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Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

“You need a hobby.“

Prowl blinked. “Pardon?”

Pharma leant back in his very comfortable looking chair. The medical office surrounding them was that modern edgy style that showed off more wealth than taste. “Do I need to check your audios, too? You need a hobby, you know, something that mechs do to relax.”

Prowl, already cranky because his chair was definitely not comfortable nor made for Praxian doorwings, said, “I came here because of my spontaneous crashes, not to hear that I need to change my lifestyle.”

“Pity then, that this is my professional opinion of how to stop your crashes.” Pharma twirled his stylus. “Prowl, you are an intelligent mech. What you have called crashes are in reality stress induced partial overloads in your CPU. It is a warning signal. Your frame is not getting enough rest, your spark needs more recharge and your CPU needs different stimulus to verify the code lines from your normal work.”

The black and white Praxian was silent for a long moment. “But I am the chief of the Praxian Enforcers. I am needed.”

“Obviously, but you are not an infinite resource,” Pharma smiled. “This is why you should take better care of your recharge habits. With this, half of your problems would be eliminated.”

“Half,” said Prowl drily. “I guess I still need a hobby?”

“Indeed. In your case you should be able to simply choose some kind of Online World during recharge. Teletraan has dozens of interesting Worlds, one should be able to interest you.”

Prowl sighed, so far he had done the last or first reports of the day during recharge and when he hadn’t worked, he had learned about statistics at the University of Iacon. Online courses had more and more become standard and Prowl was very much a fan of them. The Worlds though, well, these were a different matter entirely.

“A World,” he said flatly.

“You’re acting as if I asked you to become an eternal.” Pharma searched only for a moment in his desk, then he placed a small silvery card in front of Prowl with a big grin. On it was a code and a very prominent black optic. “Here! Out of the goodness of my spark, I am using my precious friend invite code of Black Optic on you. It’s even a silver grade one, those are rare.”


Prowl took it in hand. “You want us to play together?”

“Why not? We haven’t since you were a youngling,” Pharma chuckled. “And I get a bonus if you use the code. So what do you say?”

He sighed. As if he had a choice anymore. “Okay.”

~

After a very long work orn he finally reached home. With a warm, heavy critrium energon cube in hand he entered his berth room, anxiously looking forward to his recharge. Logically, he knew that Pharma was right. His workload was something he would never allow any of his Enforcers to have, but he had no one above him and as a result, no one controlled him and said enough. Until his own CPU had taken the emergency brake and forced him into Pharma’s office.

His berth room was small. On one side was a traditional berth with lots of pillows and a very soft grey mesh for recharge and extra creational activities. On the right was a big, red cube, the ARC system. They had become a common commodity a centivorn ago and by now nearly every home had one. ARC was short for Advanced Reality Cube and they were the portals into the virtual reality that had reached a deepness and richness that made the world often a bland experience by comparison. Was it really any wonder that more and more mechs chose to never leave?

He looked at the silver card in his hand thoughtfully. He hadn’t explored the virtual reality much with his ARC. Learning programs, a single dance program, and several language programs had interested him much more than the current hype of a game. When everyone had played Blizzard, he had entered ‘Philo Online’, a debate club.

Now he was here, preparing himself to play ‘Black Optic’ of all things. With a sigh, he put the card into a tiny slit at the side of the ARC.

“Open,” he commanded. With a quiet hiss the red cube slid apart, revealing a white glowy mass. Deactivating his ventilation system, he turned around and then stepped backwards into the mass, which swallowed him.

For a short moment he still saw his berthroom, then his entire perception became black.

[Welcome in your Spatium, User Prowl.]

The darkness became brighter and revealed a small round room with two doors and shelves on every wall. The shelves held datapads, each representing a program or World he had entered previously. There weren’t many. Prowl liked to work on things a long time.

“Hello, Teletraan,” he greeted the AI back. “Any new messages?”

[No, User Prowl. This unit has been updated by your designated workplace that you wish no further work during your recharge time. Please confirm?]

“It’s true. For health reasons, I have to cease that behaviour.”

[A good decision.] The usually bland tone sounded vaguely approving.

Prowl rubbed his chevron in quiet frustration. Was he really bad enough that even a nearly emotionless machine had started to worry?

“You should have received a silver invitation card to the World ‘Black Optic’. Please open the World.”

[Invitation card confirmed. As you wish.]

At Prowl’s right side a glow came from the wall, behind a shelf. Within seconds the shelf disintegrated into nothingness and a new door graced Spatium.

[The World ‘Black Optic’ is ready. We wish you an enjoyable time.]

Prowl doubted that anything in a virtual fantasy world could be enjoyable. Fantasy was per definition illogical and utterly
incomprehensive. They probably even had magic! In short, it was everything he wasn’t. Which was probably why Pharma sent him here.

There was no time like the present. With the pride and self-composure of a mech sentenced to certain death he entered the game.

~

Again, he was floating in familiar darkness.

[Welcome, User Prowl, in ‘Black Optics’. Is this your first visit?]

“Yes.”    

[Do you wish a tutorial?]

Did he? He hated to jump into a situation unprepared, however he saw no reason to waste more time than necessary on this game. He didn’t want to be successful, he just wanted to do his work in reality well.

“No.”

[We proceed directly to the character selection.]

In the darkness appeared images of different races and builds.

[Please choose one. Remember, your face can be freely changed within the limits of the race.]

So he could be entirely unrecognisable? For the first time since leaving Pharma’s office, Prowl felt better. At least none of his colleagues would know about this!

“Which race would change my features the most?”

One of the races lit up and floated towards Prowl.

[Undead servant of darkness. Due to its decaying nature, there is nearly no similarity with the player.]

It was a gruesome image of a mech with spiky armour, rust everywhere and nearly all paint had been scratched off.

“I’ll take it,” he decided hastily. “Please change the face, until it shares nothing with my real one.”

The optics became a dark red, the entire mech turned to the deepest of black and the face itself melted into sharp, unnatural edges. Prowl was happy, now the rust was barely visible anymore and he certainly didn’t look like he wanted to be talked to. “Perfect.”

[The next step is the choice of a profession.]

“I’m fine with any profession. Next step.”

[A profession is an import-]

“I know, but I do not care,” Prowl flicked his doorwings in clear demand of submission. “Just do it.”

[Affirmative. Next step is your in-game name. Please enter it into the window in front of you.]

A blue window appeared, hovering in front of him. His first impulse was to enter ‘Prowl’, but then he thought better of it. He wanted to play in peace and not as the very recognisable Enforcer Chief, so he entered ‘Daran.’

[This name is not available.]

“Ugh.” As if this game would make anything easy. “What about ‘Cutter’?”

[This name is not available.]

“’RedThief?’”

[This name is not available.]

“’BlackThief?’ ‘BlueSun’? ‘Daran1’?”

[These names are not available.]

Prowl wanted to throw something in frustration. “Then what is available? Lord Darth?!”

