Adam Drake - Blackout

I turned us toward a distant travel gate and kicked at Smoke’s sides. The horse bolted forward and soon we were galloping at full speed.

For the first time in a long while I had a smile plastered on my virtual face. Without Ogden’s interference the game opened itself up to me, again. The sky – or the universe – was limitless.

As we jumped through the gate, I let out an impulsive cheer.

I was back in business.

A final battle for the greatest prize of all.

I’m a complete noob when it comes to war.

I’ve never led troops into battle, commanded formations or strategized an attack more complex than a simple dungeon raid.

But now I’m expected to do all of that and win.

Defeat is not an option. Everything I’ve fought so hard for will be lost.

Men will die, armies will be shattered, blood will be spilled.

This should be fun.

My view-screen suddenly went black, and a message appeared before me:

You Have Died.

Still shaking with the adrenaline rush of combat, I stared at the floating text in shock. What the heck? How did that happen?

I’d been engaged in a ferocious knockdown, drag-out fight with an Elite Cyclops who happened to be the final obstacle in completing my quest. For two full weeks, I followed an elaborate chain of interlinked quests all leading to a final goal: The Lost War Banner of Y’Godda.

After a lot of quest related angst and bother, the location of the War Banner had finally been revealed to me; a magically sealed cave hidden in the Forest of Dreams. The elation of my discovery soon evaporated when I arrived at the cave to find the Elite Cyclops guarding it, massive obsidian club in hand.

Assessing the monster gave me pause. He was more powerful than me but not by much. Still, given everything I’d been through, giving up wasn’t an option. We fought for nearly an hour. He, with is club and innate Cyclops abilities (like the One Eyed Death Stare), and me with sword and bow.

My Shadow class granted me Shadow Form, the ability to effectively turn almost invisible. When he swung at me, I’d activate my Shadow Form and dodge away, only to reappear and strike at him from a different angle.

It was going great for a while, too. Despite the Cyclops’ near infinite reservoir of hit points, I’d chipped away at his health until it dropped to roughly fifteen percent remaining. Then disaster struck – I got cocky. Which, it turns out, is a fatal mistake when dealing with an Elite monster.

I’d fired a Dazzler arrow that temporarily blinded him. But, apparently, the Cyclops race has a strong resistance to blinding attacks – go figure. When I switched to my sword and ran in close for a final kill-strike, the Cyclops had recovered. The towering humanoid dropped his club and, before I could even react, clapped his meaty hands together.

The result of using the Thunder Clap ability sent out a concussive wave which threw my little avatar pinwheeling across the clearing to splat against a tree.

My view-screen distorted to simulate being nearly knocked out and disoriented. When my vision cleared, I found the Cyclops towering over me and massive obsidian club descending fast.

I tried to roll out of the way, but not fast enough.

Now I stared at a death screen. Something I hadn’t experienced in what felt like ages. Years, even.

With no more fight to engage in, I masochistically scrolled through the combat log at the bottom left of my view-screen. Here was a detailed statistical account of the fight. Just from these messages alone, things had looked good for me.

Vivian Valesh strikes Elite Cyclops in the left leg for 220 hit points of damage.

Vivian Valesh hits Elite Cyclops with an arrow in the right shoulder for 125 hit points of damage.

And on, and on it read with similar messages, all showing how I’d bled away the creature’s hit points to almost nothing.

But then there was the final message.

Elite Cyclops crits Vivian Valesh with Obsidian Club of Smashing. Elite Cyclops critical damage bonus is x 5. Vivian Valesh takes 3,500 hit points of damage.

Vivian Valesh is dead.

3,500 hit points of damage. Yup, that killed me alright, considering I only had 800 to begin with.

I sighed and sagged back in my simulation suit its rigging and attachments pulling at my body. Normally my view was of the game’s world and moving about in the suit went unnoticed. But confronted by the blackness of character death, its apparatus felt more prominent.

Now what? I thought, trying not to sulk.

Death meant I had to start all over again. Never mind the time wasted trying to locate the Lost War Banner of Y’Godda. All the progress my character made attaining levels over the years had been wiped out in one fell swoop of a crit-charged obsidian club.

Such is the fickle nature of playing the game.

Restarting my character meant suffering time in one of the dreaded newbie zones, areas filled with simple quests designed to coddle new characters through their first few levels.

I silently cursed myself for being overconfident. The image of the club filled my vision.

My frustration had gotten the better of me. I even considered slipping out of my simulation suit and just walking away from the game. (Sacrilege!)

But I was an addict. Even in death, I needed my fix.

I gave the view-screen my full attention. Sensing my eye movement the game faded the death message away in preparation for bringing up the character creation screen.

But it didn’t.

Blackness, like a void, stared back at me.

I wiggled my fingers and made gestures with my hands. Nothing happened. Did the game get hung up? Although an incredibly rare event, the game did bug-out on occasion, sending players back to their login screens.

But no login screen appeared.

After a few moments of finger karate and arm flapping, I decided to make an angry call to Customer Support. But before I did, a new message appeared before me.

Amara Frostwalker has used a Ruby of Resurrection on you.

Do you wish to be resurrected? Yes/No?

Stunned, it was all I could do but stare at the screen. A resurrection. What are the odds? Me, way out in the middle of nowhere all on my own and someone walks by and offers to save me.

Amara Frostwalker? Didn’t know this person as far as I could remember. But I’ll remember now.

I selected Yes.

The blackness of my view-screen dissolved away.

Blue sky filled my vision, and I realized my avatar was laying on the ground. An elven woman’s face peered down at me.

“Hello,” said the elf. “You should be okay now.”

I sat up, blinking in amazement.

“Wow,” I said and jumped to my feet. “Now this is a first.”

“A first what?” asked the elf. “First time dying, or first time getting killed by a Cyclops?”

“First time being resurrected,” I said with a smile. Then I looked about in alarm. “The Cyclops?”

The elven woman pointed to the edge of the clearing. A large body was splayed out on the grass. Its huge eye stared sightlessly into the sky.

“How did you kill him?” I asked while checking the icons on my view-screen. Health was at maximum and no indications of any permanent damage.

The elf shrugged. “While he was smashing your head with the club, over and over, I snuck up and back-stabbed him. Took him out in one go.” She smiled impishly. “It was easy because you’d taken his health down so low.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks for that. And for resurrecting me. It was such a surprise. I’m not use to the kindness of passing strangers. Most players are pretty hardcore.” That was an understatement. Considering how high the stakes were in this game, you had to be really motivated to save another player. Especially when it might mean you could die, too. Instead of one person being sent to the newbie zone, it could easily become two.