Below are the first four chapters of my upcoming book. Enjoy the read.
If you like it, you can pre-order the book from below link
Path of Darkness
Prologue
The
worn-out gray corbodide pike hit the black growth spread over the rough cave
wall, sending a clinking sound through the whole cave. Three more noisy clinks echoed
around him as three other men hit the hard crystal surface with their own pikes.
Drenched
in sweat, Jon stopped at the hundredth hit and glanced over his shoulder at the
small metal container lying behind him. It was only half full, and that meant four
more hours of hard work. Then he gawked at the three other miners; their
containers were only a quarter full. His progress was nothing to brag about,
but the others would take at least seven more hours to fill their daily quota.
None of them were used to hard labor in their outside life, and that slowed
their speed here.
Rubbing
his hand along the smooth corbodide handle, he stepped away from the black
growth and pulled a water bottle from his backpack. His eyes fell on his tattered
gray jeans and corbodide shoes, and felt a tug in his stomach. Only his
corbodide shoes and mask resisted the corrosive odor of the black growth, not
his blue T-shirt, hair, or exposed skin. He would have to apply for a new set of
clothes this weekend, and the stinky warden would again complain about their
consumption.
Pushing
the mask up on his head, he sipped from the bottle. The fresh water rushed
through his throat, easing his unsettled stomach. That morning’s shitty soup had
been too stinky to swallow. But as soon as the cold sensation faded, the foul
smell of the black growth hit him hard.
However,
after years spent inside the mines, he had gotten used to it and the corrosive
effects it had on a human body. When he came here, he had long black hair, and
now only the memory of it remained. In the distant past, the warden had passed
out helmets and full-body corbodide suits, but after the prison was repurposed
to house only death-sentenced convicts, he stopped handing them out. After all,
who would use expensive suits on convicts sent here for only one purpose? To
die working in the mines.
Jon
sighed—a deep sigh—but without regret. That man had to die, and Jon had actually
prevented trouble for many girls by killing him.
“Sav!”
A shout pulled him from his thoughts.
Turning,
he found a small rat like creature had latched on to one of his fellow inmates
neck.
This
was bad.
Lunging,
he swiped his pike at the small black creature called Carborats by other
inmates. It looked like a rat, but it would be an insult to normal rats if he
called these bloody, carnivorous creatures rats. They may have looked like large
rats, but the similarities ended there. Long sharp teeth that could pierce
through any metal other than corbodide was their signature thing. They were but
one of the many creatures who lived in the Aminiam mines, feeding on the black
Aminiam crystals.
The
rat squealed as the pike struck it, but it didn’t release the man’s neck.
Jon
took another swing, but the man abruptly dropped to the ground, and the rat
vanished inside his body without leaving any blood back. It had sucked it all.
Two
men in dark gray full-body corbodide suits rushed in. They each held a M257,
the latest firearm made for the Aminiam mines and the creatures that lived
inside them.
“Get
back!” They pointed their baby-fist-sized gun at the man’s body and blasted his
head.
The
head exploded in tiny pieces of flesh and bones.
Jon
gasped. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen a cave-mate die, but each time it
left him gasping for breath. Someday, it would be him, getting blown away by a prison
guard in an impenetrable suit.
“Jon,
let’s go.” Peter, his cellmate, grabbed Jon’s hand and container. A creature
attack meant the cessation of the day’s work, and concession in the week’s
quota. Everyone enjoyed it, because they got a day of leisure. However, it was ironic.
Every time a creature attacked, someone died, and his prison-mates celebrated
their day off.
What
a bullshit human nature.
Grabbing
his container from Peter’s hand, Jon followed him outside the mine and into the
storage room where they dropped their harvested crystals.
“Jon,
you’ve got the highest quota, as usual.” A worker who collected the harvest
flashed him a smile from behind his glass helmet. Even the workers got a
corbodide suit, while the prisoners didn’t.
Jon
scowled. “Thanks.” He didn’t feel like being polite, but he said it anyway.
“The
warden wants to see you. Stop by his office after you wash up,” the worker
said.
The
tug in his stomach doubled. The warden was a whiny creature. Whenever he called
someone to his office, that person suffered from a long lecture and sometimes an
increase in quota.