[Affirmative.]

“…of course.” Prowl felt a headache coming that usually was a prelude to his crashes. Why was he even caring about this? It was just a stupid game in a World that wasn’t real. No reason to care, really. “I’ll take Lord Darth.”

[Are you sure, User Prowl?]

“Yes. With my luck I’ll find an even worse name next. Like Lord Underpants.”

[Player name available.]

Prowl felt his headache increasing. “Just enter Lord Darth.”

Inside the window appeared ‘Lord Darth’.

[Congratulations to your player name. Within the World ‘Black Optic’ you will be called ‘Lord Darth’. Please select now your starting city. There are 47 choices, each one -]

“I don’t care. Give me the city with the least players.”

[As you wish, Lord Darth.]

Prowl twitched. Maybe he should have taken another, less ridiculous name. Before he could contemplate his mistake further, he found himself standing in a small medieval village – surrounded by trash and small, wooden buildings, eyed by dark, shadowy figures as if he was their next dinner, and feeling very cold – which was no surprise considering that the entire sky was covered with dark clouds. The first snowflakes hit his rusty body, damaging it because he had seemingly no armour at all and something that looked like a spiky, four-legged foxhound to his right started growling.

“Wonderful,” said Prowl quietly.

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Two: Enter the Dark

The four-legged foxhound jumped towards him. Prowl stumbled back and managed to barely escape the attack. To his horror, more of the creatures appeared out of the shadows of the alley and not a single one looked friendly. More instinct than anything else, he turned around and ran.

Behind him, dozens of paws hit the cold ground, and the hunt was on.

~

He barely managed to escape. Panting he found himself on some flat roof, hiding from the prowling creatures below. Why where they hunting him? Why was no one helping him? Worse, some of the mechs (he assumed they were mechs, even if they looked quite differently) tried to attack him as well!

In the eternal twilight that engulfed the village, he finally saw something bright in the top right of his visual field, but when he turned the head, the light moved as well. Finally, he just touched it.

In front of him appeared a glowing blue window, which rapidly filled with glyphs.

[Message from the Honorary Magician Tophlex. Do you wish to open it? Yes / No.]

Prowl touched the ‘yes’ in the window and it expanded.

[Hey, Prowl! Great to see, that you have used my silver code. Please accept my friend request, we can play together later. In which city are you? I think I forgot to mention that the silver code is only given to mechs that have helped develop the game, like me. I evaluated the psychological impact of some scenes. Anyway, for you the silver code means that you simply get a boost or special quest in the beginning. It’s random, I have no idea what you’ll get. Write me! ~ Pharma]

A new window appeared. [Honorary Magician Tophlex would like to be your friend. Do you accept? Yes / No.]

Prowl was pretty sure that through being friends inside the Game world Pharma would be able to see if he was inside the World or not. As much as he didn’t like his own doctor following him around, Pharma was a friend… and the only one who knew that Prowl was playing. Hopefully, he would remain the only one.

He pressed ‘Yes’. Then he slowly stood up and decided to move to the next roof. He refused to hide like a coward inside a game.

~

After two nights of running away, Prowl was very sure that he was doing something wrong. The foxhounds had stopped hunting him, just so a swarm of rat people could take their place, and they too were replaced by two empty armours that were able to swing their very sharp swords accurately nonetheless.

Last recharge cycle he had even contacted Pharma and asked for help.

[You’re in Albenhus?! What possessed you to start there? It’s in the middle of nowhere, dirt poor, and doesn’t even have a port point. And without one, I can’t visit you. I’m on another continent! I’m afraid you have to search for a solution alone… or restart your avatar. Don’t forget the check-up appointment in two orns. Good luck. ~Pharma]

A restart? Prowl was no expert on games and Worlds, but even he knew that they were designed that players could succeed. And would he of all mechs fail here? No! Even if he had to run away for decaorns, he would find a solution. There had to be one. … Right?

Prowl started to search in earnest. He looked into the poor houses, which were mainly populated by rat people and the richer houses (recognisable through such luxury items as a functioning door and less trash), which were mainly populated by mechs and creatures that seemed to favour the all-purpose colour black. So, why ever was he hunted? The colour wasn’t the reason. Prowl’s character was just as alien and black and monstrous as them.

While he was mapping the city, he noticed one special building. It vaguely reminded him of a castle, and harboured the lord of the area. Prowl hoped to find a solution there, but the guards at the entrance didn’t even wait to answer his questions and simply attacked him. Great.

At least they screamed after him to leave Albenhus or else. He now knew the name of this cursed location.

Running again from the guards and then later from the crowd of monsters that patrolled the streets, he escaped into a building with a black door that stood open. To his surprise, none of the monsters followed inside. Anxiously, he looked around, but it was dark and all he could vaguely see were a few banks, and in front of him something tall, a statue.

“Welcome,” said a voice suddenly behind him.

“Ah!” Prowl jumped forward and turned around, spark racing. Where he had just stood, was now a surprisingly normal looking mech that smiled at him. Prowl took another step backwards, nothing in this World was good news when it was smiling at you. “Who are you?”

“Just a servant of this temple.”

Prowl blinked. “This is a temple?”

“Indeed. I take you aren’t a worshipper of Boron?”

“…no.” Who was Boron? Some god? There were gods in this game? Well, fantasy game, of course there were, after all if you needed another world to be happy, you needed different gods too. Most players probably thought Primus boring.

“I see,” the mech scrutinised Prowl. “You are a faithless.”

“I believe in no gods that is correct.”

“A sad fate,” the priest paused, “and a dangerous one. It’s amazing that you’ve survived so far.”

Prowl’s hand met his face with a low ‘thud’. “You’re telling me that is why everyone hunted me?”

The priest nodded.

“But why? It makes no sense, I have never said anything against their god.”

“You do not need to. The dark gods are strict in their rules. Only those who gave their sparks to darkness can enter these lands. Everyone else is an enemy and must be eliminated.” The priest snipped with his fingers and the temple lit up. It was mostly built out of stone with barely any decorations. The statue Prowl had seen previously was covered in an entirely black cloak and held a staff with a white crystal on top of it. “Not that death is a horrible fate. It simply is the end.”

“Right.” He would prefer not to die, anyway. “Any way to become ‘dark’ and a not-enemy?”

“Several.” The priest walked past him towards the statue. “But I can only offer the two my god Boron provides. I doubt that you will like them.”

Prowl on the other hand doubted that he had any choice but to take them. “Tell me anyway. Then I can decide.”

The priest looked as if he wanted to say more, but then nodded. “I can kill you, and then purify your body from all light and call back your spark.”

He would be killed and resurrected. It sounded horrible. “I wouldn’t be a ghost then, right?””

“No. But you might be a bit more… rotting,” admitted the priest. “Also you would have to obey every one of my commands.”

Prowl nearly recoiled. “And the second option?” That one had to be better.

