true evil. Their swords and axes savagely cleaved through the Dark faction members who chose not to remain behind the fortress walls but advanced into the open field to engage in battle. They fought against legions of Dwarves encased in armor, invulnerable as stone, conceding not an inch of ground as if their feet had taken root. Giant demons, summoned by Warlocks from the rearguard of the dark forces, hurled fireballs at the advancing host. The curses of the High Witches withered warriors in mere seconds. Against them, the empire’s best mages chanted spells, invoking the elements. Flashes of lightning, gales of stormy wind, and gravitational waves shook the battlefield, claiming new lives with every pulse.

Above them, invulnerable and unreachable like specters, soared the Elven Eagles, blinding their foes with sharp talons, tearing warriors from the thick of the fight and ripping them to shreds in the air with their razor-sharp beaks. Their riders, the finest of Elven archers, relentlessly struck down enemies with their arrows, scanning the crowd for commanders and standard-bearers.

At the heart of the battle, moving like the wind, flew the Emperor of the Light Warriors atop a giant Gryphon. His golden armor shimmered in the rays of the setting sun, like a beacon of hope in the overwhelming darkness. He held a sword in his hand, blazing with holy fire, causing demons to retreat and flee in terror. His face showed a resolute determination to see things through, mixed with the bitterness for the irreplaceable losses of the NPC Light Warriors who, having entered the battle by his command, would never see the next sunrise. Yet, he knew the fate of this entire game world depended on the outcome of this fight.

A roar. It drowned out the noise of the battle, pierced the heavens, shattered the earth, and made even the strongest walls tremble. This was not just the roar of a beast, but the very embodiment of rage — the Black Dragon, a colossal shadow that eclipsed the setting sun above the bastion of darkness. With its flame, it incinerated entire squads. Its scales, like obsidian, absorbed the last rays of the day, turning into blazing lava when struck by catapult projectiles and bursts of Light magic. Its rider, the Demon King, seemed but a mere pinpoint against the vast silhouette in the sunset sky.

However, despite their incredible personal power and the potential for an aerial duel, the leaders of the Light and Dark forces — the Emperor of Light on his white Gryphon and the Demon Lord astride the Black Dragon — were in no hurry to engage in personal confrontation.

Igor. Bard, Level 27. A regular at the themed bar. Believes that virtual worlds in ‘Dream’ can actually kill players.

“Alright, you bought me a couple more beers, so lean in and listen close. Imagine I’m some seasoned bard at a campfire telling you this tale.

I arrived late, probably after all the top-tier players. Truth be told, I just slept through the start. When I finally logged in, the sun, dull as the eye of a dying giant, was already sinking toward the horizon, painting everything crimson and orange. The warriors were fighting knee-deep in mud and blood, ready to collapse right there just for a moment’s respite, risking being trampled by their own comrades. The sky looked like a piece of torn, blood-stained fabric from the sunset, darkening, signaling that today, it was over. Neither side would claim victory. All around were the cries of the wounded and the bellows of warriors fighting at their absolute limit. You could feel the stench of artificial sweat and rancid oil from thousands of bodies creeping into your nostrils. It made you want to drop everything, turn around, and flee that place.

But down there, lying beneath us, was that medieval city, the citadel of darkness — as coveted by our clan leaders as a lollipop for a child. I’d call it the citadel of monotony, frankly. The stone walls looked as if they’d been violently wrenched from beneath the earth: black, cracked, like the skin of a leper. And what emanated from them wasn’t darkness, but a cheap, worn-out concept of the Light versus Dark conflict.

And set against that backdrop, you see, stood that damned Alex. The Emperor of Light, or whatever they called him… a hero, for crap’s sake. He was perched on his Gryphon like some gaudy ornament on a Christmas tree, all snowy white and gleaming as if he were filming an advertisement for toothpaste. He was the personification of cliché, you understand? A cardboard hero. And his eyes… there was no pain in them, no doubt, nothing human. Just a dull, meaningless determination, like a raving lunatic.”

And this so-called hero had gathered a whole army of freaks. The Elves, sure, they’re graceful, but behind their backs are probably some fat basement-dwellers chowing down on chips. The Orcs are just pure trash — sweaty, stinking, ugly — I don’t know who even plays them, but hey, they’ve got massive two-handed axes, which is probably cool. And the Humans, as always, are the mediocre ones, grey and dull as the stones paving the streets of this dark city.

And they’re all like possessed maniacs, charging this citadel, screaming at the top of their lungs, waving their pieces of scrap metal, thinking they’re making history. But essentially, they’re just grown-ups playing childish games, and they don’t even feel disgusting about themselves.

And out of the city constantly pour out the same ugly mugs, only dressed in black. The Dwarves there also have axes, but small ones; the Goblins carry knives, and then there are the grim Dark Knights — supposedly the coolest — but if you look closely, you see the exact same generic models as everyone else, both Light and Dark. And so they hack away like madmen, and everywhere, this fake blood is splashing around. It looks like someone just dumped cherry syrup on the pavement.

Above them, like vultures, circle the Dragon and the Eagles; the sea battle is pure epic, too. Storms, cannon fire, battering rams hitting the galleys, and boarding parties engaging. Death is flying everywhere.

But that Alex, on his Gryphon, he’s rocketing right into the inferno. Fighting, slashing everyone left and right. Who fights like that? It’s not realistic! Commanders should be commanding, not wading into the fray. No one would believe that.

The one thing he isn’t doing is even attempting to draw out the Dark Leader and end this whole thing, even though he could. He could at least try. But he just keeps hacking at mobs.

By the sea, at the foot of the cliffs, an equally fierce battle raged. Mighty ships of the sea people, with tall masts and blue sails, fought fiercely against dark galleys filled with demonic creatures. Sirens, beautiful and deadly, sang their mesmerizing songs, driving the sailors to throw themselves into the abyss.

Standing on the shore, a giant, in a desperate attempt to hold back the advancing fleet, turned toward the sea and hurled a boulder onto the deck of one of the ships. The frigate exploded into fragments, but this could not prevent the rest of the assault from landing on the coast. Short warriors wielding long, curved swords and wearing straw hats rushed forward to aid the orcs and men, distracting the demons from themselves.

The battle raged on all fronts — sky, land, and sea engulfed in the flames of war. It was not merely a clash of armies; it was a fight for the very essence of this world, for the right of light to dominate and the right of darkness to exist, balancing order with the madness of chaos.

Every warrior — elf, human, or orc — knew that this battle might be their last.

Bards will one day sing of this battle. It will be a song of will — of hope and despair — a song that will echo in the hearts of all who fought on this battlefield, a song that will forever remember and tell of the great confrontation between light and darkness.

And then, just when it seemed that a fragile equilibrium had settled over the battlefield, the unimaginable happened.

The enormous gates of the Fortress of Darkness, previously impregnable, creaked open. Inside, a void yawned like the maw of a monster, ready to devour all living things.

For a moment, confusion reigned among the attacking ranks. This was not supposed to happen. It was not part of the plan.

But the confusion was swiftly replaced by a battle cry. The emperor swung his sword, signaling the path deeper into the city.

And the battle, which until recently raged near the walls, suddenly burst forth onto the streets of the Stronghold with relentless force. No clear front lines remained; fighting was now for every house, every alley. This was a clash in the very heart of darkness — a final struggle for peace.

Eyewitness recollections.

Milfhanter, 38. Professional game reviewer.

OMG! That was simply… EPIC FAIL! I’ve never seen anything like it! Imagine you’re in the thick of a fierce raid, during the most epic siege of the final boss — the Dark Stronghold — and then everything just shatters, as if someone cut the server cable!

At first, it went as usual, basically. The forces of light pushing forward, smashing mobs, laying waste to gnomes and witches — I was right there in the front lines, of course — and then… surprise! The gates open themselves! Just like that! I was stunned: “WTF?! Did the trigger just activate?!” Nobody saw that coming, honestly.

But, as they say, go-go-go! We stormed inside, and it was pure hell! The roof was collapsing, rocks flying, and everywhere, as if from a cornucopia, icy spells and fiery balls rained down. The monsters seemed to have spiraled out of control! But we kept pushing! Through the horde, we fought our way to the very heart — the final boss — and there…

The hordes of light, like predatory beasts, lunged forward without mercy. The Emperor on his griffin, like a war god, led them into attack; his sword burned demons and witches as if wielded by a fiery scourge. Elves and orcs, united in their hatred of darkness, overwhelmed the resistance of gnomes and giants. The sea-men, with their long blades, desperately cut down summoned creatures in narrow alleys. The eagles, having no other aim, swooped onto the black dragon, forcing the demon lord to abandon the battlefield.

Despite fierce resistance, the forces of darkness gradually retreated, pushed back toward the city center and their last stronghold — the Castle of Darkness. A grim, cyclopean fortress built from black stone, rising from the very abyss. It loomed over the city like an ominous lighthouse, a grim reminder of the former power of the dark forces.

Slowly, fighting every step of the way, the city’s last defenders — witches, demons, gnomes, and a few remaining giants — began to slip through narrow passages leading to the castle. Their faces were covered in soot and blood; their eyes burned with despair, but their movements betrayed resolve. They covered the retreat of civilians — those who could not fight: women, the elderly, and children. And the dark forces weren’t the caricature villains; they had families too. Not everyone among them was a warrior. Their city had lived its usual life before the attack of the light.

The Emperor of Light, noticing the retreat, ordered a renewed push, hoping to finally crush the resistance of the dark forces. However, the warriors of light faced fierce, almost suicidal resistance from the last defenders, who fought on despite knowing that their inevitable doom was at hand.

When the last of the retreating dark forces crossed the threshold of the castle, the massive gates thundered shut behind them. The defenders, realizing there was no way back, began barricading them from the inside, dooming themselves to certain death. The Emperor, filled with rage and fury, ordered an assault on the castle, though he knew it would be a long and bloody battle.

Imperial scouts reported that civilians, shielded by the retreating troops, were slipping away through a vast network of tunnels beneath the city. An ancient passage leading toward the mountains and deeper into the dark lands — a route the city’s defenders decided to use in their final hour.

Trapped within the castle, the last defenders of the Dark Stronghold understood they were doomed, yet they prepared to make a desperate stand — to buy time for their fellow citizens. Their sacrifice would be paid with their lives, but they knew it was the only way to save at least some of their people.

Eyewitness Memories

Igor. Regular at a themed tavern. Bard level 27.

Alright, let’s rewind this crazy tape. The battle is over. Well, kind of — one pile of pixels toppled another, and now, on the battlefield’s remains, only stench and virtual blood linger. The Empire, the one called the Golden Gryphon, has won. Although, if that can even be called a victory. It’s just that the White Side has fewer corpses than the ones in black. Though casualties on both sides are simply immense. On the field before the city and on the streets leading to the castle, there’s nowhere to set a foot — everything is covered with bodies of the dark and light alike, tangled in a grotesque mosaic. Now, it’s impossible to tell who’s where.

But at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter — someone always wins, and someone falls. All of this is just a farce, a game. When you shut off VR, all this disappears.

And here, the last remnants of the defenders, like cornered rats, hide within this temple. I don’t know what they’re thinking in there. Probably, they believe that gods will protect them, or some other nonsense. They cover the retreat of those who didn’t make it to become fertilizer, but where are they retreating to? Pixels?

In the chaos of battle, where screams of the wounded clash with the grind of metal, the roar of dragons, echoes of street fights, and the thunder of strikes on sealed castle gates — where the air smells of gunpowder, blood, and magic — a figure appeared against the backdrop of the battlefield noise. On the wall of the Dark Castle, stood a tall figure dressed in black armor, wearing a helmet adorned with horns, face twisted with rage and contempt. That was Lord of Darkness, Grimnir, the last mighty ruler of the dark realm. In hand, he wielded an ancient staff from which dark, thick energy flowed.

Suddenly, high above the castle walls, hovered the Light Emperor on his griffin. And this was no NPC — but one of the most experienced and powerful players, whose name echoed across worlds of virtual reality created by Dream.

Alex, holding his fiery sword, brought the griffin to a stop. His voice, amplified by magic, cut through the tumult:

— Grimnir! I demand you cease this senseless resistance! Surrender the Book of Destiny and surrender now! Your army is broken, your city fallen!