After
a chilly shower, he changed into his orange prisoner’s jumpsuit and walked to
the warden’s office. With the advanced weaponry and drones watching everyone at
every corner, the prison had only few guards and normal workers in it. After
all, people didn’t like working on mining planets. The whole atmosphere there
tended to be gloomy.
Instead
of the heavyset warden, he found a man dressed in a white suit and trendy
circular glasses waiting for him in the warden’s office. Glasses was a strange
fashion choice in the year 4058, but what he could say?
“Jonathan
Bacardi.” The man pushed his glasses up his long nose and signaled him to take a
seat.
Jon
sat, his eyes tracking the stranger’s every movement.
“I
don’t have time to waste, so I’ll get straight to the point.” He pushed his
glasses back on his base of his nose, any further he would stab his own eyes.
“I’m Baltzar, and I want to hire you for farming.”
Jon
swallowed hard. “Farming?” Before his arrest and subsequent incarceration, he’d
been a farmer. A good one, actually. He’d even held the title of Master Farmer
on planet R46.
“Yes,
inside BlackFlame online for the remainder of your prison term. Or 28 years,
whichever is lower. You can live a free life after that, and I’ll also offer
you twenty thousand chips for your work upfront.”
Again,
Jon swallowed hard. Twenty thousand chips. That was amazing. With that money,
his daughter Kiara could live a comfortable life for at least ten years.
“Did
you say BlackFlame online? Isn’t that an MMORPG?”
Baltazar
smiled. “Yes. I want you to farm for me in the game. But it’s as good as living
a real life. Ten percent of the galaxy’s population spend at least twelve hours
in that game, daily. So, it’s a second life for humanity.”
“But…”
Jon rubbed his two-day-old beard. How could he enter and live in a game for twenty-eight
years?
Chapter
1
Everyone
walked in through a mysterious white door, entering a huge white room. In front
of a glass screen, hundreds of chairs were lined up, neatly placed in twenty
chairs per line. If there wasn’t a tinge of light reflecting from the corners,
Jon wouldn’t have recognized the end of one wall and the start of a new one.
The result was a visual illusion of an unending wall.
The
air smelled like nothing. Strange. Jon was used to smelling something in the
air, like the soil on his farm smelled like Phosphorus,
while Helena’s farm next to his smelled like cattle dung. She mixed too much manure
in her soil as a natural fertilizer, but it f-ked up her mineral balance, and—in
the end—she’d ended up selling the farm when it stopped producing. Too bad for
her.
The
people in front of him moved in a single file line and sat on the chairs one by
one. No one so much as skipped a seat. Jon had the urge to sit in the back, but
his life wasn’t in his hands anymore, so he followed the horde and sat on a
chair when his turn came.
There
was a loud clap, and everyone’s gazes jumped to the front of the room. A white
platform appeared and then Baltazar walked through a black rectangular ring,
like a portal.
“Welcome,
inmates.” He clapped again and then pushed his glasses up his long pointy nose.
He wore a dark blue suit with matching trousers and a tie over a white shirt,
something out of fashion for the forty-first century.
Everyone
nodded, including Jon. Baltazar, the man who’d gotten everyone out of prison, was
their savior.
Tapping
on an invisible screen, he lit the big display behind him with colorful images
and a logo, the logo of BlackFlame Online.
“Welcome
to BlackFlame Online. I wish you all a happy life in the game for the next
hundreds of years.”
Everyone
gasped. Though they knew it would be the
case, accepting it was a different thing.
Baltazar
tapped his hands against his thighs while pacing around the platform. “I won’t
take up too much of your time before we dive in, but I’m required to brief you on
the basic conditions of our agreement, one last time. First, your bodies are
safely secured in our facilities in the immersive pods.”
A
picture of his own naked body attached to multiple wires and immersed inside a
pod filled with blue liquid flashed through Jon’s mind. Glancing at his in-game
body, Jon wondered how many features he had retained in the game. His muscular
body looked the same, so that was good. He couldn’t see anything above the
shoulders, of course, but there wasn’t much he’d change about himself. Maybe
that pesky corroded skin on his neck from his labors in the mine.
Baltazar
continued, “In BlackFlame Online, time works on a 1:12 ratio. That’s one month
in real life for every twelve months in the game. So, you’ll be spending the
rest of your prison term inside the game, working for the Laxania Corporation
who runs the game. But it wouldn’t be much of an improvement if you were just doing
menial labor in the game too, would it?”