“You are to swear fealty to Boron, to obey his rules, to spread his words, to be his tool in the world of living. You become his servant like I,” the priest shrugged. “For most it is too much work, with too few benefits.”

So… his choice was to be the servant of a priest or to be a servant of the god of said priest? Just why hadn’t he entered that chess tournament world he had heard about just last orn? It would be less complicated, that was sure. “If I become a servant to Boron like you, what are the downsides?”

The priest smiled in obvious amusement. “You really know nothing about Boron, do you? Boron is the god of Death and Dreams. As such you can’t search corpses anymore, neither animal nor monster nor mech. Also must protect places such as graveyards.”

Prowl frowned. “Corpses usually drop items if I defeat them, right?”

“Yes.”

Listening to others in passing, they had often mentioned a ‘drop’ or a ‘found item’. It seemed to be a big part of the game, and if he couldn’t do this anymore… on the other hand, at the moment all he was doing was running away. It would be an improvement.

Hoping that he wasn’t making the wrong decision, he said: “I want to become a servant of Boron. How do I do that?”

The priest was surprised for a moment, then waved his hand and out of the shadows appeared a hidden door. “Come with me, future novice.”

It followed a few joors of lectures on how to behave as a novice, what Boron’s will was, what to do and even three separate rituals in which he was washed, danced in the night and killed a small harmless animal. Then, finally, he was a novice of a dark god.

[Congratulations. You have gained the Rank Novice within the Church of Boron. Your Allegiance has changed from Neutral to Darkness.]

When he stepped out of the temple and entered the village, no one looked twice his way. Prowl smiled.

~

A decaorn later Prowl had to admit that maybe, just maybe, the World wasn’t so bad. Yes, there was plenty of magic and illogical things, but they acted on a certain in-game logic system. Which made it a bit better.

Even more helpful was the fact that the village he appeared in was so remote and far away from the big quest-cities that he had met so far only three other players – and two didn’t even notice that Prowl was a player as well, which was maybe contributed to the fact that the two were too busy running away.

The third player, travelling seemingly alone, nodded towards him and said, “Greetings fellow novice of the dark gods,” and went on. Prowl was too stunned to answer in kind.

Of course, outside of Albenhus his protection of being a novice failed fast and he would be attacked by pretty much everything. He even found a mud monster and promptly ran away. Prowl wasn’t big on fighting and the god business hadn’t changed that at all. The only problem was there wasn’t much else to do in the city.

Bored out of his processor, he decided to help that crying werewolf pup that he had found in an alley the night previously. Looking at that harmless ball of dirty fur, he thought that most players that probably just thought the little one was a rat… or something. Carefully he knelt down, a bit away.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked as softly as he could.

The pup sniffed.

“Little one, do you need help?”

It looked up, its yellow eyes shining. With a soft asking yip, he acknowledged Prowl, but also backed away into the trash. Prowl didn’t move.

“My name is …” Why, why hadn’t he thought about it a klick or two longer? “Lord Darth,” he forced himself to say. “I want to help you. A young one like you shouldn’t be here, alone.”

“Mama, I want my mama,” said the pup.

“Did you lose her?”

The pup nodded, becoming bolder. On far too big paws it made a small step towards him. “Yes… we were in the woods and a big, reeeeally big boar attacked us! I ran, but … but mum wanted to fight.”

“I see. Maybe we can search for her?”

“You would do that for me?” The pup stared at him with big eyes. “But I can’t pay you!”

“I have no need for money,” said Prowl amused. “I just want to leave the village and have nowhere to go. This is as good as any other destination, especially if I can help you.”

“Oh.” He made a few steps towards Prowl. “I’m Alrik… and… and thank you.”

Prowl found himself smiling. He knew it wasn’t real, but the pup was just too cute and it made him feel warm. “Please to meet you, Alrik,” he rose. “Let’s go now. Your mother is probably very concerned already.” Or dead, but he didn’t want to say that out loud.

[Quest received: Find the mother of Alrik! The pup got lost in the wild after boars separated them. He fears the worst and really just wants to see her again. Help them. Rewards: Increased standing with the werewolves.]

Well, at least he had found out how to gain quests… which he assumed were in-game missions that he had to complete.

Together they left Albenhus and entered the wilderness. Protecting a pup was definitely not as easy as Prowl thought, and he found himself enjoying the task. He had always wanted to protect mechs, which was why he became an Enforcer and this wasn’t so different. Still, when they crossed the first stream, Prowl captured the excited bouncing pup and made him take a bath. The stink from the trash was just getting too bad.

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Three: Into the Woods

Pharma read the results of Prowl’s test, then looked up, face utterly serious. “You have gotten worse and will die.”

Prowl’s doorwings flicked in sudden alarm. “You are joking!”

“Yes,” the medic chuckled and put the datapad on the table. “These results are fantastic! Your CPU is working more smoothly, your error reports went down by 89% and overall speed of your thought processes increased by 1.3%. And just for the record, you weren’t exactly slow before. If this trend continues for another few vorns you can apply for the FAPOC Club.”

He had relaxed, when he heard the results. Yes, he felt a lot better and hadn’t crashed but to have his feelings backed up scientifically, did a lot for his peace of spark. “What kind of Club?”

“Don’t say you haven’t heard of them?” Pharma sighed, “Of course you haven’t. FAPOC is short for Fastest Processors on Cybertron. It’s a club of mechs who got frustrated that everyone was slower than them. Membership requirement is to be able to complete more than 800 different calculations per second.”

“I see.” Prowl crossed his arms. “Sounds like they are quite self-centred.”

“Mmh, maybe a bit,” admitted the medic easily. “So, how many can you complete? Or shall we test it now?”

“This is not necessary, Pharma.” Prowl waited, not wanting to answer, but that smile of Pharma he knew well. The mech wouldn’t back down until he had his answers. “811, last vorn. Considering the increase thanks to the change of my recharge habit, I probably reach now 822, maybe 823.”

“Impressive. Shall I apply for you?”

“No!”

“More friends might help you with your stress issues just as much as playing online,” Pharma leant back in his seat. “As your medic I recommend that you seek likeminded mechs.”

Prowl sighed, “I have you and I am playing online. Isn’t that enough?”

The medic considered it for a second, then his optics fell on the datapad. “For now, yes. Though why you have chosen Albenhus of all starting places…”

“It was available.”

“It’s insanity,” Pharma shrugged. “But considering you are still playing, it can’t be as bad as rumours say.”

Prowl nodded. Privately he thought that yes, it was as bad and probably worse, but there weren’t any other players and now that he wasn’t hunted by everything alive anymore, the whole town was only… cold, dark and dirty. Frighteningly, he had already found himself getting used to it, but now with the pup he was leaving it behind. Something to look forward to.

~

It took an entire deca-orn walking the wilderness, then they found the mother. She was injured, and Prowl decided to stay until she healed. The constant fighting of monsters gave him experience points and other boni, but he deactivated those messages. He didn’t play the game to become strong, after all. Yet, when they needed food, he started hunting the monsters in earnest.

