A Gamer's Guide 398 (Patreon)

If I hurry, I’ll be okay. I’ll make it. I can still survive this. I don’t want to die here, no matter what. Not Maggie either. We can still make it. It’ll turn out okay. I just have to climb these stairs a bit more, a bit higher, and then…

She slipped on her own blood. This time, Kitty didn’t notice, so instead of catching her, she knocked him over. His arms clasped around her and they both went tumbling down, around and around in a horrible spiralling descending merry-go-round that only ended once they hit the bottom. 

“Haah, haah, haah,” she breathed, in his arms, eyes wide and staring at where the stairs began. Again. She had to do it again. But she didn’t have any choice. She couldn’t use magic, and she was useless in every other way—weak and pathetic—so the least she could do was climb the stairs to her salvation herself, step by step. Clenching her teeth, ignoring the dull pain blossoming across her limbs, she clambered out of his arms. And he, as though the fall hadn’t hurt whatsoever, rose after her.

“Gecko, wait,” he called, but she was already climbing again, hand grasping desperately at the railing, chest burning, legs burning, arms burning, knees shaking, shoulders trembling. He wasn’t following. Why wasn’t he following? 

“We have to go,” she told him. 

“I get what you’re saying, I just don’t think that…”

Down the hallway, someone screamed. Then there was another scream, further away, and the rushing of footsteps and shouting and they were here already. Was it supposed to be that fast? She hadn’t had time to escape yet. There was supposed to be time to escape. In these situations, there were always survivors. Every battle had survivors. Someone to tell the tale afterwards. She had to be one of those. They had to let her survive. 

Turning her back on him, she continued climbing the stairs. Her feet didn’t hurt anymore. At some point, they had stopped hurting, and now they only felt numb. The stairs she walked on already had bloody footprints, but she doubled them.

Soon enough, Kitty joined her, though she could tell he was more on edge now. Ready.

“Do you, um… Do you want me to carry you? I can do that. I might not look like it, but I’m pretty strong for a bag of bones.”

“I’m… haah… fine,” she hissed. How high could the tower be? Soon, they’d be at the top, and then they’d be alright, so there was no need for her to debase herself into becoming some sort of—

“In here!” someone shouted from below. “They’re escaping up the tower!”

Her erratically beating heart fell silent. What? They’re going after us? Why? How do they know? Why would they—

“Sorry,” Kitty muttered, “looks like permission’s no longer on the menu.” And with no consent given, he scooped her into his arms, spun her around onto his back, and with one hand holding her in place, he began to scale the stairs using the rest of his limbs, so animalistically stooped over that she was fully riding him, almost as though he were a steed. The position was more than a little humiliating, but the sheer speed at which he ascended the stairs more than distracted her from her feelings, albeit not the singular notion that they’re coming for us. Us, specifically. Somehow, they knew we went up here, and now they’re coming for us. 

Atop his back, she only had time to dwell on the hopeless horror of their situation for a few minutes before he reached the top of the stairs, bursting through a door and onto some sort of small observation deck at the top without issue. 

The fresh air was almost intoxicating, and the breeze that combed through her loose hair was strong, gentle, yet loving. Up there, they could see the entire city. Letting her down, he closed the door and sauntered over to the edge, his keen gaze scanning the horizon.

The city was in a state of chaos. Wherever she looked, she could spot soldiers clashing, civilians running about with terrified fervour, some of them scared into raising arms against… From this distance, she couldn’t ascertain whether the soldiers they fought were pro-hope or deicidist. There was a fair chance both were on the menu. Without proper uniforms, how could the civilians possibly tell their enemies and allies apart? Did they even know who they were supposed to root for?

Off in a corner of the city near one of the vanquished churches, a group of civilians had ganged up on a smaller group of soldiers and were in the process of stringing them up by the neck in a few trees. Rafiloe knew those trees. In times of stress and worry, she had spent many evenings sat beneath them, reading the forums or merely enjoying the sun’s falling above the city. Now they were filled with dangling bodies that looked like poisoned, floundering fish.

In yet another place, soldiers had begun barricading some houses, throwing torches inside. Which side was doing this? She couldn’t comprehend it. Nearby them, a pair of small goblins, two children, were aimlessly searching through the streets, looking for… Something. She couldn’t tell from so high above.

And everywhere she looked, there was screaming and dust and smoke filling the air and the bang-bang-bang of so many rifles going off. She had difficulty concentrating on any one of the horrors, because everywhere she looked, a new one awaited. Without any conscious thought, her eyes sought her place of employment, hoping that her boss, Mr Erdneer, had made it out of there somehow. It felt odd seeing the city from above, so it took her some time to find it, far more than she had expected.

There, close to the main plaza, was the shop. Smoke was billowing from the smashed-open windows and as she watched, a pair of what she assumed to be soldiers—which side is it? who should I blame?—exited from within, shoving jewelry and gems and coins into their pockets. No sign of Mr Erdneer.