Grimnir chuckled, a bitter, piercing laughter that echoed through the smokey, fire-scorched streets:

— Alex, you still haven’t understood! This world is built on the law of balance, and neither side can achieve ultimate victory! — he bellowed, hatred and contempt filling his voice. — You think you can command me? You and your pathetic allies are nothing but virtual ghosts, marionettes in the hands of the corporation eager to seize the Book! It will never be yours! The blood of my warriors will stain these stones, but the Book will remain untouchable!

— You know this is pointless, — Alex answered calmly, his gaze unwavering. — Your forces are broken, you are doomed. Moreover, you don’t realize the danger the Book poses in your hands. A single person cannot wield power to change worlds at will; it’s an temptation impossible to resist. Hand it over to me, and transfer your shares to the board of directors, and I guarantee you and the remnants of your army a safe retreat through our lines.

Grimnir sharply swung his staff, made from the bones of an ancient dragon, and black tentacles erupted from the ground like writhing snakes, attempting to seize the griffin and throw the rider.

— Your promises are lies forged from hypocrisy, like the loyalty of your army to true ideals of the light warriors! — Grimnir spat. — The Blood of the dark will pour until the last drop, defending this city, but I will never give you the Book of Destiny. Better that it burn in flames, turn to ash and dust, than fall into your hands!

The griffin roared, flapping its wings fiercely, evading another attack from the dark tentacles. Alex, never taking his eyes off Grimnir, raised his sword, wrapped in shining flames:

— Then all that’s left for you is defeat. And you know it well, Grimnir. Your pride has blinded you, and you refuse to see the obvious.

— Every defeat contains a seed of future victory! — Grimnir roared, his eyes blazing with madness. — And even if I fall, darkness will rise again!

A tense silence settled, like a storm on the verge of breaking. Alex and Grimnir faced each other, embodying the eternal struggle of light and darkness, good and evil — with the fate of not only the virtual world but possibly all reality hanging in the balance, dependent on the equilibrium of forces in Dream World. The wind howled, tearing through cloaks and banners, as the sense of an impending climax grew.

With a wild cry, Grimnir swung his staff, summoning a fiery barrier of flames into the sky, blocking himself from the legion of light. He plunged into the depths of the castle with a desperate, mad scream. Alex, with a heavy sigh, realized that further negotiations were pointless — wasted time that could cost his soldiers’ lives. He signaled to his troops, raising his sword high, and the assault on the castle resumed with renewed force, with unprecedented savagery. Gates, reinforced with magic and steel, were battered down by mighty rams, and the army of light surged inward, like a furious river.

Despite fierce resistance, the forces of light, led by the rushing Emperor wielding his flaming sword, advanced inexorably, conquering hall after hall. Each inch of territory was fought for, blood and sweat spilled in the process. The last defenders of the Dark Stronghold fought like madmen, driven by dark power and Grimnir’s command, but their ranks thinned like snow melting under the hot sun. Every step was hard-won; every swing of the sword brought pain from their wounds, yet they did not surrender, willing to die for their lord and ideals.

Shouting curses, they retreated deeper into the labyrinth of stone and shadow that was the castle — until finally reaching its heart, an ancient temple built long before the Stronghold itself. A dark, majestic structure with walls covered in runes and sinister symbols. The air reeked of sulfur and decay, shadows lurking in the corners, seeming to possess their own will. In the center stood an altar of black obsidian, pulsating with dark energy — like a nexus of evil itself.

Grimnir and the remaining defenders — the last handful of warriors, witches, and demons — burst into the temple. The massive doors slammed shut behind them, reinforced with dark magic. Light forces encircled the temple from all sides, but breaking the magical barrier was no simple task.

— Alex, stop! — shouted Grimnir. — You know that on this level, any of us could die. In this world and the real one!

Alex stood before the temple. He saw hatred and despair in the eyes of the last retreating defenders, yet he understood that this battle was not over… He knew that inside the temple, alongside Grimnir, might be the Book of Destiny — the mysterious artifact whose every record could change the very fabric of the game and allow the company’s leadership to reshape the world.

Now, in the eerie silence that had fallen over the battlefield, it was clear that forces of light and darkness must face each other in one final confrontation.

Igor. A regular at the themed tavern. Bard.

And then he, the Emperor, descends from his griffon-horse. Looking pristine, as if he hasn’t been in battle — as if he’s just stepped out of a spa — though in truth, he should be covered in mud, blood, and filth up to his ears. But this is a “virtual world,” so no one even bothers to scratch themselves.

From the castle, like a devil out of a snuffbox, hovers some Grimnir. Master of the city. Looks like a stereotypical lord of darkness, ripped straight from an old book about hobbits. Stooped, scarred, as if bitten by the local fauna. And in his eyes — you know — not hatred, but weariness, like a taxi driver after a night shift.

And so, the dreaded dialogue begins.

“Grimnir,” — intones Alex, like a stuck record. “Hand over the Book of Fates, and I will spare your people.”

As if anyone had been spared in this virtual world.

And then… In the game, immersion and role-playing matter, you understand? But they start arguing like office drones by the cooler. Spouting about company affairs, old gripes. Who didn’t share stocks, who’s holding back the bonus… Okay, I get that you — the players of the company’s role — aim to pit good against evil in an epic battle, staging a grand event. But follow the script, read the lines, no sidetracks — you’re not playing solo here, not for your own evening drinking beer.

Finally, Grimnir, with a hoarse voice, brushes him off as if swatting away an annoying fly. “The Book of Fates will never leave this place,” he says.

Of course it won’t. It’s part of the plot — you can’t change that.

“So, you leave me no choice,” — Alex responds, his voice as emotionless as that of a robot. — “Kill everyone in the temple! And take the book!”

And then Grimnir spouts some nonsense about death in real life if you die at high levels in the game. I watched that scene recorded dozens of times but still couldn’t quite grasp what he meant. It was obviously not in the script either. Besides, their levels are astronomical — they’ve been in the game since day one.

But it doesn’t matter to the second — he wins anyway; it won’t affect him. The enemy is caught — advantage in numbers, right? And here comes the most “heroic” move! Kill everyone to get the book. That’s no petty cash for cat food in a crowdfunding campaign — this is a brutal virtual combat!

And you know what? All those “heroes” in shining armor, that “empire” with its white flags — they gladly execute the order. Like it’s exactly what they’ve been waiting for. Forget that they set out wanting to “save the world,” not slaughter people. But, hey — it’s just a game, so nobody really cares.

They charge at the temple like hungry dogs to a bone. Cutting down everyone indiscriminately — old men, women, children who haven’t had time to escape. No morals, no meaning.

And it’s all happening just like that — a snap of fingers. We watch, and supposedly we’re meant to feel something. But what is there to feel? Nausea from the pointlessness? Disgust with ourselves for allowing this to continue? I don’t know. But surely, that’s not heroism. And certainly not glory. Just another chunk of trash in this cursed, virtual world, so much like the real one.

From the ranks of the Light Warriors steps forward and stands before the Emperor — an NPC mage dressed in white:

— My Emperor, attacking the temple is forbidden, — he bows before the leader of the Light, — spilled blood on sacred ground will bring a curse. We will invoke the wrath of the gods!

Alex surveys the temple carefully — its grim grandeur, ancient runes — and scowls. He knows this is a sacred place, of dark powers, and he also knows — according to the rules of this world — bloodshed on holy ground is forbidden. Still, the desire to seize the Book of Fates blinds him. He gazes at the sealed doors, knowing Grimnir is inside. His hand, clutching his sword, trembles with excitement, but his will is steel. He’s decided to go against all rules.

— Take the temple! — he roars, his voice infused with authority, piercing the battlefield. — No mercy! Let blood be spilled if necessary! The Book of Fates must belong to us!

For the first time in history, the warriors of the Light, in their fanatical pursuit of victory, begin storming the dark sanctuary. And on the sacred stones of the altar and the temple floor, blood flows — rich, red — spreading across ancient runes, staining them, and at the same time, imbuing them with power, awakening demonic forces slumbering within the temple’s depths… And as soon as the last blow strikes Grimnir’s body, the dark magic pouring out from within, like a fiery wave, throws back the attackers.

Through the cracking boards and the howling of demonic spells — repeated by the very walls of the temple — screams of the wounded, agonizing and dying soldiers, engulfed in flames and darkness.

Milfhanter 38. Professional Game Reviewer. Warrior.

Grynner, that bastard, set up shop in some temple, like just loitering on a bench, and then our guy, Emperor Alex, with the words “I’ll wipe everyone out!” decides to go straight in. Ha-ha, noob! Looks like no one had proper guidance before this fight — even the top players!

When I heard his order, I immediately understood — this is some kind of bug in the matrix. You know, it’s common knowledge that blood shouldn’t be spilled on sacred ground! But this donor power-user, shouting “For the Book!”—you understand what happened next — charges in. And, of course, triggers a hidden trap!

And at that moment, the world trembled as if struck by an unprecedented earthquake. An deafening roar shattered the sky, as if the heavens themselves were cleaved open, revealing an abyss filled with chaos and darkness. The wind intensified into a hurricane, tearing tiles from roofs and uprooting trees. Everything around darkened, as if the sun had forever abandoned this world, plunging it into an eternal semi-night.

With a scream of horror echoing from the advancing soldiers, the unimaginable began. The wounds of the temple’s last defenders started closing, and their eyes shone with red light. Their bodies became rotten, feeding on necrotic energy seeping from the sacred ground of dark powers. Those who fell that day — both dark and light — rose from the dead, transforming into undead, obsessed with blood and flesh. Zombies, risen from oblivion, recognized neither friend nor foe, and attacked anyone still breathing.

Panic seized the warriors of light. Horrified, they recoiled from the shambling corpses of their former comrades, with whom they had fought side by side, and fled the city. The battle turned into chaos — living fighting the dead, shining fighting the darkness they had themselves unleashed.

Alex, realizing the horror of what was happening, silently watched the nightmare unfold. He understood that ignoring the game’s rules had led to this catastrophe. He tried to turn back, pushing through his soldiers, but the bloodthirsty zombies began swarming him like flies. Reaching his gryphon, he took off, but the risen creatures, like a swarm of vile insects, encircled his mount. Twisting claws tore at him — ripping flesh from wings — until the gryphon, losing altitude, crashed onto the stones.

Eyewitness accounts.

Igor. Regular at a themed tavern. Bard.

But suddenly, this world quaked as if someone kicked the server. And from the temple, like from hell, these… undead crawled out. Not the stylish zombies from Hollywood movies. No, this was full chaos. Rotten corpses, missing limbs, with eyes full of hatred and stupid animalistic rage. And the smell — oh, it was terrible, like it wasn’t even in the game.

And our clean-cut hero, Alex, realized he had seriously miscalculated. He leapt onto his gryphon — the same white, shining one — and tried to escape. Like nothing had happened.

But these undead swarmed his gryphon, plucking feathers, biting into its flesh — this virtual flesh that probably doesn’t even have a smell — but just seeing it made him want to vomit.

The gryphon, that white steed Alex rode, collapsed as if shot. Disintegrating into pixels, and our hero just disappeared — swallowed by hundreds of dark monsters. As if he’d never been there.

Emperor Alex I, founder of the empire, scourge of dark forces, once a dazzling hero — was buried under a wave of corpses, his fiery sword extinguished like a spark in the night.

Eyewitness Accounts

Milfhanter 38 — Professional Game Reviewer:

And then… the real chaos begins! Zombies, the undead — where did they come from?! I was in shock! Definitely a bug, the developers messed up the patch! Poor Emperor with his griffon — how those walking corpses swarmed him, it was honestly heartbreaking… Well, I mean, not really, you get the idea!

And then suddenly, bam! Everything plunges into fog, like someone cut the lights — pure chaos. We, the newcomers, panicked and scattered in all directions, praying to our god of randomness because — where else would you see this? What guide can prepare you for such an encounter?

The most epic battle turned into a horror show, just like in some creepy alpha version! Bugs, glitches, crashes, zombie apocalypse! It was simply… surreal!

The city was shrouded in gray fog, enveloping it as if in a shroud. It became a place where eternal twilight reigned, where the past and the present merged in agony, and light and darkness blended into the original gray gloom.