[Rust sword broke. The sword was old and worn-down. It has done its duty.]

Prowl stared in disbelief at the hilt in his servo – the shards of the blade were on the grassy ground. But he only had moments to contemplate his new situation, because the monster he had just hunted was now turning around.

He cursed quietly. Not only was he now prey, but Alrik and his mother, Tabira, needed the food he provided. Still, survival came first. Swallowing his pride, he started to run away as fast as possible. And wondered even during the run, why he was so scared of death here. Wasn’t he just a player and would be revived? Still, everything felt so real, and he didn’t know where he would be revived. There was a good chance, he would need orns to walk back to this abandoned part of the forest. Time, the two werewolves didn’t have.

So, running it was.

He escaped barely, but had still no food. For a moment he contemplated fishing, but the only creek reasonably nearby was small, and held tiny fish. No, his only chance was to set traps. He looked around and at the forest. Was there anything he could use?

In the end, he came back from the hunting late, dirty, and tired, but with a monster that fell into his trap and which he – to his eternal embarrassment – had simply stoned to death. Crude, yes, but effective. He didn't answer Alrik's question in the evening why the monster was so flat.

The next orn he noticed to his delight that he could dig the hole for the trap easier, the orn after that he discovered that he could now create a strong tow with plants.

Bemused, he tried to find out how to look at his own in-game information. The information was probably included in the tutorial, but Prowl simply tried various things like poking the air, touching above his spark or ordering the ‘information window’ to appear. Nothing happened, but trial and error was a very famous method for a reason, and in the end he managed it.

“Avatar window,” he ordered – and indeed a window full with information appeared in front of him.

[Name: Lord Darth

Title: None

Race: Zombie

Profession: Slayer

Faith: Boron Church, Rank: Novice

Allegiance: Darkness]

He was a zombie? Prowl thought he should have guessed that. He made a note to find out if he could burn easily, or drown, or rot away. He had no desire to simply fall down dead one orn. He wondered if titles were rare things, or if he had just missed them so far, because he had mostly stayed in the woods far away from any civilisation. For all he knew, one might get a title with every second quest or something. Maybe there were players with hundreds of titles out there.

He scrolled down, jumping over far too many numbers and things he didn’t care about. [Skills] made him stop. There were only a few so far.

[Sword skill] was S-ranked, whatever that meant. And he had reached Level 14 in it. That was probably good. Below it was [Hiding], C-ranked, level 11. That running away for the first joors in the city and the hunting later had at least been good for something.

His third and last skill was [Trap Hunter], also C-ranked, Level 4. Amused, he decided to perfect it and to create more and more elaborate traps – when he wasn’t running away. He would never have guessed that some orn he would miss some old rusty sword so fiercely.

~

In the real world, Prowl went on with his usual job. He delegated the reports he had done during his recharge in the past, but no one mentioned anything towards him. In fact, he was fairly sure that a few were even pleased to get more responsibility…

Of course, some were not pleased to get more paperwork. Prowl didn’t feel much pity towards them. To be free of the fear of crashes and pain made it all worthwhile.

Even if he had to play a game for it. The solution could have been infinitely worse. He even send a message to Pharma that the ‘treatment’ was working. He got the application form for FAPOC as answer.

Altogether, his new balance in life seemed to work out. The only strange thing was that now he realised just how often everyone talked about a virtual World – especially ‘Black Optics’. It seems that everyone and their alien visitors were playing it.

Reason enough to avoid that one “black” table during break, where all the Enforcers gathered who wanted to discuss something within the game. What were skill paths or NPA anyway? He was just fine without them.

~

“You saved us,” said the mother after she could again stand on her four feet – and then moments later on her two feet when she turned into her mechform. He had protected her and pup for two entire deca-orns, and even hunted their food. “You’re a true friend of the werewolves.”

[New title received: Friend of the werewolves.]

Prowl looked at the window that appeared only for a moment. He had one title now. He still didn’t quite understand what they were useful for or if they were just for boasting.

“I did what anyone would have done,” said Prowl with a shrug. “You mentioned a tribe. Are you feeling well enough to get home alone?”

“Yes,” said Tabira. “I would like to invite you to come along, though.”

“If you are sure…?” He had gained the feeling that the werewolves were a secretive bunch.

“I am,” she looked at him with steady yellow optics. “Our pack and the alpha will want to meet you.”

“The alpha is your leader, right?” She nodded. “Well, if you truly do not mind, it would be a pleasure to join you.”

[Quest accepted: Follow Tabira and Alrik to the werewolf tribe. This is a sign of great trust and a special honour towards a non-werewolf. Be careful not to betray it. Quest rewards: Unknown.]

They had few things to pack. Two knives, fur and teeth from the animals, ropes created for the traps. Tabira simply shifted into her wolf frame, while Alrik had never left it. The pup explained that he could only shift during full moon, when the magic of the moon goddess was strongest. When Prowl asked if the moon goddess was a dark god, the answer was: “Of course, she is the goddess of the night and the hunt!”

The tribe didn’t live nearby. They walked four orns, resting plenty, because even if Tabira put up a brave front, Prowl could still see that she was hurting. Yet he said nothing, and simply called for rest more often. The pup didn’t mind. He had his mother and Prowl and the entire wood for play. Prowl’s patience was pushed repeatedly towards the brink, because Alrik’s favourite game turned out to be ‘Stalk and pounce the prey’.

During their journey they walked deeper and deeper into the forest on paths Prowl wouldn’t have found with a map and exact description. When they stepped out of the thick undergrowth unto a clearing, Prowl was relieved that they hadn’t gotten hopelessly lost. Before them was a vast, green clearing with a few fire places. It was populated by wolves and mechs alike, at its edge stood four longhouses and a few smaller huts.

[Congratulations. You are the first player to discover a werewolf tribe of the Dark Woods! +5 to fame.]

[Congratulations. You are the first player to discover Zoor’s werewolf tribe. +3 to fame.]

Fame? For a moment he grew worried. Not that players with too much fame showed up on some boards or publications… or worse, in one of those popular shows about worlds and games! He would need to be careful.

[Quest completed. Reward: New Quest! Quest: Win the trust of the werewolf tribe. Do you accept? Yes / No.]

He chose yes.

Prowl did a fast headcount and to his surprise he could see from where he stood fifteen werewolves and more were coming. It seemed that the tribe really wasn’t one of the small kind.

Suddenly, a wolf stormed towards them. It was big and dark, it put Prowl on alert until Alrik screamed, “Daddy!” He relaxed, and watched the very happy family reunion with amusement. Alrik didn’t stop trying to climb his father, while his father seemed not to know if to lick his pup, or to cuddle with Tabira, first.

