7

A World of Mirrors

No way. Rian brought his hands to his head. This isn’t happening. Shit shit shit shit—

He pulled up his menu, scrolling to where the CONTACT GM button was. There still had to be some way to get out of the game, some way to—

“I wouldn’t do that,” Corvis said, wagging his finger. “You’re not thinking this through, my friend. Confer with the GMs in this matter, and you risk everything by doing so.”

“What are you talking about?” Rian said, out of breath, trying not to panic. “I need them to help me.”

“Yes, and if you bring to their attention the fact that your body has died because of the game, what will that entail?”

Rian slowly lowered his hand, and the menu faded from view. The answer was obvious. “They’d shut down the game, wouldn’t they?”

“Correct,” Corvis said. “They would deem that the connection between these worlds is volatile, dangerous. The game would end. And your consciousness would vanish with it—for good.”

“But they wouldn’t do that. If they know that I’m here, wouldn’t they have a reason to keep the server running? It would make more sense to just stop new people from playing.”

“You assume that they’ll believe there is a you here, when now, you are hardly any more real than I am, to them. What would they truly care for you? What makes you think they’ll believe that you’re the real you, the true you, when your body is so plainly deceased?”

Corvis reached out and gently touched one of the holographic lamps in the living room, but his hand passed through as if nothing were there.

“The GMs are but servants to the great game,” he said. “They exist only to ensure that it proceeds smoothly, that they profit from my people’s suffering. Anything that would disrupt the progression of the game will be swept aside and hidden, I’m sure you understand.” He faced Rian, locked his gaze upon him. “When they discover what you are, they will destroy you. And then they will pretend you never existed. As it is, off-worlders dying in their home-world is bad for business, so they say.”

Rian fell back, sitting down a bit harder than he’d meant to. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt.

He still couldn’t believe it. He was dead? And he was trapped in the game because the headset had detected an error in his brain waves?

The neural implant again.

God. Dammit.

It must’ve gotten in the way during synchronization like a road bump or something, and that had uncoupled his virtual self from his real one. But had that really killed him? No, there was no way he was dead. He was right here—in a virtual setting, sure, but he was conscious all the same. He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be.

Mirage undoubtedly had plenty of fail-safes to keep this from happening. What were the odds that he’d somehow made it past every single one? Why weren’t alarm bells going off, right now? Why wasn’t a GM contacting him to inform him of what happened and what they were going to do to help?

“Wait,” Rian said. “How am I seeing my room from inside the game, then?” The thought relieved him. Half-sync shouldn’t have even worked if he were actually dead.

“There is a limited scanning functionality to the device you were wearing,” Corvis said. “It extends only far enough to encompass a room, for instance. That is how your appearance is able to be reconstructed here.”

Rian shook his head, then slammed his fist on the ground. “No, this is bullshit. No way this game just fucking killed me.” He felt around for the headset on himself. Failing that, he stood up and tried to touch the headset on his body, but he phased through it like a hologram.

Panic started settling in again. Trembling, he opened his menu, found the option to contact a GM again, and pressed it.

“I told you—” Corvis began.

“I don’t care. I’m logging out one way or another.”

[!] Requesting Assistance from a GM

Due to high influx, please file a request only if your issue is unable to be resolved by the AI assistant, Ibis. If you are experiencing unusual events, please log out and log back in to see if the issue has resolved itself.

Yeah, not helpful, game. “Is there an emergency log out function?” Rian asked, and a box similar to the whisper system opened in front of him.

: Hello. To initiate forced log out, please state the problem you are facing.

“I…can’t log out,” Rian shouted in frustration. “The button is gone.” He already had the feeling that he’d be going around in circles, dealing with this.

: Request acknowledged.

Beginning forced log out attempt.

Log out failed.

Please immediately file for assistance from a Game Master.

The prompt opened automatically: just a button. There wasn’t even a spot for him to state his issue or reason for filing.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Corvis said, idly inspecting his gloves.

Rian pressed it.

Assistance requested. Due to high influx of requests, please note that it may take up to 2 weeks for your ticket to be resolved.

“Two weeks?” Rian exhaled in disbelief. “How many GMs are there, like four?”

“Twelve,” Corvis said.

That was it? One of the biggest VR MMOs of all time, and Mirage had that little staffing? Why would they think the AI could handle everything?

He shook his head. Whatever. He’d find a way to log out. The image Corvis had shown him wasn’t real, obviously. He was still alive and in his mom’s living room. And besides, the game would automatically kick him to half-sync in four hours, and that wouldn’t work unless he had a body to return to.

And yet part of him couldn’t help but consider that it was the truth, that everything he knew from his old life was gone, forever. His streaming channel, his friends. His family.

Mom.