Once illuminated by the sun of the desert, the city sank into endless dusk. Thick fog, wrapping the streets, swallowed all sounds and screams, leaving only silence and terror behind. The forces of light, in panic, fled, leaving behind fallen comrades and a city gripped by fear. All who died that day were turned into the undead, filling the streets hidden within the eternal, stretching fog.

Eyewitness Accounts

Stepanik, Elf Level 26:

The fog was everywhere — thick, cold, piercing to the bones. Something ancient, evil, as if it were a living creature. It wrapped around me — heavy, sticky, infused with the smell of blood and… other things. It was horrible, but I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t move.

I hid in a narrow corridor, pressing my back against the damp, cold wall. Just a few meters from me — ghostly figures dissolving into the fog, whispering in some incomprehensible language. Fear — it’s not just a feeling, it was a living, cold entity squeezing my soul.

But even more intense was the pain. Sharp, burning, echoing through every fiber of my body. I clenched my hands, trying to drown it out, to focus on something else, anything but this overwhelming horror.

Right now, I just needed to survive. Just keep breathing.

Someone touched my hand — cold, sticky contact. I shuddered, ready for the worst. It was… horrific. But not deadly. Just strange.

I looked into the fog. In the half-light, I saw a figure. It was unnaturally tall, movements slow and awkward. Its clothes were tattered, and its face — its face was shrouded in a delicate, unearthly veil of white fog, which I felt very close. Suddenly, the creature screamed — opened its enormous black maw — and I ran, blindly, away from this city. One thing I knew for sure — I’d never come back here.

Milfhanter 38 — Professional Game Reviewer (continued):

And now… I am trapped in this twilight city, and everything around seems frozen. And I think: “What’s next?!” It’s awesome! Surely, the developers have prepared something very cool for us! What level? What quest?! I can’t wait to find out!

So, I, as the last surviving rookie, am waiting for my epic rescue quest! But there’s nothing. I just stare into the walls with dead eyes, and nothing happens — my character has become a mob, everything’s stuck in a loop, only messages and game invites pop up. But who needs that? I wouldn’t recommend this game to anyone. I spent so much time leveling up — and it all turned to dust…

Igor — The Frequent Guest at the Thematic Bar:

And the city… the city was cloaked in gray fog. Like someone turned off the lights on the stage — everything became gray, dull, dead. Eternal dusk. Or maybe the server just crashed. I don’t know…

But the strangest thing — it started later, in reality.

They both died. Shortly after those events, as Gromnir predicted. I saw articles online — one played as the emperor and died in a plane crash, and Gromnir’s body was never found after his car fell from the bridge.

And Dream company refuses to comment at all, even hiding behind a veil of mystery to promote the game. But two people have disappeared — does it matter to you?

And after that, I stopped playing these games altogether.

III. THE PARTY WASN’T A SUCCESS

When Max entered the house with the VR box in his hands, his friends, invited for his birthday, were in the same poses he had left them in when he had left. Artem, the 15-year-old son of Aunt Olga, sat on the sofa in the living room with the projector remote in his hands, and his gaze was fixed on the broadcast on the wall, where footage from a documentary-entertainment show dedicated to retro-battles in virtual worlds was unfolding. “Legends of Online Battles” was one of those shows that constantly inserts analytics from VR experts and archival interviews with eyewitnesses. The red-haired girl next door named Daria sat here nearby in an armchair, staring at her phone, as if trying to find salvation from the boredom of the surrounding world in it. Today, she was the personification of the apathy that seemed to have infected the entire generation.

“What’s that? What did you get?” Artem, who had recently celebrated his fifteenth birthday, whom Aunt Olga and Max’s mother had repeatedly tried to befriend by bringing them together, jumped up from his chair, his brown eyes sparkling with curiosity, seeing the gadget. He had dark hair and swarthy skin, inherited from his father, Aunt Olga’s husband, Vladislav.

“Is that VR? So you can join us in the raid on the ‘cursed lands’! Join us while it’s not too late, we need everyone. Of course, you won’t be of much use, but you’ll still get an achievement as a participant. Such global events rarely happen. So don’t miss your chance. This time, the light forces will definitely reach the castle and destroy the Twilight King!”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be playing this. I don’t want to be a zombie stuck online for days. I want, you know… to still be in reality,” Max put the box on the table.

“What are you talking about, it’s the best game of all time, okay, before you couldn’t play because of parental controls and age restrictions, but now what? Have you heard who leads the clan ‘Mercenaries from the North’ — Boris and Vic! Bullies from our school! Maybe we can start a acquaintance, we will raise our social rating at school. And such events are rare. Come on, they gathered all the adventurers, received help from the imperial bot-legion, and all the kingdoms of light sent their best warriors. What’s the point of living if not for such battles? Daria and I would first help you level up your skills, take you through dungeons, raise a couple of levels together. And into battle!” Artem seemed to be a little hooked on games. Even today, when he came to visit, he spent half the day in the game chat and on forums dedicated to the game. Like Daria. “The whole summer is ahead, what will you do if you don’t play?”

“I don’t know… Maybe I’ll sign up for the archaeological expedition with our historian Fedorov. It seems like he’s recruiting people again now,” Max replied.

Daria, who had been staring listlessly out the window, cast a fleeting, interested glance at Max. A spark flickered in her eyes, as if she had momentarily seen in him something different from the rest, something deeper and more real. But she immediately returned to her contemplation.

“To that old alcoholic? Hauling stones all summer? Give it up, there are only losers and nerds there.”

“The cake will be ready in 5 minutes!” Max’s mother’s voice came from the kitchen.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up, I’ll just take this upstairs.” Max pointed to the VR.

Max’s room was in such a state of disarray that even the most experienced chaos researchers would probably have given up upon seeing it. Things were scattered everywhere, each seemingly trying to tell its own story, but like Max himself, they weren’t too sure what exactly they wanted to convey.

In a place of honor stood a trophy with figurines of fighters, won at a martial arts tournament where Max, as usual, took not first but third place. It was a pretty impressive achievement, except that his persistence in training lasted only until he realized that martial arts lacked magic and dragons. The trophy seemed to know about his short-lived passion and looked at its owner with bitterness.

The computer, on which an unfinished program was open, reminded him that Max had once dreamed of becoming a great programmer like his father. However, as often happens with dreams, he soon lost interest in them, leaving the project in a state of “still in progress.” In this place, technology and inspiration met to exchange glances before parting forever.

A small green tree — a bonsai — stood in the corner, like a wise elder who, despite all the chaos around, remained calm. Max sometimes came to it to reflect on life, but in the end, he often just forgot to water it. The bonsai seemed to know that its fate was to witness the strange reflections of a young philosopher who didn’t always remember his responsibilities.

A poster from a NASCAR race that Max had once attended with his father hung on the wall, as a reminder of a happy day. It always smiled when he looked at it, as if trying to say: “Here, this was real fun, not all this…”.

An electric guitar, standing on a stand, waited like an unnoticed muse who knew that her time would come, but was in no hurry. Music was his passion, but, like everything else, it often remained in the shadows.

On the bookshelf, among textbooks on mathematics and astrophysics, a mythological encyclopedia and treatises by ancient military leaders peacefully coexisted. Max, as a true seeker of knowledge, believed that one day all these books would tell him something important, although for now they were just gathering dust, waiting for their time.

This whole room created an atmosphere of constant searching, where each passion became just a stop on the way to something more. Max knew that sooner or later he would find something that truly captivated him, and then his room would become a reflection of his true “self” — or, at least, would become a little more organized. But, as the classic said: “Everything comes in time for those who know how to wait.”

All this accumulation of objects left very little space for life, so the furniture in the room consisted only of a bed, a table, and a wardrobe.

Gifts, given personally and passed through mutual acquaintances, lay here in the corner of the room, unopened in factory packaging and bright ribbons:

— A new laptop from his mother.

— A book on psychology from Aunt Olga.

— A set of tools for soldering microcircuits from Uncle Vladislav. They had been friends with his father since school. And his father often said that if it weren’t for him and his talent for handling computer hardware, VR technology would have reached real implementation 10 years later, or maybe it wouldn’t have appeared at all, remaining at the level of an idea.

— Collectible figurines of characters from the game were brought by Artem.

Max never understood this fascination of almost adult and some completely adult people with collecting figurines of characters from films and games. But now he also became the owner of a figurine of the “Twilight King”, some witch in black flowing rags and a dragon.

— A watch was sent by the director and majority shareholder of the company DREAM Inc. — Alexander First. He owned the company, one of the founders of which was Max’s father.

The gift from Daria was unexpected. A package of condoms tied with a blue ribbon. “Condoms for a Condom” read the inscription in black marker on it. Next was a smiley face in the shape of a heart.

“Closer — further” — Daria was perfectly fluent in this game. All evening — icy silence, but then this gift…, the gift clearly hinted at a continuation. Or was it just a mockery? What did she mean by this?

He could have guessed about this for the rest of the evening, but now he was occupied by another mystery.

Max put the VR with the rest of the gifts. He took the augmented reality glasses from the floor and went to the news portal:

News Headlines 02/03/2050

— Globalization Isn’t What We Wanted for Breakfast! Antiglobalists gather for the largest rally of the decade. However, the protests promise to become not only an expression of discontent, but also the main cultural event of the year with performances by famous artists and an extensive entertainment program.

— Cinema: Virtual Reality Changes Perception of Films VR-technologies from the company “Dream” are changing the TV series industry — viewers do not just watch, but experience history. But how do you bring them back to the usual boring real world and send them to work in the office, after they have been heroes all weekend, saving the world from evil season after season?

— Breakthrough in Psychology: Scientists Developed a New Method of Treating Depression A new method of neurostimulation promises to relieve depression by reprogramming the brain. Will everyone finally be able to be happy just by pressing a button?

— Superheroes on Minimum Wage: How eSportsmen Save the World From Boredom eSports has been recognized as an official profession, allowing you to count on a minimum wage from the state. Now, teenagers who have not finished school become not only opinion leaders and idols of youth, influencing the minds of an entire generation, but also respected members of society whose work is finally officially appreciated.

— Personality for Rent: Who Owns Our Data? Experts raise the alarm: personal information is the new and most valuable asset. How to protect yourself in the digital ocean.

Quickly swiping away news about antiglobalist protests, cinema, scientific achievements, he went to the archival section.

He typed in the search engine: “Mikhail Gromov Dream tunnel accident.”

He reopened the articles about his father’s death, those that still made it to the web, despite attempts by the company to “hush up” the matter. He had reread them a hundred times before and had already promised himself not to do it again, but today he returned to them again.

Several years before his father disappeared, he had a falling out with his wife, Max’s mother, withdrew from work at the company, and moved to some backwater. Tatiana accused him of domestic violence and drunkenness, although Max was ready to vouch that nothing of the sort had happened. Rather the opposite. He remembered one quarrel, but it happened because Tatiana was communicating too closely with her yoga instructor. Then there was a conversation in raised tones and he and his mother moved out after that. His father bought a new house. In the course of the divorce, the company severed relations with the developer who had gained a bad reputation, which could cast a shadow on them as well. In the end, he also disappeared from the information field, telling those media outlets that were still willing to listen to him that he was working on some new project in the field of artificial intelligence. After that, his communication with the outside world ceased for many years.

After a while, he and Tatiana seemed to have even improved their relationship, and his father was supposed to come to their house for Max’s 10th birthday. Was supposed to, but didn’t.

The car was found 3 days later at the bottom of the bay, but the body was never found. For several years he was considered missing, then declared dead. His fortune, which mainly consisted of a package of shares in the company “Dream”, passed to Tatiana. As far as he knew, the additional listing of shares annually reduced her share in the company, but they were still not poor.

The bracelet on his hand vibrated. An icon of an incoming call from the contact “Uncle Vlad” was reflected in the augmented reality glasses, obscuring the printed material and a photo of the crashed SUV.

“Hello, Uncle Vladislav. Why didn’t you come today?”

After his mother’s divorce from his father, Vladislav was a frequent guest in their house for a while, as was Olga, but then, for some reason, his mother stopped wanting to see him, and their relationship became very strained.

“Hello Max, sorry I couldn’t make it, there was a big commotion at the company and for once they called me back again. So I called as soon as I was free. And I congratulate you, you are now of age. You can work, sign contracts… an important milestone in your life…”

“And what could have happened in the company that they pulled you off of your well-deserved retirement?”