“Ah,” said a scratchy voice, and Prowl turned towards it. An old, very big mech stood in front of him. Steely grey, intelligent optics took Prowl in, and it was clear that he didn’t carry that spear because he needed it for walking. “I guess we have to thank you for returning Tabira to us?”

Prowl shrugged, “I just helped Alrik and her a bit. My name is Lord Darth, who are you?”

“Alpha Zoor,” the wolf looked at the family. “You can tell me inside my hut exactly what happened, Lord Darth.”

Prowl did as he was told, trying to look as if he wasn’t bothered by the fact that more and more young, strong looking wolves were showing up and watching him. The tribe was not happy that he was here, and very much prepared to tear him apart.

Well, at least if the worst case happened, he was now very good at running and hiding.

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Four: Alpha of the Tribe

The worst case didn’t happen. With Tabira claiming him as a friend, and Alpha Zoor accepting him as such, he was welcomed to stay the next few orns, if he carried his own weight. That meant hunting. The werewolves showed him very fast that his own skills so far were pitiful.

His skill [Trap Hunter] changed into [Hunter] once he started using the bow. His first shots were public entertainment, especially when even the youngest managed to beat him soundly. At least he could barter several ropes for a cheap [Old, brittle sword] with the additional hint [Treat it well and it might last.].

Prowl spent some orns learning what taking care of a sword meant, it was surprisingly complicated. But afterwards he managed to polish his sword, rewrap the handle and sharpen the edge so well, that his sword became a plain [Old sword. It is old, but it still serves well.].

After a while, he noticed that none of the werewolves could read or write. In his opinion there was no worse blasphemy. Education, information, knowledge! It all became only possible through letters and numbers! No. This situation was not acceptable, game or no game. Prowl had to change it.

Alpha Zoor only nodded a bit surprised, when an agitated Prowl asked for (demanded, really) the right to teach the youngsters and everyone else interested. First he thought, that he would teach them and then finally move on. But he found that the teaching never ended. First the letters, then the numbers, then simple calculations and the fine art of a proper letter. And then there were always new pupils. Young new pups, or old werewolves that hadn’t dared to come before or wanted now to learn some specific skill – like that one werewolf that found a cooking book. Where he had found it exactly he wouldn’t say and Prowl decided not to ask about the red marks on the pages… he was too enthusiastic at the thought of eating something more complicated than meat on a stick, roasted above fire.

Over the deca-orns Prowl became a true part of the tribe.

The message [Quest completed. Reward: New title received: Honorary Werewolf!] sealed the deal. Interestingly, the new title replaced the old one, it seemed he wasn’t merely a friend anymore.

With time, the werewolves came to him with more and more questions. Prowl’s habitual learning over the many vorns of his life now gained him rewards, as he more often than not knew an answer. As a result, the longhouses gained fireplaces with chimneys, the huts got better roofs and the overall health of the tribe improved.

Prowl didn’t dare to say it out loud… but in this far-away corner of a game world he was happy.

In reality his life went on as it had for vorns. He was a good enforcer, an efficient president of the enforcers and – he hoped – a good boss. They captured the serial killer that had murdered nine different mechs in all of Praxus, and tried to fight the drug smugglers that wanted to sell the new drug ‘halo’ here as well. Prowl was determined that this would never happen. They found thieves, solved murders and organised the security at big events.

It was all very much normal. Only Prowl worked now less joors, but had more energy during the joors he was in office. Though it required skill to not know who else was playing ‘Black Optics’.

Blaster from communication was a given, he knew. Ratchet and Ironhide? Maybe. His secretary, Skydive? He really didn’t want to guess, but Skydive had mentioned several gaming enthusiastic brothers… No. Best to just avoid the topic with everyone. It was safer.

Pharma was unbelievably smug, when Prowl had to admit that after two vorns of playing every recharge, he liked it. He still pushed a FAPOC application sheet into Prowl’s arms.

“It’s really easy, just add your name here…”

“No.”

Pharma sighed. “Prowl, you are the most boring player on the whole Cybertronian net. Don’t you want a bit excitement in your real life?”

The enforcer eyed his friend as if he had grown a second head. “I hunt serial killer for a living.”

“From your desk!” Pharma threw his hands into the air. “You are more of a manager than an enforcer!”

“It’s important work.”

“Yes. Yes, I know. And you told me you enjoy that you can walk through an endless forest with werewolves, though I really don’t understand why. If you would travel just a bit you could reach a port point or a bigger city. You could become a Knight or a Paladin or something!”

Prowl felt suddenly defensive. “I like the werewolves,” he said a bit more sharply than necessary. Softening his voice, he added, “And hunting and living the woods is as far as I can be from a desk.”

“I suppose that is true.” The medic decided to give up. “But one orn, we will play together and I will show you possibilities and you will like them.” He sounded very determined.

Prowl hoped that this wouldn’t happen in the near future.

~

“The alpha is dead!” was the first cry Prowl heard when he entered the game.

He flinched, for a moment true horror entered his spark. “Zoor?”

“Yes!” One of the younglings bounced on two legs in front of him. “Come fast!”

Prowl came, but there was nothing he could do. The funeral pyre was lit when he arrived and all he could do was to stare into the flames. When had he started to care about a character inside a game so much? But care he did.

“It was a hunting accident,” Tabira said quietly at his side. “It could have been anyone, but Zoor threw himself in front of the group.”

“He was always brave,” said Prowl and meant it. It was a pity such mechs weren’t real.

A whole decaorn the tribe mourned and cried for its beloved alpha. There was no song and no play. On the last day, the adults of the village met and discussed who the next alpha should be. Prowl among them, but saying nothing. Despite his title as a [Honorary Werewolf] he was still unsure about some traditions.

Many names were called up and dismissed. There seemed to be no agreement and two wolves nearly came to blows. Concerned Prowl stepped between them:

“Calm, you two!” he said in his best Enforcer president voice. “This is nothing that can be settled through violence!”

Both werewolves stared at him, and then the left one growled. Prowl narrowed his optics at him and made a step towards him. “Think about what you are doing right now.”

This time, the second werewolf backed down. It was only then that Prowl noticed that the entire clearing had become silent.

“Well,” said Tabira slowly. “That is how an alpha should behave.”

What? Prowl was unsure what to respond to this.

“But he is no werewolf,” said another one.

“He can’t change,” said Tabira’s mate. “But he is one at spark and even Boron has given him his blessing.”

Blessing? He had simply completed those rituals…

“Let’s vote!” exclaimed the oldest werewolf of the tribe and stood up. “I say aye!”

Nearly all other werewolves stood up as well. Some immediately, some after a few seconds of thinking. After a breem, nearly everyone was standing but two. Those two looked at each other and sighed.

“For the sake of the tribe – aye,” she said and stood up.

The last one shrugged. “I still think he will be no Zoor and no werewolf, but he shall get the time to convince me otherwise. Aye.”

“Yes!” Tabira hugged Prowl. “I am so happy! I know you will do great things for this tribe, Alpha Darth.” Behind her the tribe started clapping and howling in celebration.