There was no way for him to discover her whereabouts outside of the game until he could log out. But if he could find Yindra, apparently, she would tell him what had happened in-game, at the very least.

How hard could it be to find a goddess in Mirage?

Even then, there wasn’t a guarantee that the information she provided him would tell him anything about Emily’s whereabouts or even her fate. It was a total crapshoot, but it was quickly becoming his only option.

All he really wanted was some closure.

“You’re absolutely sure,” Rian said, calmer now, “that Yindra can tell me everything I need to know? Does her AI really have that much privilege over the game’s data?”

“I swear it to you, Rian.” Corvis folded his arm across his chest. “Yindra originated, as did each of the Four, from the remnants of the sacred being known as Ulm. The godly spirit that rests within her—her Aeyai—is purer than any other.”

Rian squinted at him. Was he…pronouncing “AI” like it was a word? This game was getting way too self-aware for its own good.

Entry added to lore book: “The Divinity of Ulm” (Lore completion: 2.5%)

You have gained +1 Spirit!

Your Max MP has increased! (94→99)

You have gained experience! (+1)

[!] Lore Achievements

As you uncover lore entries in the world of Miracia, they will be added to your lore book as recited, and you will receive +5% experience for your current level. Uncovering certain percentages of all available lore entries will unlock special rewards, including bonus stats.

Not expecting any of it, Rian flinched at all the text popping up. Along with that, appearing above his menu was the outline of a yellow EXP bar—and above that, to the left were shorter and filled bars of varying color: a red HP bar, blue MP bar, and what he assumed was a green stamina bar. The yellow bar filled up half a notch.

As the notifications faded, he understood what Corvis had meant. The more divine a creature was in Mirage, the closer it would be to the game’s central AI. So a godly NPC like Yindra would, indeed, be capable of divulging more information than usual. Perhaps even more than a GM alone, if that were possible.

“Yindra, in her divinity,” Corvis said, “cannot break the promise she made to you. It is binding—by the proof of her Mark.”

So the Mark was a contract of sorts after all, Rian thought with a chill. So much for not making deals with demons. It hadn’t really been a choice to begin with.

When he considered it, what were the odds that Yindra could know even what had happened to his mom outside of the game? If Yindra were capable of hacking a neural implant, then it probably wasn’t a stretch to consider that her AI was capable of hacking cameras or televisions, either.

Oh god, what if he brought that up to the GMs when they answered his ticket, and—not even considering that he was stuck in the game—they shut down Mirage because of it? Did they know that their game’s AI was going rogue, or that someone was harnessing it for purposes outside of the game? Were the GMs capable of recording conversations, like the one he was having with Corvis right now? Maybe he was over-thinking it, but he was already starting to regret hitting that CONTACT GM button.

He closed his eyes. Deep breaths, Rian. Let’s take this one step at a time.

“All right,” he said, looking up. “What happens now?”

Corvis reached into his tuxedo and pulled out a black pocket-watch, flipped it open. “If you don’t have any more questions, then I suppose we’re ready to begin the game for real. The time limit here is a bit shorter than usual due to my…circumvention of things.”

“That’s it? You don’t want anything else of me? I’m just supposed to find the goddess you belong to?”

“You don’t even have to do that much.” Corvis shrugged. “I’m not here to tell you how to play the great game. It’s your choice, from here on.” The pocket-watch closed with a metallic snap, and he stuffed it back into his tux. “Besides, your fate was sealed a long, long time ago. I may be biased toward one outcome or another, but Yindra has entrusted me with you. And you will carry out her bidding regardless of how this all turns out.”

Corvis glanced up at the sky. “Command: deallocate.”

The trees around them popped out of existence one-by-one, the blue sky flickering black. At the far edge of the plains beyond the forest, everything vanished to darkness. Even the ground at their feet was thinning until Rian could see the void behind it.

“I suppose you’ll learn one way or another,” Corvis said, smirking, “that it’s true what they say: all paths lead to her.” He raised his hand, then pressed his middle finger against his thumb. “Whomever you side with, be it the Loyalists or the Desecrators, I look forward to seeing the role you play in the wars to come, Rian.”

Corvis smiled, his pupils narrowing. He snapped his fingers.

Everything shattered like glass, thousands of rivulets expanding through the space around his hand in an instant. Unable to move, Rian felt the cracks pass through his body, splitting him into fractions of himself, dividing further and further until his mind could barely withstand it. He could see himself: countless reflections staring back at him from broken mirrors, faces locked into a horrified gaze. And then, one-by-one, as if each version were blinking out of existence, they fell away until only one remained: a single mirror image of himself.

Full-synchronization restored.

Establishing connection…

Vessel obtained; Overworld coordinates established; connection successful.

Preparing to join the game…

Good luck!