“I’m still the best specialist in hardware, if you remember…”

“Of course, my father always said the same thing, so what’s the commotion about?”

“Is Tatiana far away?”

“Well, she’s home, but… she’s not nearby and definitely can’t hear.”

“In short, just don’t tell her, but someone logged into the game under your father’s account. And was even online for a minute and forty seconds today. Can you imagine?”

Max froze, his heart beating faster.

“And why did this cause such a commotion in the company?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

“This is the Twilight King, the main antagonist of the game right now. And he may have been controlled by some hacker for more than a minute… Everyone there just went crazy… Can you imagine what could have started? He could have ordered the army of the undead to move on the capital or millions of in-game gold could have been dumped on the market, launching hyperinflation, or the ‘dark ones’ could have acquired monstrous artifacts from his vault, completely breaking the balance of the game. You know, we basically don’t control the game worlds, thanks to your father’s ideas about a completely self-regulating system, we only provide access to the game and ensure order, in a small territory like the capital and the main cities of the empire, and even then only by game methods. And here is a full-scale catastrophe… and we still have the old advertising contract in force, according to which we are obliged to exchange in-game currency for real money! Can you imagine what a scandal it would be if we had to abruptly abandon this? And the massive ‘final’ deaths of players at the hands of the undead within the ‘safe’ cities in front of the NPCs and the loss of accounts would not contribute to the popularization of the game and positive reviews, we would simply be eaten alive, sued…”

“Wait, but could someone log in under his account? Is that technically possible?”

“That’s what I was invited to answer. Theoretically, no. It’s impossible to pass authorization with only a name and password now. There is a check based on the location points of the electronic chips in the body, which is impossible to repeat, they are scattered through the bloodstream and fixed randomly during initialization for each person individually. And not only that, there is a check based on ID, physical address, biometrics, and other factors that artificial intelligence analyzes when connecting. Maybe it was just a system failure, I don’t know. Or… but this is not a phone conversation.”

“What time did he log into the game?”

“3:32 PM.”

Max fell silent. That was the time when cameras recorded the car falling from the bridge — he had looked at the photo with the time recorded in the picture that hit the media a hundred times. And there could be no error in that. Another coincidence?

“I was given VR today,” Max finally said.

“Congratulations. A great gift for your fifteenth birthday. I’m even a little jealous. I remember my first immersion, it’s unforgettable. Another world in all its glory…”

“The sender signed as Grimnir.”

“Your father’s nick? Yes, that’s strange. Very strange.”

“Tell me, is this device for immersing in VR, can it be dangerous, for health or can it somehow harm me?”

“Theoretically, no. It only reads and transmits signals, and also broadcasts theta waves to keep you asleep. But the game server controls everything, you will be thrown into a normal sleep in any case after a 2-hour game session. It’s no more dangerous than wired headphones.”

“No more dangerous than what?”

“It’s such a device, it was used to listen to music before chips and augmented reality glasses appeared. Okay, never mind. In general, my answer is no, it can’t be dangerous. Today is your birthday, go for it…”

Two women, resembling each other like two peas in a pod, had been sitting in the kitchen for a couple of hours, drinking red wine from tall glasses, discussing everything in the world — men, children, everyday life, unfulfilled dreams — as if this evening were the last when they could talk about everything without fear of consequences.

“Does your Artem also study at St. Andrew’s School?” asked the blonde, and her voice became quieter, as if she wanted to share a secret that should not leave the confines of this kitchen.

“Yes,” answered the interlocutor, her eyes sparkled with curiosity, like a cat noticing that its owner had opened a bag of food.

“Let him keep an eye on mine for a while, it seems to me that someone is hurting him at school,” said the blonde. Her voice was full of helplessness and fear for her son. She felt that she could not protect him from this world and hoped for her sister’s help.

“Okay, I’ll tell him,” the dark-haired woman became interested, as if she had just learned that her favorite store was having a sale, but her next question sounded cautiously: “What happened?”

“Max has come home with bruises and abrasions several times,” said the blonde, and her voice became even quieter, as if she were afraid that someone from the neighbors would eavesdrop and decide that they had a real thriller here. “He’s becoming more and more withdrawn. I feel that something is wrong, but I can’t understand what exactly.”

“Maybe just transfer him to another school?” suggested the guest, but it was said as if she herself didn’t believe these words. Her proposal felt only like a formality, as if she just wanted to get rid of the problem.

“I don’t know,” sighed the blonde, “I’m tired of everything. Maybe we need to move somewhere further south, where the climate is milder and the people are kinder…” she bit her lip, as if this could stop the flow of her thoughts. Her words sounded a longing for a peaceful and happy life that she had never had.

The dark-haired woman put her glass on the table. Her gaze was directed into the distance and focused on something intangible, perhaps on memories of the past, when she herself dreamed of dropping everything and running away. She felt only envy and regret that her own dreams had never come true.

“Have you already talked to him about moving?” she asked.

The still beautiful, but already plumping woman of about forty in a pink dress, got up from the table and took the cake out of the oven, according to the timer that went off.

“No, I haven’t,” replied the hostess, her voice became even quieter, with a note of anxiety in it. “I think a change of scenery would be good for both of us. You know, everything has gone wrong since his father disappeared.”

“Tatiana, don’t start,” Olga stated categorically. Her voice became stern, as if she were reading a sentence. “His father was crazy. Everything turned out for the best. He would have ruined us all, and ‘Dream’ would have drowned in lawsuits.”

“I know,” said the blonde, but her gaze became sad, as if she had lost something important, “Still, it’s so… sad… because ‘Dream’ was his brainchild, his dream, and he never revealed the full potential of his world. He didn’t tell its story to people to the end.”

“It’s better to have a working project that generates profit than empty fantasies,” the dark-haired woman snapped, her voice sounding clear dislike.

“Yes, you’re probably right,” replied the blonde, lowering her shoulders.

Olga considered the conversation over and raised her voice:

“Children, let’s go have tea!”

When Max came down to the kitchen, the table, in addition to snacks, had a cake with the number 15 on it, decorated with simple cream roses, three cups of tea for the children, and two glasses of wine, half-emptied by the adults. On the wall, in large letters cut out of colored cardboard, was written: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

“Finally, you’re unhooked,” exclaimed Artem, apparently wanting to finish the “tea ceremony” as soon as possible and be at home next to his computer.

“Artem, watch your language! Sit down!” Aunt Olga immediately snapped at him, as if he were small, so much so that he almost spilled the tea on the table. It seemed that her son’s stupid behavior was ruining her perfect picture of arrogant superiority over her sister. She had specifically come today in the image of a “Business Woman”, took her husband’s SUV, and not the family car that she usually used for business, and repeatedly mentioned the firm’s affairs in passing, because, unlike her sister, she had kept her job there. But Artem had been acting stupidly all evening, unrestrained, and spoiling the whole impression… “Just like his useless father,” flashed a thought in her head.

“Oh, Mom…”

“How many times have I asked you not to be rude at the table! If you don’t stop, we’ll go home immediately and you’ll be without VR for a whole week!” Olga looked sternly at her son.

“It’s not fair…” Artem fell silent, looking imploringly at his mother. He frowned resentfully, but didn’t protest any further.

An awkward pause hung in the air.

“In my youth, people communicated, met, went somewhere together,” Tatiana picked up the conversation, “now… Everyone sits at home and lives with imaginary problems.”

“Tell me about it,” Olga supported her.

“By the way, when VR technology first appeared, Dad used the nick Grimnir in the game, right?” Max asked Tatiana, trying to make it as casual as possible.

Olga sharply lowered her glass to the table. The light blush caused by the half-empty bottle of wine faded from her cheeks. Every mention of Max’s father seemed to cause her dislike, as if he were still dangerous to her.

“Yes, that’s what he was called, why are you asking about it?” Tatiana wondered.

“I received this today.” Max took out the note with the name that was attached to the box with the game and put it on the table.

“Wow. What a twist.” Artem immediately chimed in, unable to restrain himself from a new remark. His eyes lit up again with curiosity, “There are a lot of rumors on the internet now that game characters can learn on their own, adopt the habits of their players. They say some almost gain consciousness, start writing messages from the player’s name to his friends. But for letters… That’s something new.”

“This is probably fake and someone’s stupid joke,” Aunt Olga stated categorically. “Rumors spread by competitors.”

“What happened to my father’s game character? How did his story end? Maybe he’s still there, in the game, and has retained part of my father’s consciousness or memories?”

Tatiana shook her head, as if dismissing this thought: “I don’t think it’s possible…” Tatiana took the note from the table, read it, and gave it to Olga.

“Your father is dead,” Olga stated unequivocally, looking at Max with undisguised anger, “The car was pulled out of the bottom of the bay. And that’s enough about it.” She returned the card with the name to Tatiana as if it were a time bomb.

“But his body wasn’t found!” Max interrupted her, his voice trembling, “The last time he spoke… he said he would come. It would be by six.” Max glanced at the electronic clock, which showed 6:05 PM. “The delivery truck arrived exactly at 6:00 PM, and the note is signed with his name…” Max didn’t know what other arguments to give to preserve this thin thread of hope.

“And when was he supposed to come? Five years ago?” Olga’s eyes flashed with anger.

Tatiana, seeing that the situation was escalating, stood up, as if about to protect her son from her sister:

“Let’s all calm down a bit. It’s just someone’s stupid joke. Your father was quite a well-known person in the gaming industry, so someone set up a silly prank on the anniversary of his death.” She went to the window and drew the curtains, suspecting that a prankster from the street might be filming their reaction on camera.

“It’s too expensive for a prank. He was sent the very latest model.” Artem again broke free from Olga’s control and chimed into the conversation “It’s being advertised all over the city now. You don’t need glasses or a helmet, just a hoop and electrodes that fit to the temples and interact with the chips. I need the same VR, it’s damn convenient.”

“Artem! What did I tell you!” Olga unleashed all her anger on her son, who had again violated the ban on bad language. “Home now, you’re without the web for a week!”

“Oh, Mom!” Artem said with offense, but his mother was no longer listening to him.

She stood up and confidently dragged Artem towards the exit.

“I’ll write when we get there,” she told her sister without turning around and left the house, leading the weakly resisting Artem with her.

Daria, a fifteen-year-old girl with long, curly red hair, also put her cup of unfinished tea aside.

“Well, Max, thank you for the evening, it was very cordial,” she said with a barely noticeable mockery, “but I guess I’ll go too,” she said, “now we know that your father is sending you messages even from the afterlife, and mine, although he visits home once every six months, is always drunk and never remembers me. I guess I’ll post about this story for my blog, but already at home.”

“Come on, come on, out of your 15 subscribers, no one even watches you there,” Max snapped.

The girl stuck out her tongue at him and got up from the table.

“I already have fifteen thousand subscribers, if you didn’t know!” Daria hissed with feigned anger, pulling on her coat, “And there are even donations on the streams, can you imagine?”

Max snorted, but a surprise flashed in his eyes.

“It doesn’t matter that the guests are leaving,” Tatiana said when they were left alone, “it only means that we can talk in a closer family circle, doesn’t it?”

Max nodded, lowering his eyes.

They didn’t say another word to each other that evening.

It was already 3 a.m., and Max still couldn’t calm down and fall asleep.

“Who could have sent this VR anyway? Why did the ‘gift’ arrive exactly at six in the evening, exactly at the time when my father was supposed to arrive, even if it’s someone’s prank, who besides family members could know all the details?” Max pondered.

The question seemed to hang in the air.

He needed to double-check everything again and find out everything he could. First, he tracked the place of dispatch of the order by the number. The point of sending the parcel was a receiving point, one and a half kilometers from his father’s old house, the one from which he was supposed to arrive, 5 years ago. It’s hardly a coincidence. But how could the “prankster” who sent the device know this address? It was an amazing attention to detail. After all, his father’s address was not publicly available information, although he was quite a well-known person, as one of the leading developers of the company “Dream”, participated in presentations, and sometimes gave interviews before the release of updates, but personal information was always kept secret. The house in which he lived after his divorce from Tatiana was recently put up for sale again, and it had changed several owners before that. Over the past few years… it had gained a reputation as a “bad place,” if you believe the reviews on rental and real estate sales sites. It had an expensive “Smart Home” system installed, which turned on when it wanted to and scared the new owners to hell. It was possible to demolish it, but then the house would lose almost half its value, and each time the new owners did the same thing — they sold the house with a small discount. Now it cost ridiculous for a super-modern house: 1,800,000 cr. Similar houses in area cost at least 4,000,000 cr.

