PROVIDENCE ONLINE

 

 

 

A LITRPG SAGA

 

COPYRIGHT AND DISCLAIMER

THIS PUBLICATION IS PROTECTED UNDER THE UNITED STATES COPYRIGHT ACT OF 1976 AND ALL OTHER APPLICABLE INTERNATIONAL, FEDERAL, STATE AND LOCAL LAWS, AND ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED, INCLUDING RESALE RIGHTS: YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO GIVE OR SELL THIS BOOK TO ANYONE ELSE. EXCEPT AS PERMITTED UNDER THE UNITED STATES COPYRIGHT ACT OF 1976, NO PART OF THIS PUBLICATION MAY BE REPRODUCED, DISTRIBUTED, OR TRANSMITTED IN MAY BE REPRODUCED OR TRANSMITTED IN ANY FORM WHATSOEVER, ELECTRONIC, OR MECHANICAL, INCLUDING PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING, OR BY ANY INFORMATIONAL STORAGE OR RETRIEVAL SYSTEM WITHOUT EXPRESS WRITTEN, DATED AND SIGNED PERMISSION FROM THE AUTHOR.

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COPYRIGHT 2018 l..E AQUILO

 

Prologue

HE HAD NEVER fired a gun before, or at least, never in real life. There was a vast difference between watching your first-person avatar on a computer screen, visible with only two arms and the familiar targeting systems of a dot or a scope, and then actually wielding the familiar weapon in one’s hand.

He had never felt the harsh recoil of a weapon that possessed the ability to cause grievous harm, and before now, he never had any real reason to believe that he would. He did not necessarily shy away from violence, nor did he actively go seeking for it, but he was the sort of person who preferred to only resort to violence when utterly necessary, such a case was present to him.

The events had all blurred together into a rush. From the moment in which he stared at the puddle of blood which soiled his shoes, to the next where the familiar court hammer of the judge repeatedly banged after declaring the plea of ‘not guilty’ on account of self-defense, to the several winters he had spent in the rehabilitation center.

He had tried explaining to them, to the doctors, nurses, well-wishers and others who viewed him with pitying gazes that his lack of emotional response towards the situation was perfectly normal, and meant that he had no trouble with the incident. Instead, they all shook their heads, as though they were expecting him to grieve over the act, which, was supposedly meant to scar him for life.

He had grown tired of them, of all of them, calling them the idiots they so rightly were, and secluding himself from most contact with them. It was during this period, that he had rediscovered his love of video games. A few of his ‘watchers’ had initially disapproved, with a menacing strictness against the recreation that often overreached into a form of overbearing self-righteousness.

This had caused him to butt heads with them on issues for which they would disagree, which, most of the time, included his gaming addiction. Often, his guardian would sigh and lament regretting ever buying him a Game Boy when he was younger, teasingly saying he would undo that action had he known it would be sending him down the path of becoming a videogame addict.

Genres were inconsequential to him in the end, he played everything from first-person shooters, to MMORPGs, to even dating simulations out of curiosity, and his habit brought him more and more games, encouraged and fostered by those around him, believing he had turned to the recreational activity as a form of coping mechanism. He had often made it clear that he cared little for their perspective, being a 21 year-old, he could chose to do with his life what he pleased.

Which, was exactly what he did. He found himself spending hours, weeks, and sometimes months at a stretch in which he did nothing but play videogames, exercise, read the occasional novel and watch the occasional movie, eat and sleep. There was a steady rhythm to his life. A rhythm he had come to appreciate and find endearing, and one that had changed on one cold winter evening.

It had started with the power being shut off abruptly, making him curse as he slammed his controller into his game console because the power had gone off right in the middle of an online raid. His anger had turned into confusion when he had attempted to call a companion and inform him of what happened, only to realize all the phone lines were dead, and there was a total and complete lack of reception on his phone.

Then he had heard his kitchen windows shatter, and the sound of two beings entering into the house.

His first instinct was to reach for his phone and dial 911, only for him to stare at the device as if it were some foreign entity, as the call had not gone through. The emergency call had not gone through, and that heavily disconcerted him.

Deciding to be armed and he had snuck into his guardian’s room, finding the hidden cabinet. Initially, it was locked, but he found the key hidden inside a sock.

The sound of the intruders shuffling downstairs became more apparent, he steadily unlocked the cabinet, and within it, he found something that he was not expecting. He had been expecting a general 9mm or some other generic pistol, not an older model vintage revolver, the type he had commonly seen in several western styled movies. He reached for it, his hand slowly tracing the weapon as he eventually checked the chamber.

It was not loaded.

He cursed underneath his breath, feeling his heartbeat heighten as he heard the dull steps of the intruders begin to ascend the stairs. He began to search other parts of the cabinet, hoping to see if he could find the much-needed ammunition, neither caring nor noticing the fact that he had begun making more noise, as he heard the steps increase and noted that the intruders were getting closer and closer by the second. His luck changed, as he was able to find a single, lone bullet.

The intruders had reached upstairs. He tried to calm his shaking hands even further as he prepared to open the gun and load the bullet.

The footsteps had reached the door, and they banged against it, sending his heart to his throat, as he remained eternally grateful that he was smart enough to lock it and grant himself a few seconds of preparation.

The door kicked open, tearing off its hinges and trepidation overcame him.

The weight of the trigger felt familiar as he pulled it; stunned as the weapon jerked back in his hand and the shattering his ears began ringing a sharp, shrill noise.

He stared back up, half-afraid and half-scared to see what he had done.