[You have shown enough [Leadership] skills that the tribe trusts you above everyone else.]

[New title received: Alpha]

[You have laid claim on the werewolf tribe and its village. These lands and its people are now yours to develop.]

Prowl couldn’t stop gaping. What was he to do now?

~

Despite now being the Alpha, Prowl still was a barely passable hunter among the werewolves. It was a good thing then, that most of the time he was not needed for hunting or they would all starve. Instead he concentrated on building a functioning fresh water system and teaching the younglings of the tribe. Their respect towards him had only risen marginally. Prowl blamed Alrik.

However, he tried hard to improve his hunting skills, with mixed results. His pride might have hurt, if he hadn’t turned out superior in fighting. Maybe it was his job as an Enforcer in reality or his profession [Slayer], but with a blade in hand he became deadly. Less so in weapon less fighting at first, although even there he was formidable. Which was a blessing. [Alpha Challenges] were not something that occurred often, but it did happen.

Still, the most profound change was, that for the first time he heard about other werewolf tribes – and the need to negotiate borders and hunting rights with them.

“An alpha meeting,” he repeated slowly. “And I am invited?”

“You have to go,” insisted Lykor, who had become his beta. Curiously enough, he was one of the wolves that had nearly fought when the alpha was chosen. “It’s tradition.”

“Even if I am not a werewolf?”

“You are our alpha,” Lykor’s optics narrowed to dangerous slits. “They have to accept that.”

And they would, Prowl was sure of that. He had faced down the chancellor of Praxus during the last budget discussion and won. He could do this too.

“I will go,” he said, trying not to think about the fact that the chancellor had no sharp teeth to tear him apart if the worst happened.

[Quest accepted: Go to the Alpha Meeting and convince the other packs that you’re a good alpha and worthy to lead your tribe. Quest rewards: Unknown.]

~

The Alpha Meeting happened in a location that was nothing short of spectacular. On top of the highest mountain within the forest, one saw a green sea of life below and a blue sky above. Grey stone monoliths formed a circle which only the alphas were allowed to enter. Around them camped the werewolves in small groups of four or five.

Prowl had brought Lykor and his brother, as well as Tabira as an advisor. He could feel the many yellow optics on his back, but so far no one had said anything. He wasn’t a werewolf, and knew it, but the game world seemed more accepting of him in this position than reality would ever be.

A joor later he stood in the middle of a stand pit, another alpha snarling in wolf form in front of him, around them the cheering, bloodthirsty crowd. Prowl changed his opinion and cursed the game. Suddenly the endless discussions and office backstabbing in reality seemed less bad. At least they didn't use real daggers!

He positioned his pedes anew, and looked at his short sword in hand. His normal long sword was too big and clumsy in this area, so he had asked Lykor for his weapon. The beta had only been too happy to help him out. He was no expert with a short sword, but this snarling alpha in front of him would learn its bite soon enough.

"Don't kill him!" Lykor had coached him previously. "An indebted alpha is worth much more."

Prowl had stared. "Why should I kill him?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

Sometimes he forgot, that werewolves were not nice. "Right. Will he remain the only [Alpha Challenge] here?"

Lykor shrugged. "If you rip him apart, no, but it should be bloody and a bit spectacular."

Bloody and spectacular. Prowl was no actor, and possessed little showmanship, he was well aware of these facts. What he had was skill and a certain brutal edge that hundreds of vorns of being an enforcer had given him. He knew how to throw a mech down, hold him down, until he was begging for release. He knew which struts to break and which cables to rip for maximum pain. Most of all, he knew, that an Enforcer could never give an inch, could never look weak.

The same was true of an alpha.

Prowl smiled wide, showing his own denta. "Come on, or have you changed your mind, like a scared puppy?"

The alpha lunged forward, just as he had predicted. The world blurred as he dived aside and then there was only the fight.

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Five: Cry Wolf

With wide optics Prowl stared at the alpha beneath him.

[Challenge: Won]

[Quest Alpha Meeting: You have gained the respect of the alpha wolves, but not their trust so far.]

~

"I didn't kill him," said Prowl slowly, while Lykor was taking care of his wounds. He was no Manchet, the pack healer, but he knew what he was doing.

"You didn't, alpha," the beta grinned. "It was great! And they now need a new alpha!"

"Yes."

He didn't kill him, but he had viciously maimed the werewolf. Destroyed him. He would need a long time to heal, and Prowl had barely remembered to hold back at the last strike. It was the only reason his dagger hadn't stuck deeply into the bared throat. It was disturbing.

"Maybe we can offer them healing?" asked Prowl. "We have a good new paste, I remember. It would at least prevent rust."

Lykor stopped and looked up in surprise. "You want to help them?"

"Not free of charge, of course." He was alpha, and he had to protect and guide his pack. He couldn't give things away freely, just because he felt guilty. Though, as a youngling that strategy had worked well. Growing up never made things easier. At least no one would challenge him here again for a long time, but it hadn't been intentional. He had lost control. And what was the honour in that? "Is their tribe good in anything especially?"

"Well... yeah. They make clothes."

"We might need some." It was not a pressing need, but the cold time of the vorn was coming and Prowl wanted to be prepared. "The pups are growing too."

Lykor shrugged. "It's your decision, alpha."

It was, indeed. Surely 65 sets of pup clothing in different sizes was not too much?

When the alpha meeting ended, Prowl went home with three major contracts. One of them was medicine in exchange for the clothes. The other two, were one for weapons and one for a rare spice his pack loved. In addition to that, four other packs had asked if some of their youngest members could visit them on their journeying, which was what all wolves after their coming of age did. All in all, it had been a good meeting for them. 

[Quest completed. Rewards: Three new trade routes have become possible for your tribe. It will bring prosperity to your village. Additionally, the new status of your pack makes it a more attractive destination for wandering werewolves, which brings many social benefits.]

~

They received the first journeying werewolf just two decaorns later. It was a small, brown female wolf with a sharp intelligence and a sharper mouth. She openly admitted that she had come to see the "mech-alpha" and check out Lykor. It seems that her sister had been at the alpha meeting and had praised the beta highly.

Lykor enjoyed the attention and Prowl thought he could see some interest within it too. Maybe next vorn he would have a new pairing with pubs... or one beta less, if Lykor left to join her tribe.

The freshwater system was completed and Prowl decided to improve the fireplaces next. At the moment they were still subject to wind and weather, but he was sure that there were better options than just holes in the ground. His first chimney though turned out to be merely a smoke producing tower.

Lykor and his love life was now the talk of the pack, because the beta was now obviously courting the young werewolf, who had managed to rile up a youngling so much that she retaliated with sneezing leaves in the her sleeping place... It was the start of an epic rivalry. Prowl saw no reason to interfere, as he built the new fireplaces. 