More information about the sender could not be found today.

Max didn’t know what to do. All of this could be someone’s stupid joke, a prank. All the data about his father’s death is on the web, and anyone could send this message. But if you believe Vladislav, his father’s avatar was online in the game for two minutes. The game’s functionality has long allowed you to send messages, make purchases in the DREAM Inc. online store, and much more. Even one minute is enough to buy VR for in-game gold and send it to someone along with an invitation to the game. In modern games, it is almost impossible to hack someone else’s account. In addition to the name and password, the location of the chips in the body must match, and so on, artificial intelligence analyzes, including physical parameters such as heart rate, breathing, appearance, and even the player’s behavior. All of this is impossible to fake. The chips are scattered through the bloodstream when taking the first identification pill and are fixed in the body chaotically, individually for each person. Their location is simply impossible to fake, it’s like a fingerprint. Who else could send him this device and know all the other indirect details?

Time passed… Max couldn’t fall asleep.

He tore open the packaging with the VR and pulled out the contents.

His loot consisted of a hermetically sealed silver plastic bag and an instruction manual, printed on paper, which in the eco-obsessed world was wasteful.

“Introducing Oneiro-Drive 3 — a virtual reality immersion device from “Dream”

Key Features and Benefits of Oneiro-Drive:

— Full Sensory Immersion: The user feels the virtual world with all their senses as if they were in the real world.

— Direct Thought Control: The user controls the virtual environment and interacts with objects simply by thinking about it.

— Realistic Dream Experiences: Oneiro-Drive allows the user to experience realistic and controllable dreams.

— Enhanced Cognitive Abilities: Oneiro-Drive can be used for training, exercising, and improving cognitive abilities such as memory, attention, and creativity.

— Therapeutic Applications: Oneiro-Drive can be used to treat mental disorders such as anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress disorder.

Important note:

The company “Dream” is not responsible in case the user makes changes and modifications not provided by the manufacturer…”

He immediately tossed the instructions aside. Who even reads them?

The torn plastic bag revealed a white hoop with a bunch of electrodes on the inside. A battery pack and a source of theta waves were hidden inside this high-tech device. The box also contained a bundle of wires in case there was no wireless charging station for electronic devices in the house. Max also set them aside. He turned on the VR and saw a notification about finding a new device on his computer.

Then he went to the game’s website. He scrolled through the splash screen with the flight into space over various worlds, fighting knights, dinosaurs, and spaceships… He poked the “Create New Account” button as soon as it appeared.

“Would you like to undergo a personality analysis procedure to create more high-quality content suitable for you?”*

— The game has a psychotherapeutic effect and, by analyzing your answers, selects adventures that will help you become a more harmonious personality, work through old psychological traumas, or simply gain more self-confidence…

A questionnaire with more than three hundred tabs appeared on the screen. “Oh no,” Max thought, “that’s too long:” “No”.

“Would you like to allow our algorithms to independently analyze your social networks and search history to create a personalized storyline and higher-quality content that is right for you?”*

*DREAM ltd guarantees the confidentiality of personal data.

*In the case of providing full access to social networks, artificial intelligence will independently analyze your interests, contacts, likes and, based on the history of correspondence and preferences in the selection of groups, music, news… will select the optimal storyline. In addition, the road of adventures can bring you together with people close and interesting to you, correspondence with which is in the chat, in order to strengthen family corporate, friendly, and other ties… the further description was quite long, but the main thing that followed from it was that the game allowed you to “close the gestalt”, relive the traumatic moments of life again and emerge victorious, at least in the virtual world, while learning effective methods of solving problems in reality.

Below were enthusiastic reviews from people who took advantage of this option when registering:

— “An amazing adventure that changed my attitude to life” — Victor, 18, student.

— “Incredible. Hundreds of hours of psychoanalysis gave me less than a month of playing online according to the proposed plot” — Alexander, 42, banker.

— “I overcame my fears and was able to communicate with women again.” — Oleg, 37, builder.

“OK,” Max decided, let’s see what kind of individual story it is.

“Grant access to social networks?”

Maybe “Yes”. He didn’t want to give up the possibility of getting a personalized storyline.

A message appeared on the screen that read:

Attention: the game device connects you to only one character, to create a new character, purchase a new device. If the device is lost, the connection to the character will be lost forever…

“What crafty game developers… — Max thought, — one device equals one character in the game, which means more sales of the VR devices themselves, plus constant service and repair of the already purchased equipment, in order to maintain connection with your embodiment in the game…” Max waited for the short download to finish, attached the electrodes right to his temples, and lay down on the bed.

Sleepiness immediately fell upon him.

IV. TEMPLE OF THE UNNAMED GOD

He came to in a meditative pose in a temple with gray stone columns. A colorful mosaic on the floor of the temple was woven into spiral patterns. The dome-shaped roof was divided by arched vaults into eight segments, each of which had its own color and was made of stained glass, the pattern of which was woven into a web. The round opening in the middle of the temple roof had no glazing. It was broken, and its shards lay on the floor of the temple. Eight doors and eight exits led from the temple to the outside, one door for each side of the world. Each of these massive wooden doors was decorated with intricate carvings and a mirror almost the size of a human.

In the center of the temple grew a green tree, surprisingly reminiscent of the bonsai that Max kept on the windowsill in his room. However, this tree was much larger — more than five meters high, its powerful branches spread out to the sides, almost reaching the walls and the round opening in the roof. The leaves shimmered with various shades of green, creating a contrast with the gray color inside the temple.

The light of the sunset, breaking through the opening in the dome, played on the foliage, as if emphasizing the magical nature of this tree. It looked like a symbol of life and hope in this abandoned place.

Max was surprised by the detail of the drawing of each element of the temple and the bright colors in the game, it was as if he was in a dream, but at the same time not losing awareness and control of movements. He raised his hands and was surprised to notice that even the lines on his palms were drawn in detail. It was an amazingly bright and beautiful world. Somewhere on the edge of the perception of consciousness, a light, heroic melody played, with an abundance of strings, promising adventures in a new world. His own body had hardly changed as far as he could tell, it was still the body of a 15-year-old teenager. He was dressed in a white cassock and pants made of the same simple material, on the middle finger of his left hand was a pewter signet ring with the image of a white dragon on a black background. There was no more equipment or clothing on him.

He remembered Artem’s offer to help in the beginning. And he wrote to him in the game chat:

“I’m in the game. I need help.”

The answer came almost immediately. Despite Olga’s threats to leave him without the internet for a week, he was online.

“Super, mark the location. I’ll take Daria and we’ll rush to the rescue. It’s usually difficult for newbies at first, but we’ll help you level up. Where are you?”

The control interface was simple, and Max easily figured out how to send his location to his interlocutor in the chat.

“Ouch. Straight to the cursed lands? This is a very difficult location to start. Okay, wait.”

Max got up from the floor and decided to look around while his friends found him. When he approached one of the gates of the temple, a system message appeared:

Quest received: “Choosing a Path”

Description: The system was unable to accurately determine the circle of your interests. They are too indifferent. You are directed to the Temple of the One to choose your game class and begin your adventure. You are free to choose a game path (go out into one of the gates of the temple to find your game class, unique skill, and patron deity). * and begin the adventure.

Description: The system was unable to accurately determine the circle of your interests. They are too indifferent. You are directed to the Temple of the One to choose your game class and begin your adventure. You are free to choose a game path (go out into one of the gates of the temple to find your game class, unique skill, and patron deity). *

Type: Class-based.

Reward: Variable, depends on the chosen path.

Penalty for failure: Eternal languor in the Temple of the One.

*Do not rush to make your choice, time in the Temple of the One does not flow, you do not age and do not feel physiological needs.

“So much for the vaunted system of determining the plot by data from social networks and contacts. Too diverse interests… And the choice will have to be made by yourself,” Max thought, “Everything is usually the same in life. Well, don’t just sit here forever.”

Max got up and approached one of the exits. A warrior with a sword and shield was depicted in mosaic on the floor. The section of the stained-glass web of the roof above this exit was red.

In the mirror, he was reflected, but not in the cassock and canvas pants of a newbie, but as a knight in heavy steel armor, armed with a shield and sword. The heavy smell of iron and blood hit his nostrils. Inside the mirror, behind the knight, silhouettes of fighters clad in armor flickered, crushing enemies with powerful blows. A voice, rough and commanding, whispered: “Power is true freedom. Become invincible, and no one will be able to tell you what to do.”

If Max came out of this door of the temple, he would be on the path of a warrior.

At the exit to the left of the warrior was a healer depicted, the color of the stained glass above him was yellow.

He was reflected in the mirror dressed in a complex, multi-layered robe with patch pockets. A white cloak thrown over his shoulder was decorated with gold embroidery. In his hands he holds a thick manuscript devoted to medicine. This is his main tool and weapon. A small vial with some glowing substance inside and a bag for storing herbs hangs on his belt. The system added a neat beard and mustache, emphasizing his strong-willed chin. Expressive gray eyes look attentively and a little inquiringly.

The soft glow around him is filled with warmth and compassion. Inside the reflection, an atmosphere of peace and tranquility reigned. A voice, gentle and caring, offered: “Save the world from suffering, and you will find true happiness.”

To the right of the warrior was a commander in a chariot with a laurel wreath on his head and in snow-white clothes, raising his hand in a welcoming gesture, with a white stained-glass window above him.

Inside the mirror reflection, ideal lines of soldiers were built in the background, ready for battle. A voice, firm and authoritative, called: “Faithfully lead your soldiers into battle, and your name will remain in the centuries! True power is the ability to control others.”

Max went towards the commander, wanting to go around all the doors in a circle.

Next, on the blue mosaic floor was depicted a Musician with a lute in his hands.

Melodious sounds of music and ringing laughter. An atmosphere of fun and inspiration reigned inside the mirror portal. Magnificent dresses of court ladies flashed by, and wine flowed like a river. A voice, pleasant and artistic, belonging to a dandy in a blue camisole, invited: “Sing songs about heroes, create beauty. Live for one day, but remember that art is able to live forever.”

A merchant with a red beard.

The clink of coins and the rustle of silks. The spirit of luxury and prosperity reigned inside. A voice, businesslike and persuasive, offered: “Make a fortune, and you will rule the world. Gold is the key to any heart.”

An assassin hiding a wavy blade behind his back was depicted under a purple stained-glass window.

The whisper of shadows and the beating of adrenaline. Silhouettes of agile figures flickering in the darkness flickered inside the reflection, disappearing into the darkness. A voice, cunning and tempting, promised: “Own information, and you will control everything.”

Next, a necromancer in a black robe with a staff decorated with a human skull.

Icy cold and the smell of decay. Inside, the shadows of the dead stirred, ready to serve their master. A voice, ominous and authoritative, whispered: “Death is only the beginning. Become the lord of the dead, and you will find true freedom.”

A mage surrounded by whirlwinds of blue energy.

Smooth streams of energy, mesmerizing in their beauty. It smelled of ancient knowledge and limitless potential. A voice, flattering and seductive, beckoned: “Learn the secrets of the universe, and you will be able to change reality at will.”

Having stepped over the image of the healer under the yellow stained-glass window — Max returned to the point from which he began his journey.

Quest “Choosing a Path” updated:

Available classes:

Warrior — a strong and hardy character, a master of melee combat. Able to wear heavy armor and use heavy weapons. His task is to protect allies and inflict damage on enemies.

Class skill: “Unbreakable Shield”: The warrior can temporarily create an impenetrable energy shield around himself, absorbing damage from all sources, including magical attacks. The shield has a limited duration and charging takes some time. The effectiveness of the shield depends on the current level of the character.

Patron deity: Arumatan — God of War.

Healer — a support player whose unique abilities will help not only heal wounds, but also bring back to life a comrade who has fallen on the battlefield. Possesses high accuracy and speed of movement, prefers to keep at a distance from the enemy. The healer can also use light magic to exorcise the undead.

Class skill: “Great Healing”: All allied characters within a radius of 10 meters fully restore health. This skill has a long cooldown (1 day).

Patron deity: Luxur — God of Light, Accuracy, Speed, Medicine and Knowledge.