He had missed.

The intruders, cloaked in black robes from head to toe, almost had an aura of amusement as the bullet had missed them completely, imbedding into the far end of the wall. It stood as both a testament and a mockery to the fact that his excellent videogame aiming skills did not transfer to real life, and that he truly could not shoot anyone unless it was at point blank range.

“Niko…?”

He frowned, staring at them. They seemed to be confusing him with someone else; his name was not Niko. His name was –

His name was –

He blinked, realizing that his vision was suddenly becoming hazy. He began seeing doubles and swirls of all sorts and colors, and the sense of vertigo became too strong as the urge to throw up filled him.

He could not recall his own name. It was like that sensation where there was a word on the tip of your tongue, but you could not actually recall it, or listening to the beats of an old song whose title had long since abandoned your memory. No matter how hard he tried, squeezing his eyelids hard enough for spots to fill his vision, he could not remember his own name.

He stared at the beings, cloaked from head to toe, he could not make out the faces of the persons, and instead he found himself blinking as the world seemed to be folding and inverting on itself.

His sense of vision seemed to worsen as he began seeing triples, before all at once, he found himself throwing up his last meal. The last thing he was able to recall before blacking out, was the sight of a hand, stretching out from within the darkness.

 

Chapter 1

HIS EYES OPENED themselves wearily, as though elephants had weighed down his eyelids; they struggled to rise, slowly, until the pupils made contact with light. He blinked and let out a hiss followed by a groan of annoyance as he waited calmly to readjust his vision to the light.

He glanced up, tiredly into the sky, and slowly, his eyes widened as though being tugged apart by oxen. It was late in the evening and the sky had melted into a yellowish-orange hue that resembled a mango fruit. The crashing waves of the ocean echoed like the cracking of a wet towel against a stone wall, and he grimaced at the uncomfortable feeling of coarse sand on his bare flesh.

His hands ran through his disheveled black hair as he took in a deep breath, feeling his slender chest expand from the air, his ribcage becoming prominent against his skin and then he exhaled calmly, watching as his chest deflated like a sail without any wind.

Sitting, he could not help but wince as he felt his skin disconnect from the soggy sand, only to stare in confusion at his utmost state of undress, clad in nothing but a pair of crow-black boxers, with not even flip-flops to protect his feet.

Then his gaze turned to the rest of the beach.

He took in a sharp breath.

Before him lay an endless stream of debris. The beach was a graveyard of numerous junk, dust and materials, ranging from cooking paraphernalia, to rusty and brittle pieces of metal. Stretching from what he could distinctively recognize as a broken clay pot, half-buried in the sand, to a moldy wooden blackboard, cut in half, with its front decorated in spider-web cracks and its color pilfered of its expected darkened shade. The image that stood before him seemed to be the nightmare of every neat and well-organized individual, and some abstract part of him felt utterly enraged at the individuals who would so carelessly discard so much junk near a large body of water.

He attempted to rise from the ground, only for his body to disobey his commands, his legs were noodles and his arms were straw. He gracelessly found himself collapsing back into the sand butt first, as if he had been the victim of some juvenile chair-pull prank.

[Initializing world code… Initialization Complete.]

He scrambled back with wide eyes as a giant, translucent blinking screen appeared in front of him.

[Initializing realm codes… Initialization Complete.]

[Summoning Players.]

That was when the beam of lights appeared.

One by one, he noticed them, filling up the place as though the foretold rapture had happened, only, rather than these beams whisking away mortals into the world above; they served the opposite function, instead, dropping more and more individuals into the world.

Male and female they appeared, of varying heights, races and complexions, the males appearing just as he did, clad, in nothing but a pair of black boxers, and likewise the females, possessing no other article of clothing on them save for the same generic black underwear and plain, black, strapless brassiere.

They all shared in his confusion, all of them looking as lost, if not more so than he. Some had begun firing off rapid questions, others, more insecure, had tried to embarrassedly cover up their bodies from those of the opposite sex, and confusion had remained the order of the day.

Until the skies had morphed into the color of ash, sudden winds had howled and roared, and up above, a being had descended, dressed in thick dark robes with white hair, as pure as snow.

Then he spoke.

“Welcome, new players, to Meliora.”

To his side, a young blond man’s head whipped towards the location of the voice so quickly it created a disconcerting crack that startled both him and numerous others.

“I am the GM of the realm of Meliora and its Four Worlds.”

Niko blinked numerous times, at the appearance of the being, certain that he had not been under any form of hallucinogenic drug, yet wondering how the aged man with pristine white hair and dragonfly-wings sprouting on his back could possibly be real.

“You are currently on Anatolia – the starting continent, and a land of fantasy and exploration.”

The voice boomed overhead, instantly drawing loud chattering and hushed side-to-side whispers of confusion. Niko stared, eyes half-lidded, partially wondering what drug he consumed with that was spurning forth this delusion.

A small, holographic box appeared beside the man, which then expanded into a large rectangular screen no smaller than twenty feet in length, and fifteen in breadth as it began playing what Niko could recognize as a generic introduction.

“In the far future, descendants of yours are willing volunteers for a full virtual immersion recreational software. This was designed as a game; however, this game had a secondary purpose, of which you need not know.”

The GM began, before gesturing to the large video screen, which then began to show images of individuals attaining numerous fantastical feats, from climbing mountains to sailing through tsunamis.

“This software however gathers and reconstructs genetic material from their DNA, so upon dying, the software would draw forth from this material and return them back, or at the very least, a generic clone of them.”