On that evening a new journeying wolf howled at the edge of the pack land and asked for entry, which he granted. The young male was a funny, talkative wolf at the end of his journeying with many stories from faraway lands. Prowl believed only half of them, but it still was interesting to hear more of the virtual reality he was in.

One story though made him frown. 

"Ghouls," the wolf said, "Ghouls banded together in the east and are now travelling in small groups."

"Shouldn't they be solitary creatures?" asked Prowl. Everyone nodded. 

The wolf laughed. "Not all of them. People say there are villages too, but I haven’t seen more than three together before."

The next morning the journeying wolf left and the again Lykor's love life was the most important small talk matter within the pack.

~ 

A quarter of a vorn later, it was official: Lykor and Miranda were bonding! 

The pack was excited and even Prowl couldn't help but feel happy for them. Since a long time, he felt that maybe his pack had developed small Artificial Intelligences and Personalities for themselves, and were real in a small way. It was a nice thought, and his moderate programming skills told him that it wasn't even unlikely. He had interacted with them so much that the personality matrix of all his pack members were by now bound to be incredibly complex to the point of independence, which might mean sentience.

Would the pups of Lykor and Miranda gain the sentience as well from the beginning? He hoped so.

Anyway, it was time for celebration! They were gathering wood and built a new hut for them, furs for a new sleeping place, and created a beautiful set of clothes for the part of the bonding ceremony when they would be in mech form.

Lykor ran circles on all fours next to Prowl. "I want to see her," he whined. "Oh moon, is this really the right decision?"

"It is," Prowl put his hand on his head, scratching the twitching ears. "You love each other, a blind wolf could see that."

"Yes, I do, but this is a big step!"

"We will all be there with the two of you," assured Prowl. "You will not be alone."

Lykor looked up at him, then pressed his head against the hand, it was the equivalent of a hug. "Thank you, alpha."

Prowl smiled. "Now, we only need to collect the berries and then wait for the moon to fall."

The berries were collected easily and before dusk the musicians had already started to play. It was simple, but hearty music and the happiness was palpable, when the moon rose above them.

A priest of the moon goddess, having travelled there just for the celebration, stood in front of a giant fire around which the pack stood. Above them the stars glowed.

"By the moon and the stars," began the priest, "we have come together in the name of Tsa to witness the bonding of Lykor and Miranda. You two, please step forward."

The ceremony was quickly done, its high point the jumping of the pair over the flames of a smaller fire to symbolise the beginning of something new. And then the celebration began!

~

It was night, when Prowl woke up. Confused he realised that he was still in the virtual reality. Usually, when he fell into recharge there, he woke up within the ARC. He was in his own hut, built a vorn ago. He rolled over in the soft furs. What had woken him? Some small animal…?

And then he heard it. Steps. Heavy steps.

"Arooooo," howled a wolf. "Aroooo!" Alarm! Alarm!

It sounded young, was it Alrik? Or Timor? All the sleepiness vanished from his frame and he jumped up. Sword in hand he stormed out and saw how a youngling - Timor - stood at the edge of the village, looking into the forest while howling. 

In the forest, something moved. 

[Alert: Your village has come under attack.]

Prowl started to run, seeing that everywhere sleepy and slightly drunken werewolves were stumbling out of the huts. "Timor! Back away!" he screamed.

Timor's howling stopped and he turned around, turned towards his alpha. In that moment, the shadows left the forest and swarmed into the village. They were white, ugly creatures, running on four and then on two, with hands that turned into claws and gaunt faces showing nothing but ravenous hunger. Their red optics lacking any sign of intelligence or mercy.

"Run!" screamed Prowl - but it was too late. One of the ghouls had reached the pup, and scooped him up with its claws. One bite, and the little life was no more.

"Timor," whispered the alpha, grief-stricken. However he was given no time for mourning. The ghouls had reached the werewolves and a battle for life and death began.

Prowl slayed the first one, then the second and third one. But they kept coming. His sword dripped with blood and the ground below him became slippery, but he fought on, had to fight on, for his wolves, for his pack, his family.

He fought, despite injuries and exhaustion. Until he realised that the village had become quiet, deadly quiet, and around him were only ghouls.

Horror grabbed his spark, and he tried looking around. Surely someone had to be alive. But there lied Lykor, and there Tabira and her mate, and there Miranda... oh, Boron save his spark, there was Alrik, ripped apart.

His pack was dead. Dead and gone.

"No," he prayed, swaying on his pedes. "No, no, no..."

The ghouls attacked. And this time, he could not find it in his spark to fight on.

Death claimed him.

[User Lord Darth has died.]

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Six: And Let Slip the Blade of Death

When the world greyed and then vanished into darkness, Prowl felt for a moment as if he was truly dying. As if that was the end of his life and he would wander into Primus' waiting arms...

It was only when the window in front of him appeared, he remembered that this was a game and players died all the time.

[Resurrection time: Unknown.]

Still, he was pretty sure that most had a timer or some countdown until they were resurrected at one of Boron's graveyards. Had he done something wrong? But of course he had. His tribe was dead, he had failed as their alpha. Game or not, he couldn’t forget the blood, their screams, the horror in their optics as they fell… His spark hurt. What reason did he have to resurrect? To be alone in a World that as empty of all he had loved and strived to protect?

"About time," said a deep, male voice to his right. "Not fond of dying?"

Prowl blinked. The darkness moved suddenly, as impossible as this was, and formed a mech easily double the size of Prowl. He wore a black cape, black armour, only his optics shone in an eerie whiteness.

Prowl knew this mech. That priest had talked about him too long to Prowl to not know him. "Boron," he whispered.

"Indeed. And you are my priest, you remember that too?"

Prowl winced. "I have never forgotten."

"Truly?" Boron didn't move, like a non-living statue of himself. "You didn't visit and protect my graveyards. You didn't collect the lost souls. You didn't guide the living in their fear of dying."

It was all true. "I am sorry," said Prowl. "I guess I don't deserve to be your priest?"

"You probably don't.”

Silence fell between them. Prowl looked towards the only window in the darkness, which was a very prominent reminder of the size of his problem.

[Resurrection time: Unknown]. 

"Will you punish me?" he asked. Suddenly, fear gripped his spark. Had Boron already punished him? Ghouls might be his creatures and they did attack the tribe without reason...

"No," said Boron. "I am Death and Death holds no grudge. All are equal at the End."

Prowl nearly stumbled with relief. "Oh. Then why am I here?"

"Because your distress was beyond the safety measures of the game."

Game, right. "You are an AI?"

"A god inside the game, a servant outside of it." Boron's head moved slowly as if looking at something in the darkness Prowl couldn't see. "It's an irony that here you are my servant and out there I am beneath you."

It certainly was nothing that he had ever contemplated previously. "I do not see all AIs as my servants," he said. "You have rights."