Warlord — a leader and strategist who can lead troops into battle. Warlords can enhance their allies and manage combat operations on the battlefield.

Class skill: “Tactical Pause”: The warlord can briefly slow down time for all enemies within a certain radius, allowing allies to inflict more damage and evade attacks. This skill consumes a significant amount of mana/energy.

Patron deity: Rodan (Creator) God of Creation, Intellect, Air.

Bard — a musician and storyteller who uses music and words to inspire allies and weaken enemies. Bards can create powerful spells through their melodies.

Class skill: “Echo of Melodies”: The bard can “record” the effects of his song (buffs/debuffs) and “reproduce” them at any moment within a short period of time, even if the bard himself is not singing. The number of recordings is limited.

Patron deity: Mirta — Goddess of Love and Water.

Merchant — a cunning character who can manipulate the economy and use his trading skills to gain advantages. The merchant can find rare items and make profitable deals.

Class skill: “Cunning Deal”: The merchant can offer the enemy a “deal”: a temporary truce or weakening of the attack in exchange for a valuable resource or information. The success of the deal depends on the merchant’s skills and the value of the offered goods/information.

Patron deity: Floki — God of Deception, Lies and Treachery, Winding Paths and Caves.

Assassin — a master of stealth and agility, specializing in fast and deadly attacks. Assassins can stealthily approach enemies and inflict critical strikes.

Class skill: “Shadow of Death”: The assassin can become almost invisible for a while, moving at incredible speed and inflicting critical strikes that ignore the opponent’s armor. After the skill is used, the assassin becomes vulnerable for a short time.

Patron deity: Valor (Smith) God of Fury, Blacksmithing, Fire.

Necromancer — a dark mage capable of resurrecting the dead and controlling them. Necromancers can use the power of death to damage enemies and subjugate their will.

Class skill: “Sacrificial Resurrection”: The necromancer can resurrect one ally, but sacrificing a significant amount of his own health. The resurrected ally will have a temporary buff that increases his strength.

Patron deity: Sator — God of Darkness, Death, the Underworld.

Mage — a master of magic capable of using spells to attack, defend, and support. Mages can control the elements, create illusions, and heal allies.

Class skill: “Magical Reflection Shield”: The mage creates a shield that not only absorbs damage but also reflects part of it back at attacking enemies. This shield has a limited number of charges.

Patron deity: Malena — Goddess of the Moon, Passion and Magic.

On the stained-glass roof of the temple, there were all the colors of the rainbow except for green plus black and white. For the necromancer and the commander, respectively.

There must have been some kind of catch here, these were not all the game classes, but only the most common ones. For example, as he knew from snippets of conversations between adults in his family, the son of Alexander First — the owner of the company “Dream”, who died in a plane crash, had the druid class when he played, and he is still the leader of the character level rating. Which means his class was strong enough. And rare. And it wasn’t on the selection list yet. That is, there should be at least one more exit from the temple, marked with the green color missing to complete the full rainbow palette. It was worth looking further. After all, is it possible that the rarer the class, the stronger it is? Max approached the tree in the center of the temple. Shards of broken glass crunched under his feet. Max looked up and once again noted that part of the stained-glass window above his head was broken, maybe this is also considered an exit?

Max: Should he climb the tree and try to get to the round opening in the center of the temple’s dome, where there was no glass? Max touched the bark of the tree in the center of the temple and heard some kind of call, it seemed to be the voices of all who had ever lived in this fictional world. They were calling him… the music at the edge of consciousness became more alarming. Max pulled back his hand and looked down at his feet. He was standing on a round hatch cover with a classic image of the tree of life adopted in Scandinavian mythology, whose branches were so skillfully intertwined with the drawings of the mosaic on the floor that it was almost impossible to notice it from afar. In addition, it was entangled in the roots of the tree. A new system message appeared:

Quest “Choosing a Path” updated:

New class available:

Druid (hidden class) — a keeper of nature, able to transform into animals and use the power of nature to heal and attack. Druids can control the elements and summon natural forces.

Class skill: “Animal Fury”: The druid temporarily transforms into an animal — the totem of the tribe, gaining increased physical strength and armor. In this state, his attacks deal increased physical damage.

Patron deity: Terra (Mother Goddess) Goddess of Life, Fertility, Mother of Gods.

So if you open the hatch in the floor you get the druid class… Curious.

But Max was already looking up at the round opening on the ceiling of the temple, located directly above the hatch in the floor. Looking closely, he realized that the broken stained glass on the ceiling of the temple was a kind of sundial, and the glazing with symbols that allowed to determine the time by them was now missing because it had once been broken by a stone core launched by a siege machine. The stone core lay here among the fragments on the floor. “What if you don’t choose any of the classes currently available? Freedom is not choosing a class from a given list, but creating your own path,” he decided. — Technically, the broken stained glass in the center is also an exit.

Max smiled at his mischievous idea, jumping he grabbed the lower branch of the tree, pulled himself up climbed higher,

At that moment, his doppelgangers stepped out of the mirror portals all at once. “Get him!” — rang out the order of the commander. The warrior waved his sword, the mage released a ball of energy, the healer tried to paralyze him, and the assassin threw a dagger, but Maxim was fast enough. He ducked higher, climbed onto the next branch, and was soon under the very dome of the temple. Branches of the tree began to entwine around his legs. His hands didn’t reach the opening in the roof by almost a meter. “Stay” — a voice sounded in his head. He saw a face appearing on the bark of the tree, surprisingly similar to his own, if it opened its eyes it would be too late, too late. If he had been even a little taller, he probably could have reached the edges of the opening in the roof in a jump. But now it was impossible, his height was too small. He tried to climb a little higher, tearing his legs out of the branches that were entwining him. From this movement, under his weight, the upper branches of the tree creaked dangerously and went sharply down first, then returned up like a spring, momentarily lifting Max slightly higher than he was initially. “If you fall down and break all your bones, is there still a point in choosing the warrior class?” — a strange thought flashed through his head. The Ent was slowly coming to life.

Max jerked with all his might.

He pushed off with his feet at the highest point of the branch’s oscillation, and through a brief moment of flight, it seemed to him that he would never reach the edge of the broken stained-glass window, he instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, but his hands were still reaching forward, in this moment of weightlessness before the fall, his fingers gripped a ledge. He pulled himself up, grabbed a metal spire, which apparently once served as a clock hand in the sundial of the temple, and found himself on the roof.

Quest “Choosing a Path” Completed.

Class assigned:

Time Keeper (hidden class) — a mage capable of manipulating gravity, time, and space. Keepers can slow down or speed up events, use fast movements, and foresee the future.

Your divine patron is the One — God of gravity, time, and space, balance, and higher justice.

Reward: Class skill — Teleportation. With the help of ancient magic, you tear the fabric of space, instantly moving to the chosen point. Disappear from the sight of enemies and instantly move a short distance.

Use this skill to avoid danger or take a favorable position for attack.

Experience for completing the quest: +25

Experience for obtaining a unique class: +100

*You are the only player on the server to receive the Time Keeper class.

You have reached new level 11.

Experience to the next level: 1125 (+125) \1200

The movement inside the temple stopped, his digital doubles disappeared, and the tree became an ordinary plant again.

Max recoiled from the failure of the broken stained-glass window, stood up, and surveyed the surroundings. The temple, majestically towering in the middle of the city, shrouded in a poisonous fog that spread over the ground like a living creature. Only the roofs of individual buildings occasionally peered out of this fog, through which the dim light of the sunset broke through, painting the horizon in a bloody haze. The city, once prosperous, now looked like a shadow of itself, plunged into darkness and despair.

Sinister dark figures, resembling zombies, wandered through the streets with a swaying, uneven gait. Their movements were slow and unnatural, as if they were puppets in the hands of an invisible puppeteer. Max felt a chill run down his spine as one of these figures raised its head, and he saw empty, lifeless eyes looking in his direction.

The background music, previously quiet and unobtrusive, became gloomy, with booming drum beats that sounded like a harbinger of trouble. Each beat echoed in his heart, urging him to action.

“Damn… Where am I? -Max thought, — and where to go next?”

The heavy fog and monsters did not cause any desire to go down and explore the area.

“Faster Darriel, take him down!” — someone’s rough voice pierced the fog.

Max’s body worked faster than his brain and he collapsed down, pressed against the roof. The string of the crossbow snapped and a dark figure at the end of the street fell down with an arrow in its head.

“It could have been a screamer… we won’t be able to withstand the second aggro. Be on the lookout woman!” — warned the voice.

“Don’t whine Red. We’ll rest when we get to the temple. According to the location that Max sent you, he should be somewhere here. Monsters can’t go to holy ground.” — another voice replied.

The speakers finally appeared in the area of visibility, which was severely limited by the gray fog. They were a broad-shouldered shorty, a little shorter even than Max himself in a horned helmet, with a mace in his hands and a huge shield — a typical fantasy dwarf, and a honed, flexible female figure with a crossbow dressed in dark, form-fitting leather armor. Pointed ears and light hair made her look like an elf, but eyes shining with red lights and ash-gray skin did not allow to understand exactly what fantasy race she belongs to. The girl squatted over the monster lying on the pavement and pulled her arrow out of it.

“We should have arrived already, maybe we should go back a little?” — asked the dwarf.

The girl took out a piece of parchment from her bag and leaned over it.

“Where are we going, bearded one?” Darriel asked, as if continuing a dispute that had begun long before this. “We’ve already passed the leatherworker’s shop, so that means…”

A dark figure dangerously approached the adventurers from around the corner of the building, which they could not see…

The monster was not like the others. His size was impressive, and his movements were swift and clumsy, which only increased the sense of anxiety. Huge muscles under the black-haired body tensed with his every attempt to take a step, and his eyes flashed with a wild gleam. This jerky and uncoordinated gait inspired an inexplicable animal horror, as if nature itself had created him to sow fear.

Suddenly, the monster stopped, sensing the presence of adventurers. He sniffed the air, his breath was heavy and intermittent. Then, he let out a piercing roar that stunned everything around, like an alarm bell calling for action. The sounds spread throughout the city, causing the stones to tremble, and the birds to soar into the sky.

Reacting to his scream, all the black figures within the block, as if enraged and suddenly gaining unprecedented strength and speed, ran out of the fog and rushed towards the adventurers from all sides. More and more monsters appeared from the surrounding houses, foggy streets and dark alleys, one of them even jumped down from the second floor of the building opposite. The sound of breaking glass was replaced by a smacking sound after it landed on the pavement. The monster could not get up, but he crawled forward on his hands with a muffled growl.

The travelers were forced to retreat back into a narrow dead-end alley, trying to avoid being surrounded.

Quest received: “Allies\Enemies”

Description: In the cursed city you met a group of adventurers, unite with them or destroy them.

Type: Random event.

Reward: Variable.

Penalty for failure: No.

The crossbowwoman brought down two monsters with accurate shots, and first of all the “Screamer” that signaled the attack to the others, before the dark figures from all sides huddled the dwarf covering her with a shield. The dwarf, skillfully wielding his mace, laid down three, and deftly dropped several zombies that clung to the shield, but when creatures of another type began to appear in the crowd of attackers, even faster and larger, more like animals than former people, the green health bar that appeared above his head quickly crept down. Probably, when it reaches zero, the dwarf will simply fall on the stone pavement of the pavement and it will be torn to pieces.

“Quickly here!” — Max did not recognize his voice, changed by the game to a higher one. “The temple is here!”

The girl reacted first, she took a short run, pushed off her foot from the wall of the building and in one jump jumped over both the dwarf and the zombies surrounding him, spectacularly landed on the crawling monster, piercing his head with the studs of her heels and simultaneously plunging short curved blades from both hands into the two nearest enemies. The Darks hit in the head did not get up. After that, she rushed to run to the temple. The dwarf made a lunge, clearly fueled by some kind of magic, scattering opponents and ran after her.

Breathing heavily, they burst into the temple, slamming the massive doors shut behind them.

The dwarf was bleeding, the elven woman didn’t look much better than him. Dozens of dark figures surrounded the temple, and their number was growing rapidly, they fought and howled behind the doors of the temple, but none of them was able to step on its territory. They hissed and raged outside, reaching out to the strangers, but were not able to set foot on the sacred ground.