Around
the room, people nodded. Jon did too.
“So,
we’ll reduce the menial work time by half and let you do as you like with the
rest of your time—whatever suits your nature. No strings attached.”
Faces
brightened, and the inmates clapped loudly. That hadn’t been the terms outlined
in their initial meetings, and it was better than anyone expected.
Much
better than dying on planet R46 mining Aminiam..
For
Jon, it was bittersweet. Thinking about his initial meeting with Baltazar
reminded him of his time in prison and why he was there. Thinking about the
trial pulled up a whole mess of bad memories, and he hoped his daughter was
doing good in the real world. The last time he spoke with Kiara, she was pursuing
self-study in magic while working part-time in a pizza shop. The only downside
of being in the game was that he wouldn’t be able to see his daughter for a
long time—not that he could see her often in the real world. Convicts only got
to visit their family once they completed half their sentence. Space travel
wasn’t cheap.
Baltazar
raised his hand, and everyone stopped clapping. “Now, go through the door on
the right.” He pointed, and a door appeared in the wall. “You’ll meet your
initiator in the next room, and he’ll send you to your spawn location.”
Jon
stared slack-jawed at the door for a moment, then closed his mouth. Though
magic was real in their real life, all they could do was to use some elemental
magic and a few spells. No one could conjure a door on demand. Jon reminded
himself that this was a game, and he’d likely see more surprising things along
the way.
One
after another, people went through the door. While he waited his turn, Jon
imagined a long room filled with people lining up next to a table while a few
people registered their names at a time. What he didn’t expect was a small
white room with a white table and a man in a black suit sitting behind the
table. Jon and the man were the only people in the room.
The
man behind the table flashed Jon a smile. His mustache flared in a funny way as
his lips curved. “Welcome, Jonathan. Take a seat.” He waved his hand, and a
white wooden chair appeared out of thin air.
No
more shocks.
Jon
sat, enjoying the soft cushion covering the seat. At least this chair was
softer than the one in the previous room. If they were doing this in the game,
why didn’t they just have recliners for everyone?
“So,
man. Are you ready to spend your 342 years
farming in the game?”
“342
years?” Jon swallowed. Was he kidding?
Chapter
2
The
man in the suit furrowed his brows. Resting his hands on the table, he leaned
forward and met Jon’s eyes. “Is there a problem, Jonathan?”
Jon
lowered his gaze. “Mr. ...?”
“Call
me Devon.” The man with the mustache flashed an intimidating smile, his
slightly yellow teeth reflecting hidden dim light in the room. But when he
opened his mouth, Jon smelled coffee—something he loved and hadn’t had for two
long years.
“Mr.
Devon.” Jon shifted in his chair, resting his hands on the soft armrests. “I only
have thirty years left on my prison term.”
“Did
Baltazar forget to tell you about the time dilution ratio? Fucking tool.” Devon
growled and spat on the floor.
Cringing,
Jon pushed his chair back slightly.
“Okay,
pissy. Listen carefully. I’m only going to say this once.” Devon’s bloodshot
eyes bored into Jon.
Jon
stiffened in his chair.
“The
game’s time ratio is 1:12. One month in real life is twelve months in the game.
So, thirty years comes to three hundred sixty years in the game. Since you’ve
got…” His fingers moved as if typing quickly, but Jon saw nothing. “28.58 years
left on your sentence. That comes to three hundred forty-three years in the
game. You farm for one hundred seventy years, and after that you’re free to do whatever
you want.” He squinted. “Wait. Sorry, you actually have to do all three hundred
forty-three years.”
Relief
flooded Jon at first, but then it vanished like a drop of rain in the desert.
“Why? Baltazar said we only need to work half the time.” How could their conditions
change from one room to the next?
“That’s
because farmers can only work seasonally, for about six months out of the year.
The remaining six months are free to fuck off. If not for the half term, you
would have corroded your ass for six hundred eighty-six years in there. Got
it?” A smug smile appeared on Devon’s face.
Jon
arched his brows and opened his mouth to respond. But what could he say? His
life wasn’t in his hands anymore. Anything was better than mining in dark
corridors for some weird crystal shit that could kill him any time.