He must be dead, then, she assumed. But it was strange. Certainly, pillaging was common in war, but there was also a battle raging on. Soldiers clashing together and fighting and warring, only pausing to loot and rob and burn their battlefield. Were they stupid? They could pillage the city once they finished killing each other. Why now? Why already? This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. It was wrong, and…

“Aw, shucks, I knew it.”

Not bothering to look at him, Rafiloe asked, very flatly, “Knew what?” That the city was dying? That we’re all going to die? That I can’t see the tutorial centre so I can’t see if Maggie is alright and if we can still pick her up? That she might be dead? My friend might be dead?

His bony, death’s hand claw stretched into her vision, pointing to some area beyond the city walls. There, she could spot four massive shadows clashing together in the afternoon light, throwing up powdery snow with every beat of their massive, world-ending wings. Four dragons. She had never seen a single one before this day, and now, there were four of them.

“I had a hunch, but it seems our ride is a bit preoccupied. This complicates things…” He blinked at her. “Oh! Shoot, I forgot about…” As she stared at him, mouth gaping at the realization that if they couldn’t escape now-now and they had attackers on their heels, what was left to do? Was this it? This couldn’t be it. 

She knew none of these thoughts were shared by Kitty, as he moved to the door to the staircase with routine, causal ease. Once there, he closed the door and barred it with a nearby plank. “That oughta hold ‘em.” 

Only a few seconds later, there was a rush of steps, and something banged against the door. Bang-bang-bang. And then people shouting about how they had to get through, and maybe the thundertubes could help?

BANG BANG BANG

But the door held strong. Humming to himself, Kitty stepped away from the door, returning to his place beside Gecko. “Right, um, okay, so…” He frowned. “Gecko, if I can be completely honest with you, I’m not sure what to do. Garath’s telling me his battle isn’t the kind he can duck out from, and with how many soldiers there are in the city, I doubt a clean escape will be possible. Hmm. I guess, what I’m trying to say is…” As the banging and the shouting on the other side of the door intensified, he turned to her, making the same expression one might make while suggesting to get take-out instead of eating the burnt casserole. Then he said, very reluctantly, “Killing people is bad. I know this. I don’t know how much you’ve learnt about me, and I can’t really remember how much I told you at the lake, but… I’ve killed a lot of people. That’s a bad thing. But… I’m starting to think that maybe, in this particular situation… Killing a few people might be necessary? Possibly? I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

She stared at him. 

He returned the favor for only a moment before averting his gaze, sucking in a thin breath as he did. “Shoot, sorry, yeah, you’re right. Killing can never be justified. I—I’m sorry. You might know the kind of stuff I’ve done, but actually seeing it in real life… That’s something different. I’m not sure if you’d still see me in the same way, and…”

“Could you do that?” she asked, pathetic, tawny hope rearing in her chest.

By pure absurdity, he dared to look at her again. “What? D—do what?”

Of course. It was so obvious. How stupid could she be? Stepping up to him, she took a hold of his shoulders, her hands trembling from the strain but it was fine. It would all be fine. If only… “Can you save us?”

His brows furrowed down over his eyes, half-hidden behind his glasses. “Save you… how?”

Releasing him, she took a step back, and allowed her inner drama queen to give a large, theatrical wave to the city as a whole, in all its smoking, screaming horror. “Don’t you see? This is war, Fennrick! Killing is expected! We are under attack, and you—you…!” 

Mouth opening slightly, he shook his head. “I don’t…”

“They’re going to kill us,” she said. “Self-defence… That’s not murder. That’s hardly even manslaughter.” But he still seemed apprehensive, which was bad, because unless she convinced him to start killing some armed and dangerous attackers, then she was going to die, and that would be the end of it. She did not want to die. Her teenage years were a different beast, but now she wanted to live. And her only possible salvation appeared to completely lack the basic understanding of how in war, the enemy decided the consequences of loss. “Please. Please.”

“But,” he said, weakly, all childish, “killing is bad. I know that now. I shouldn’t be…”

She gripped him by the shoulders again, now so strongly that her hands didn’t tremble at all. “You have to. Otherwise, I’ll die. This city dies. Don’t you get it?”

He blinked at her, and then he looked out at the city. The soldiers were still banging at the door and shouting. “Oh. Um… Okay. So… It’s fine?”

“In these circumstances?” she said. “Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes!”

“It’s okay to kill people if it saves people?”

“Of course it—has nobody taught you this? Oh, my God, yes it is! If a thousand soldiers attack a village of one hundred you kill the soldiers because they are soldiers and the villagers are civilians—that’s how it works! I’m a civilian. Those are soldiers. I don’t want to die. So, I don’t care how you do it, just…”

“Then, should I save the city, too?”