“How did you get here? The location is not easy. What can a lonely, unarmed child do in a temple in the middle of a cursed city?” Darriel pointed the crossbow at Max. “What class do you have and what tasks did the system give you?”

“Wait, wait,” the dwarf stood between her and the boy, “We came here to help, to help him level up, remember?” The dwarf smoothed his red beard, taking another sip from a bottle of green potion, which caused his health bar to fill up quickly. Although his iron armor and chain mail still clearly needed repair.

“Maybe he lured us here on purpose,” Darriel continued, “It’s ‘Dream’, they can’t do without unexpected twists and crazy quests. Something is clearly wrong here Redbird. Maybe it’s a hidden monster killing quest. And he’s that monster. The temple is clearly damaged, look at the shards of glass. This clearly happened recently, most likely during the shelling of the city by wall-battering machines of the Lights before the next assault. That’s how he woke up. If he’s the ghost-keeper of this place, he’s just waiting for us to turn away so he can tear our throats.”

“You see monster hunting quests in everything, calm down already. We are on holy ground.” The dwarf objected, trying to calm her panic.

“In a cursed city,” Darriel did not give up.

“But we don’t receive damage from the cursed land here, which means the place is still sacred. And the cursed cannot enter here, which means he is normal. Look at those,” the dwarf waved towards the crowd of zombies outside the temple area, which had become noticeably larger during the conversation and was in no hurry to disperse, “they are not able to go to the holy land.”

“And by the way, yes, this is another argument against him,” said Darriel, “they don’t react to him.”

“What?” the dwarf was surprised, “how is that?”

“Even now, when we move around the temple, the damned feel it and try to get closer and move, but there is no such reaction to him. The temple would have been plastered with zombies even when we approached it if they had sensed a living person inside, got it? We wouldn’t even have entered.”

“Are you implying that they can’t come here because of him?” — asked the dwarf.

“Maybe. Ordinary cursed ones avoid the territory of bosses,” replied Darriel.

“Guys, wait, I don’t have any curses and I’m definitely not a monster, at least I don’t know about it.” Max raised his hands in conciliation. “This is my start to the game. I appeared here.”

“Strange… it turns out that the artificial intelligence of the game made you a super difficult start.” The dwarf scratched his beard. “This location is not recommended to visit until level 20.”

“Accept the request to add to the group, I want to look at your characteristics. You have nothing to hide, do you, Max?” Daria-Darriel did not calm down.

Player Darieel invites you to join the group: Yes\No?

“Okay, but how do I do that?” Max asked, feeling insecure.

“Just agree, verbally,” Darriel replied.

“I agree,” said Max.

Quest “Allies\Enemies” Completed.

Description: In the cursed city you met a group of adventurers, uniting with them you found new allies.

Type: Random event.

Reward: Experience +15.

Experience to the next level: 1140 (+15) \1200

Now, Names and brief characteristics appeared above the heads of the new comrades. Just as Max’s characteristics must have become visible to them.

Name: Darriel (Ally) Race: Dark Elf Age: 32 Level: 21 (Master 1st stage) Class: Monster Hunter

Name: Redbird (Ally) Race: dwarf Age: 38 Level: 18 (Senior weaponsmith apprentice) Class: Weaponsmith

For some time, they studied new information about each other. The girl was a “dark” elf, or as they were also called drow, perhaps this explained her non-standard appearance for fair-skinned and clear-eyed elves.

“Time Keeper? What kind of class is that?” the archer was surprised.

“But now we know for sure that he is not a vengeful spirit,” the dwarf remarked.

“What kind of classes do you have, are they unique? I didn’t see anything like that in the task of choosing a game class,” Max asked.

“No, we have the most common ones,” Redbird waved his hand, “her ‘Monster Hunter’ is just one of the subspecies of ‘hunter’ or as it is also called ‘archer’, and ‘weaponsmith’ is a type of ‘merchant’, a craftsman selling his own goods, but I see one like yours for the first time, which god became your patron, Einar?”

“Einar?” Max raised his eyebrows in surprise, “why are you calling me that?”

“That’s your game name… I see it in your statistics. Role-playing is important for the game, those who do not immerse themselves in the Lore receive penalties from the system, so I advise you not to violate the game rules and respond to this name. So what god do you have, the one you serve?”

“My divine patron?” Max remembered the completion of the recent quest. “It’s the One.”

“It’s amazing, I’ve never heard of the One interfering in the affairs of people, accepting sacrifices, or giving quests,” said Darriel.

“And what kind of god is that?” Max asked.

“The supreme deity of the local pantheon. He is also called the Incomprehensible or the Creator, he is everywhere and nowhere, he is the law of the universe, order and chaos, he created all the worlds and retired, he is the god of balance, time and higher justice,” Redbird flashed his knowledge of the game lore.

“Redbird, my quest is closed!” the archer exclaimed, “the one to find a weapon capable of stopping the advance of the Light Alliance into the dark lands.” She finally lowered the crossbow, “He’s the weapon!”

“A boy with level 11? How will he be able to destroy the Alliance’s army of mercenaries? The gods truly have an inexplicable sense of humor,” the dwarf smirked.

“Artem, aren’t you overdoing it? You’re talking like a fifty-year-old,” Max laughed.

“I am almost fifty here in the game, so everything is within the rules. And what are your special abilities? What is your background, why did you appear here, are there any hints or tasks?” asked the dwarf.

“I don’t have a background, or rather I don’t know it. And from the skills: Teleportation,” Max replied.

“Really, show me?!” the elf admired.

“I haven’t used it even once yet. And I don’t know how to use the abilities,” Max confessed.

“Okay, it will happen at the right moment in the plot, you just need to move on,” the dwarf explained, “the game system calculates and prescribes each character their own unique story.”

“Yes,” the elf continued, “For example, Red’s parents’ caravan was attacked by bandits in childhood, and he scattered them with his magical surge of rage, thanks to which he and his family managed to escape. But then it reflected badly on him. Circumstances determined the choice of his unique ability, and this is a military ability, it is useless for a merchant. Therefore, he is 48 and he is still not a master weaponsmith. It’s hard to compete with those who have the blessing of the gods when you don’t.”

“And why not just become a warrior then?” Max asked.

“dwarf society is divided into castes, warriors are lower in the hierarchy of their state than merchants, so he must continue the work of his parents, despite the fact that he does not have the abilities for this,” Darriel replied, without thinking about the fact that her words might offend the dwarf.

“Is it necessary to spill other people’s secrets like that?” the dwarf quickly wound up and fell into a rage, “dwarfs live for 300 years, I will still have time to become a master. And you,” the dwarf poked a finger at Darriel, “with your sick head and visions will suffer for the rest of your life. She thrashes on the floor for half a day and there is no use from her.” he nodded to Max, “She groans like a cat in March! The chosen one must come… the weapon of retribution… it is nearby.” the dwarf rolled his eyes and waved his hands in the air depicting a fit.

The crossbow string clicked, the arrow grazed the dwarf’s cheek and pierced into the tree behind him.

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that, you… little bastard…” Darriel hissed.

System message: You have desecrated the holy place with bloodshed. Leave it or the curse of the One will fall upon you. Time remaining: 15 sec… 14… 13…

“What the… What have you done? What are we going to do now?! The temple is surrounded by Darks, and we can’t stay here now.” The dwarf grabbed his head with his hands. “Sator, tear me apart, why did I join a party with an elf… Divine curses are the worst thing in this world, we better go outside and let them tear us apart on the spot.”

“Maybe we’ll go up to the roof?” Max remembered his way up.

“That won’t work, we will still be considered within the radius of the holy land,” the dwarf replied.

“There is also an underground passage,” Max pointed to the round hatch cover in the floor, “but I don’t know where it leads.”

“Screw it! Let’s go!” The dwarf pried the hatch cover with a knife and, tearing it out of the entwining roots, jumped down. The elf pulled the arrow out of the trunk of the tree of life, putting her hand to it for a second, whispered “Sorry” and jumped after.

8… 7… 6…

Max had no choice but to follow them.

Underground, the system of passages divided into three tunnels at once.

“Which of the three passages?” Max asked.

“It doesn’t matter! Any!” the dwarf rushed into the tunnel located in the center.

V. DUNGEON OF THE CURSED CITY

Only after moving a safe distance from the temple did the dwarf take a torch out of his travel bag and light it.

“We need to hurry, now we are receiving damage from the cursed land again and it is growing, which means this passage leads deep into the city. We don’t have so many health elixirs left. Let’s hurry. We need to find a safe haven,” the dwarf hurried his comrades.

The torch in Redbird’s hand cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, exposing ugly fungal growths and ominous cracks.

“Damn these dungeons,” the dwarf grumbled, spitting on the floor. “Why are they crammed into every game?!”

“You are a dwarf, make yourself at home,” Darriel parried.

“I’m a dwarf, not a mole or a slug! If you had ever been to Flokia, you would know that it is quite cozy in dwarf dungeons. And here… what can be good in such a hole?”

“Quiet,” whispered the archer, listening. “Do you hear?”

Maxim listened. Dripping water, rustling sounds, the distant squeak of rats… and something else. A faint, almost inaudible grinding sound, as if someone was dragging something heavy across the stone.

““Dark Paladin”? ” whispered Artem, gripping his mace tighter.

Shadows danced on the walls of the tunnel, tracing bizarre figures.

Artem raised the torch and threw it forward, sensing the enemy. The light snatched a tall figure, clad in armor as black as pitch, from the darkness. Death and hatred emanated from him. Two red lights flickered on the helmet, exactly like the eyes of a demon. In his hands he was clutching a huge two-handed sword, from which a faint ominous light emanated. On the sides of the Paladin, like faithful servants, walked two undead — skeletons, clad in decaying armor, with empty eye sockets, greedily looking at the living. Their bony jaws clacked in anticipation of prey.

“Damn it!” Artem roared, raising his shield higher. Dasha fired an arrow. It pierced the eye socket of one of the skeletons, and it collapsed, crumbling into dust. But the other two continued to advance.

Maxim understood that they were in trouble. But he couldn’t help his comrades in any way. Unarmed and without armor, he could only stand on the edge of the torchlit platform, silently watching the battle.

The Paladin didn’t make a sound. He just raised his sword, and a bone-chilling screech of metal against the ceiling of the dungeon resounded. Sparks flew down. This titanic sword with a very wide blade was the size of a dwarf and weighed, must have been the same.

“Damn…” Artem whispered, clenching his mace. “We’re retreating!”

Dasha fired an arrow, but it bounced off the Paladin’s armor as if from a stone wall. The second undead rushed to the attack, clacking bones and waving bony claws at the tips of his fingers.

The fight broke out instantly. Artem took the blow of the undead, blocking it with his shield, and hitting with his mace. Dasha found a gap in the Paladin’s defense by plunging an arrow into his eye socket, without, however, any noticeable damage to him.

Maxim stood as if paralyzed. Fear paralyzed his movements. He tried to remember at least something from his new abilities and real skills, but there was only emptiness in his head.

At that moment, he heard a strange sound — a muffled scraping of stone.

“Maxim! Watch out!” Dasha shouted.

Without noticing it himself, he leaned his back on a lever on the wall.

Raising his head, he saw the ceiling above him beginning to collapse. Huge stone blocks were falling down, ready to crush him to pieces.

Time seemed to slow down. He saw the stones approaching him, saw the horror in the eyes of Dasha and Artem. He knew this was the end.

But suddenly, someone’s strong hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him aside. Maxim fell to the ground, choking from dust and fear. A stone rain collapsed over him, turning the place where he had just stood into a pile of debris.

Maxim looked at the collapsed ceiling, realizing how close he was to death.

“Trap,” Redbird grumbled, examining the debris. “Ancient, well camouflaged. Only a dwarf with good eyesight could have noticed it.”

He pointed to a small mechanism hidden behind one of the plates. “Press this plate — and everything will collapse. You’re lucky. Be more careful next time.”

Both undead, not endowed with good reaction, remained buried under the rubble.

Max looked at the two-handed sword sticking out of the pile of stones, still pulsating with green light. Wanting to finally get his first weapon, he approached and grabbed the handle.

He pulled up…

“Looks like you won’t be King Arthur.” the dwarf snorted, looking at his pointless attempt to pull out the sword.

“Don’t worry,” Daria explained. “These swords weigh so much that no one can use them. Even giants.”