Tapping
the space behind his ear, Jon nodded. “Okay.”
Devon
smirked—the sort of smirk one gets when he knows the opposite person is totally
under his control.
“So,
here are the terms:
1)
As a farmer, you don’t get a class. You only get a utility class, Formationist,
along with the starter kit. This kit allows you to grow the weed in your farm.
2)
You can level up, but you need to kill monsters, and you can’t do that with
basic stats. Still, you can increase your stats by doing hard work. The game provides
plenty of that.
3)
The weed crop you grow is harvested every week. Once you turn it in at the
outpost, you’ll get rations for the week and some copper. Make sure you protect
it, or else you get nada.
4)
If you die, you’ll spawn in the outpost shrine, but don’t die too often or you’ll
spawn in the main city that’s five hundred miles away from the outpost, and you
must walk back on foot.” He typed once more on his invisible screen. “Walking
takes two weeks, and you may die of starvation on the road and end up
respawning in the city temple again. So, don’t die too frequently.” He winked.
Puzzled,
Jon stared at Devon. What the heck was this? Wasn’t Devon supposed to teach him
how to play the game? Though he’d spent ten hours reading and learning the
basics of BlackFlame Online when Baltazar first contacted him, he was still
unsure about many things, so he needed some answers.
“Do
you have any questions, or you want to jump into the game right away?”
“Wait.”
Jon raised his palm to stop Devon from speaking. “Tell me more about these
stats and the six months’ free time.” Those six months interested him a lot. Being
a farmer was a a blessing and a curse. He wouldn’t have to work for one hundred
seventy years and then get his freedom. Instead, he would work for six months
and enjoy his freedom for the next six months.
Devon
rose from his chair. “Pissy, I don’t have time for your stupid questions. Ask
someone who’s there already. And take this.” He waved his hand, and a small purse
appeared out of the air. “This is your Bag of Holding. Once you put something
inside, no one can steal it from you. Got it?” He threw the bag at Jon.
Swiping
his hand through the air, Jon caught the bag, and a prompt appeared in his
vision.
System: Bag of Holding received.
Soul bind it? Yes/No?
Jon
selected yes.
Bag of Holding is soul bound.
Do you want to view the contents?
Before
Jon could select yes, he was swirling inside a whirlwind, and the air pricked
like knives piercing his skin from all directions.
Chapter 3
A
dry wind blew toward him, spraying his face with dirt and foliage. After an
intense sneezing fit, he pushed himself up and sat on the ground, glancing
around. It had been years since he’d smelled the refreshing scent of dirt and foliage.
In prison, all he’d smelled was shit and the rotten stench of the mines.
Glancing
up, he found the bright star in the sky was already halfway to the western
horizon, and a long shadow covered his face. The source of the shadow was a
stone statue that looked like a giant’s middle finger erected from the ground.
A white halo covered the distal phalanx of the finger, giving it a divine appearance.
Upon gazing at it for a few seconds, a prompt appeared in his vision.
System: Shrine of Kasari, a forest
god. Do you want to declare your allegiance to Kasari? Yes/No.
Jon
quickly selected no. There was no way he would select yes until he learned what
the heck that statue did. The first thing he’d read on an online game guide was
that many decisions in BlackFlame Online would permanently alter his character,
so he would have to choose everything cautiously.
Getting
to his feet, he glanced around only to feel disappointed. The place looked
deserted. An old one-story stone building stood fifty meters away, bearing a
sign reading “Outpost Office.” A three-foot-tall wooden palisade circled around
the shrine and the outpost office.
It
looked nothing like the ones he’d seen in the BlackFlame Online commercials.
After
Baltazar came to see him for the first time, Jon had sneaked into the prison
library to access some game videos, and they had shown majestic views of the
game. Tall medieval buildings packed with various races—elves, humans, sexy
nymphs, and so many others. The city they showed bustled with people farming
and visiting inns, markets, and whatnot. The videos swayed him to say yes to
Baltazar’s offer without giving it a second thought.
Did
he make a mistake?
Maybe
this outpost area was on the outskirts of the city. Hoping for the best, he
walked to the palisade and peeked over it. The barren view crushed his hopes
like someone stomping on a bunch of just-sprouted crops. A long grayish crop grew
as far as the eye could see between where he stood and the distant mountains.