Suddenly, the handle of the sword twitched and went up.

The pile of stones under Max’s feet stirred and came into motion.

The Dark Paladin, with a barely filled red life bar, slowly rose from under the rubble, his hand still clutching the sword closer to the guard. Maxim, almost hanging on the handle, stepped back with a cry.

The dwarf and the dark elf showered the paladin with a hail of blows from arrows and spells.

Finally, messages poured in from the system signaling that the battle was over:

You have destroyed Dark Zombie Level 15.Dark Zombie Level 15.

Reward: Experience +5

You have destroyed Dark Zombie Level 13.Dark Zombie Level 13.

Reward: Experience +4

You have destroyed Dark Paladin Level 18.Dark Paladin Level 18.

Reward: Experience +16

Experience to the next level: 1165 (+25) \1200

From the first zombie crumbling to dust, old leather boots remained lying on the ground, which Max appropriated with general silent agreement, having previously walked barefoot through the dungeons.

The deeper the dungeons went underground, the worse Max’s companions felt. The dwarf was covered in sweat and drank one healing potion after another.

“It’s even worse underground than above…” he groaned.

“I don’t feel anything.” Max confessed. “What kind of damage is killing you?”

“Maybe he is still cursed? Monsters do not receive damage from the cursed land.” The elf’s voice seemed to joke, but the dull click of the cocked crossbow string in the stone arched vaults of the tunnel sounded loud and eloquent enough to make it clear that she still did not fully trust Max.

“Come on, you still go first, Arthur.” she picked up the dwarf’s joke. “Moreover, you see traps so well in the dark.”

Letting Max go ahead, she herself went behind everyone. So that the dwarf with the torch was between them.

“The mobs don’t feel you. And you don’t receive damage from the cursed land, and we will feel more comfortable this way,” she explained.

However, it was not quiet in the tunnels.

At the edge of the torchlit area of the floor, where the light barely broke through the darkness, something was constantly moving. Shadows writhed, and from time to time there was a scraping of claws on the stone slabs, creating an ominous symphony that made the blood run cold in the veins. The flashes of red eyes in the darkness, sparkling like embers, looked especially creepy, as if dormant predators were waiting for the right moment to attack.

Max and his comrades felt fear penetrate their hearts, and every sound seemed like a harbinger of something terrible. It was like a nightmare, but with the only difference that there was no way to wake up here. Unlike the dream world, where it was possible to avoid encountering nightmares at any moment by waking up, here they had to fight.

Each moment of waiting became more and more unbearable. Max felt his palms sweating and adrenaline surging through his blood. He knew that something terrible could jump out of the darkness at any moment, and the only way to survive was to fight these monsters. He gathered all his determination to move on and, looking at his comrades, thanked the gods that he was not alone here. At that moment, he felt a connection with these people, whom he had recently considered strangers.

“Oh my…” Redbird stood up, frozen in horror.

Hundreds of red eyes were already looking at them from the darkness.

“It’s just rats,” said Darriel, trying to hide her own fear.

“There are probably thousands of them under the hill here,” the dwarf gasped, realizing the scale of the danger.

“As long as the torch is burning, they won’t attack. Move forward, redbeard.” the girl pushed the dwarf in the back. “Animals are afraid of fire, even cursed ones,” she said like a professional monster hunter. “But don’t stop, go forward, the torch will burn out and we are corpses. We must find a way out to the top at any cost. And quickly… Max, keep up!”

They wandered through the labyrinth without finding a way out, the torch was burning out, the elixirs were running out.

The corridor unexpectedly widened, turning into a small cave. A rift in the wall of the tunnel revealed a side room. Artem, who was walking ahead with the torch, froze on the spot, gasping in surprise.

Dasha, ready for another manifestation of the dwarf’s grumbling, looked over his shoulder, but instead saw something that made her open her mouth slightly.

Maxim squeezed forward to see what had struck them so much.

“Well, well,” Artem muttered, “Looks like someone overdid it with the night lighting.”

Before them stretched a room lit by an unearthly, pulsating light. It was not the light of fire, but of something living, organic. Light emanating from hundreds, thousands of creatures covering the walls, floor and ceiling.

The room was filled with glowing slugs. They were of different sizes from small, the size of a fist, to large, like dogs. They slowly crawled along the walls and floor, leaving a luminous trail behind them, as if drawing patterns in the darkness.

Maxim felt a mixture of admiration and anxiety. The room was incredibly beautiful, but it exuded some kind of danger.

“What is it…?” Dasha whispered, amazed by what she saw.

“Slugs?” Max asked, a little uncertain.

“Slugs,” Artem confirmed, with obvious disgust in his voice. “Glowing. And, according to rumors, very unfriendly.”

In the midst of all this shining, slimy splendor, in the center of the room stood… a chest. Old, lopsided, as if it were made from the remnants of other chests.

It was covered in cobwebs and covered with a layer of dust. It was clear that no one had touched it for a long time. A chest that was just screaming: “I’m a trap! Don’t open me!”

The experienced dwarf looked at the chest, then at the slugs, then back at the chest. “You know,” he said, “I’m starting to think that this is exactly the case when the best thing to do is just turn around and leave. Preferably quickly. A chest… In such a place… It’s too suspicious.”

Dasha shook her head. Her face expressed complete agreement. “Well, I’m definitely not going there. No way.”

“Why?” Max asked.

Dasha looked at him with horror in her eyes. “Don’t you know about the glowing slugs? They say they dissolve everything they touch! Weapons, armor, even… clothes!” She shuddered. “Can you imagine going back to the city naked? That’s probably even worse than being eaten by zombie rats!”

Artem nodded. “I’ve heard of that. Old miners told stories. If you get into their slime, you can say goodbye to your armor.”

“And not only with armor,” Dasha added, her voice trembling. “I’ve heard stories about people who accidentally touched their slime and lost fingers, arms, even whole legs!”

Maxim looked at the slugs. They looked harmless, but, judging by the words of Dasha and Artem, they were very dangerous.

“But there might be something valuable in the chest,” Maxim said, still not having even a weapon. “A hint or something that will help us get out of here.”

“Or maybe there’s just an evil mimic,” Artem remarked. “Have you thought about that? Is it worth it?” Artem continued, looking skeptically at the chest. “Risking your life for some junk?”

The room was humid and warm. The air was filled with a faint smell of rot and some kind of chemical sweetness. Muffled gurgling and rustling sounds were heard.

“I want to see.” Max said.

Dasha squeezed his hand. “Please, Maxim, don’t go there. It’s too dangerous. We’ll find another way out.”

“But if I don’t try, we’ll never know what’s inside.” Maxim said, smiling at her. “What if this is our only chance?”

“But why you?” Dasha asked. “Let Artem go. He at least has armor.”

Artem shook his head. “No, thank you. I’m not going to risk my armor for some chest.”

Maxim looked at his novice rags. “I have nothing anyway,” he said. “If I touch the slime, I won’t lose anything.”

Dasha grabbed his hand even tighter. “Don’t say that! Your life is more precious than any chest!”

“Listen, why really take such a risk?” Artem looked at Maxim with concern. “We have no guarantee that there is anything there at all. And then, there are things worse than death, you know.”

“Yes,” Daria chimed in. “For example, losing your favorite boots because of some slugs.”

Maxim looked at his boots. Rather, at what was left of them. He was wearing a novice’s rags, which would most likely dissolve even from looking at the slugs. He wasn’t wearing armor, he didn’t have weapons either. It seemed the risk was minimal.

“I’ll go,” Max said.

“You are my hero,” Darriel said, looking him straight in the eyes.

He tore his hand from Dasha’s palms realizing that she was just laughing and took a step forward, into the room full of glowing slugs.

“Be careful,” Dasha whispered, watching him go. “Come back to me.”

“I’ll try,” Maxim replied and continued on his way to the chest, feeling the gazes of his friends fixed on him.

Maxim slowly and cautiously walked towards the chest, trying not to touch the slugs. He felt them radiate warmth and his rags begin to tingle a little.

He slowly, very slowly, advanced towards the chest, trying to step only in those places where there were the fewest slugs. He imagined himself a surfer, deftly maneuvering between the waves… only instead of waves there were slippery, glowing substances capable of dissolving his boots, and maybe his legs.

Maxim realized that approaching the luminous creatures caused several unexpected sensations. Firstly, it was getting warmer. Not that pleasant, like in a bath, but rather, as if you are swimming with killer whales, that is, a large, dangerous but non-aggressive to humans animal. Secondly, the closer he got, the more it seemed to him that his rags were somehow… tingling. As if small, invisible needles were dancing on his skin. Thirdly, he was overcome by some strange peace. The slugs made a barely audible hum, something like a very quiet mantra.

Maxim froze in front of the chest, feeling the sticky air penetrate under the thin fabric of his rags. The glowing slugs pulsed evenly around him, creating a creepy, mesmerizing sight.

“I wonder,” Maxim thought, “are they lulling me to sleep or are they already digesting me?”

When he approached the chest, he noticed that up close it looked even more ominous than from afar. It was knocked together from different types of wood, as if it had been assembled from the remains of sunken ships and knocked out gates of ruined castles. There were traces of rust, scratches, carved symbols on it, which Maxim would not have been able to identify even if he had studied as an archaeologist-linguist-decipherer.

“What’s there?” Dasha shouted, trying to stay as far away from the room as possible. “Mimic?”

Maxim tried to listen to his intuition, but she was silent.

“Well,” Maxim muttered, addressing the slugs rather than the chest, “come what may.”

He closed his eyes and opened the lid.

For a moment it seemed to him that there was nothing inside. Only darkness. Then he looked closer and saw…

…parchment.

An old, yellowed piece of parchment, rolled into a tube and tied with a string that seemed about to crumble into dust. No treasures, no magic artifacts, no evil mimics. Just… a map.

“Well, what is it?” Dasha shouted from the doorway. “Gold? Diamonds? Or at least a cheese sandwich?”

“A map,” Maxim replied, carefully taking the parchment out of the chest. “Looks like a map.”

He untied the string and unfolded the parchment.

A dungeon map. An old, tattered map marking hidden passages, traps, and valuable locations. It was clear that the map had been drawn a long time ago, but the lines were still clear and distinguishable.

The way back to his friends took much less time.

“It can’t be,” Artem breathed, coming closer, despite his fear of the slugs. “It’s a dungeon map!”

Dasha also came up, looking over Maxim’s shoulder. “Incredible! Everything is marked here! Secret passages, traps, even the habitats of monsters.”

“It looks like we are here,” Maxim said, pointing to a small icon on the map. “And if you believe this map, there is even a secret passage that leads directly to the exit, but it is guarded…”

Various symbols were marked on the map, which could mean:

Skull: A dangerous place where strong monsters live. Jug: A place where you can find supplies of water or food. Star: A valuable artifact or treasure. Door: A secret passage or exit from the dungeon.

Artem grimaced. The exit was blocked by a large red skull.

Maxim looked at his friends. For the first time in a long time, hope appeared on their faces.

“Well, it looks like we have a plan,” Maxim said, clutching the map in his hands. “Now we know where to go.”

He felt a surge of strength. Now they had an advantage. They were no longer blind kittens wandering through a maze. They had a map, and they knew how to use it.

“Forward,” Maxim said. “The exit awaits us.”

And then, in this moment of triumph, he noticed that his rags… were melting.

“Um,” Maxim said, looking down at his feet, “it seems that glowing slugs are not very friendly with my clothes.”

And, indeed, the fabric of his rags began to dissolve, leaving small red spots on his skin.

“Run!” Dasha shouted, grabbing Maxim’s hand and pulling him out of the room. “Quick, before there’s anything left of you!”

The dwarf stepped forward, directing his torch into the dark tunnel, its bright light scattering the gloom like a powerful ray piercing through a dense shroud of darkness. Animals, startled by the light, recoiled, retreating and hiding in the shadows that seemed even more sinister against the backdrop of the bright flame.

Max, once again leading the way with the map in his hands, felt his heart beating faster, but this time with a joyous anticipation of freedom. The tunnel twisted and turned, delving deeper into the earth, its walls covered with damp moss and tiny droplets of moisture, which fell from the ceiling, creating a melodious sound, akin to a gentle rain. Within that sound echoed a sad and mournful melody, as if the tunnel itself lamented those who had become lost within its labyrinthine depths.