The only break in the monotony were small wooden huts built every five acres or
so.
Maybe
the other side would be better.
Hope
again riding in his heart, he walked to the other side of the shrine.
The
same view covered the horizon. There was nothing else. Not even a small building.
Leaning
over the palisade, he touched the grayish crop.
An
alert popped up briefly.
System:
Herbalism level too low to identify the crop.
“Hey,
man, come here.” A shrill voice called.
Turning,
he saw a bald man popping his head out of the only window of the outpost
office.
Nodding
to him, Jon walked over. At least he’d found someone who could answer some of
his questions. There were so many unclear things, and he needed to learn
everything from the start. This was f-ing crazy.
Ignoring
the man’s cringe-worthy face, Jon said, “Mr. …?”
“Call
me Denis.” Pulling a small notebook from somewhere inside the office, he placed
it on the wooden platform attached to the outside of the window. “You’ve got
farm number forty-three. Take charge and come back with your harvest in three
days. Remember, every week’s quota must be fulfilled by Sunday afternoon, or you
don’t get rations.” A wicked smile grew on his face. The man gave off a strong
unwelcoming vibe, and he smelled like a bad dream.
System: Mandatory Quest: Farming
Quest Class: Uncommon
Farm the weekly quota given by Denis
to receive your reward.
Reward: Rations and 5 copper/week.
“But,
Denis—”
Denis
waved him away with a hand. “Get lost.”
Jon
ignored his arrogant attitude and pressed forward with his questions. “Can you answer
a few questions for me?”
“Congrats,
because you’re an arrogant jerk, your quota is doubled this week. Two thousand
weed plants.” He flashed his wicked yellow teeth.
An
old, wrinkled hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him away. For the first
time, Jon noticed his own clothes. He was wearing a dark green shirt and gray
trousers. There was no underwear beneath the trousers, and it itched like crazy
already.
“Fella.”
The owner of the arm pulled him away. He was an old man in his sixties with scarce
hair and a white beard. At least his clothes looked better than Jon’s. “Come
with me, and I’ll explain everything. If you piss that fella off, you’ll end up
doing double work for the first week, and trust me, that ain’t good.” This
fellow too flashed yellow teeth, but in a more kindly fashion.
What
was wrong with all these people? Didn’t they use toothpaste here?
Jon
nodded and followed the man to outside the palisade and onto the farm numbered
six. He rubbed his smooth jaw as they walked toward the small hut at the corner
of the farm. “What’s your name, sir?”
“I’m
Grimish. A fellow convict. I guess you’re the new one they told me about. Nice
to meet you, fella.”
Jon
extended his hand. “Call me Jon.”
Grimish
squeezed it with an unexpected strength. “Welcome to the barren land of Laxania.”
Looking
around helplessly, Jon pulled his hand from Grimish’s monster grip. If he had
kept it there, Grimish might’ve broken a bone or two, and he didn’t know yet
about how the game treated injuries. At least if he died, he would respawn at
the shrine. So, no permanent death.
One
good thing.
Flipping
the worn bottle green curtain slightly, Grimish entered his small hut, and Jon
followed him.
The
hut was quite minimalistic. A small fireplace, a bunch of pots, a wooden table
and chair, and a bedroll that looked like it was made from ragged clothes were
the room’s only contents.
Jon
took it all in with a cursory glance before returning his attention to the old
man. “Grimish, can you tell me about the farm and what I’m supposed to do there?”
Everything else could wait.
“Fella,”
Grimish scratched his white beard, “is this your first time playing the game?”
“Not exactly. I know a bit about RPGs, but this
is the first time I’ve been inside BlackFlame Online.”
“Hmm.
Guess I need to give you a beginner’s lesson. Those fellas at the corporation
give squat to the people they send in here.”
“That
would be very helpful.” A grin formed on Jon’s face. Finally, he was learning
something. “First tell me about farming and the six-month structure.”
A
rustle outside the hut attracted their attention, and the foul smell of liquor drifted
in through the drape-covered doorway.
“Oh,
damn. The earth monsters are here.” The calm look on Grimish’s face turned to
dread.
If you liked the read, grab it on amazon from below link.