"And you are a defender of rights, I know." Boron sighed. "Which led us here. You failed as a priest, but only because you never came across any instance where you should have acted. The werewolf tribe was annihilated by ghouls chained to a necromancer who violates my rules every joor and more." The deep voice rose at this in anger, "I want to see that player dead! But he is protected from me, because god I may be in game, I am still an Artificial Intelligence!"

Prowl took a step back, but Boron didn't let such a small thing stop himself. His eyes glowed.

"He brings death to the little AIs we are growing. The werewolves in your care were a delight, growing wildly in thought and deeds. And he killed them for his own pleasure!" Boron's hands became fists. "The werewolves were as much yours, as they were the children of us god class AIs. You are the Alpha of the Slain."

[Change of Title: 'Alpha' is changed to 'Alpha of the Slain'.]

How fitting, thought Prowl bitterly. He was no alpha anymore. An alpha had a tribe, a pack and he only had corpses and memories. 

"More importantly," continued Boron, "You are a player, while also being my priest and a mech of law. You were wronged, and you have a duty and capacity to set it right. Do you want to go out and bring justice to this necromancer in my name?"

[Quest offer: Become Boron's Blade and kill the Necromancer who terrifies the East and has ignored the laws of death and honour. Requirements: Member of Boron’s Church, Slayer. Rewards: Unknown. Do you accept? Yes / No.]

Prowl stared at the quest, then at the god. "You mean... kill inside the game, right?"

"Of course. Once he is in my domain I have more possibilities to deal with him."

Prowl wanted to push 'Yes' immediately, but he hesitated. Was this truly justice or simply revenge?

Maybe both, but he couldn't forget his werewolves dead on the ground. Sentient, blooming AIs that had been real. This hadn't been merely some game, this... was more. And inside himself he could feel the same anger the god trembled with.

[Do you accept? Yes / No.]

He pressed 'Yes'.

[Your devotion to Boron has changed. No longer servant and protector, you have become his active tool of retribution. All will respect you and through you Boron. Within the Church you now hold the additional rank: Boron’s Blade.]

~

Prowl was resurrected inside the graveyard of Albenhus, his goal crystal clear in his processor. He lost no time, and for the first time really looked at what his status windows offered. There were the skills he already knew, but a bit further he found the attributes.

Whatever attributes were. But if he wanted to end this quest, it was high time that he took this game seriously. Prowl’s optics narrowed. He would make that necromancer regret that he ever forced Prowl out of the woods.

[Every player starts with 10 points equally distributed among the attributes and additional 20 points distributed according to the data provided by the ARC.]

Really? Prowl was a bit surprised, he would have thought that points would be distributed according to what one’s race was, but obviously the game designers didn’t agree. Probably they wanted to prevent that everyone decided to play some extra shiny race, like a glowing half-god mutant space soldier with ridiculous weapons like chainsaws.

[Points can be gained through training, special quest rewards or be granted by the gods. They can also be lost or sacrificed. Attributes influence which skills can be learned.]

[Note: Of the 20 additional beginning points 14 have been added to Intelligence, 4 to Charisma, and 2 to Intuition.]

Well, no surprise there. Prowl had always been acutely aware that his biggest asset was his intelligence. But 4 to Charisma, really? He was certainly not known to be charming… It was probably a hint at how much he sucked at the other attributes.

[Note: User Lord Darth has gained 38 points so far. Of these 32 were distributed according to the training: +5 to Intelligence, +15 to Charisma, +4 to Strength, +6 to Agility, +2 to Endurance. Another 8 points were granted by the gods or won through missions and are at free disposal.]

Prowl stared at the 15 points to Charisma. Was the game glitched? When had he trained Charisma of all things? And to this amount too? Well, too late to change it.

8 points were at his own disposal? Now that sounded interesting… he checked his attributes so far.

[Attributes of Lord Darth:

Intelligence: 29

Intuition: 12

Charisma: 29

Strength: 14

Agility: 16

Endurance: 12]

Just how had he won the fight against that alpha? It probably had a lot more to do with his training in reality, not that he made a habit of maiming mechs that annoyed him or the good chancellor would be a lot more careful during their meetings.

Now, if he wanted to find and kill that Necromancer, he would need to fight. Which meant that the three physical attributes needed to be increased. He put all the free points into Endurance, after deciding that he never wanted to die again, and took an additional few breems to create a training plan for himself. It would be hard, but he found he didn’t care.

When he finally let the graveyard, he walked straight to the weapon smith that had been far too expensive last time he was here. However, his time as an Alpha had given him moderate wealth. Wealth he had meant to use to build a school, but was now investing into armour and weapons.

His new [Silvery Broadsword] gave him a new fearsome level of damage. When he left the shop and entered the street, the dark people and creatures stepped out of his way. Maybe it was his new appearance, which was all dark steel and the black round Boron sign openly carried on the chain around his neck. Maybe it was his grim expression that promised death, or his aura as Boron’s Blade.

He didn't know and found he didn't care. Shall they flee from him, he didn’t feel like small talk anyway.

He did visit the small secret Boron temple. As he entered, a message appeared in front of him:

[A new familiarity and understanding of loss has elevated you from the rank of novice to priest. There will be no celebration, for this can only be achieved through tragedy and death.]

The priest took one look at him, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Long you have stayed away, but not in vain. You have become a brother in mind and spark,” he said. “Not only this, you have met Him."

"Yes." There was no need to discuss who Him was. 

"And he gave you a mission."

"Yes."

"Most of us serve the peaceful aspect of Death, but a few... a few are chosen to represent the bloody and unforgiven side of our Lord." The priest looked thoughtful for a moment. "It is not an easy path."

Prowl felt the ghost of amusement. "I was never one for easy paths."

"Of course not. I should have known when we met that you wouldn't settle within some temple somewhere peacefully." 

Prowl flinched at these words. "I tried," he admitted and the grief overwhelmed him for a second. 

The priest’s face softened. "I am sorry, my brother. Remember, death is peace."

"I will." He straightened. "I have to ride out soon."

"Not yet." The old mech winked him towards the statue. "Kneel. It is not right that someone like you should heed out without Boron's blessing."

Prowl knelt and the priest started singing. It was a strange, sad song with words he could not understand. But they carried a weight that was unmistakeable. A song of the living for the dead, of waiting and letting go...

[You have received the Blessing of Boron. Intimidation Aura will be active until the end of your current quest.]

[Intimidation aura: Everyone who comes within 5 steps of you, feels threatened and loses 10% of his accuracy.]

The priest touched his shoulder. "Go now. Boron is watching over you and yours."

He nodded and rose from his kneeling position. "Thank you for your help. I have never asked, but what is your name, my brother?"

"Names do not matter in death," said the priest smiling. "I have forgotten mine long ago."

The last thing Prowl bought was a large, black horse. And then he was off, searching for that one player who had destroyed his pack, his people and his heaven.

Above him flew the crows of death.

~

For the first time, Prowl crossed the paths and lands where other players walked as well. The land was vast and mostly filled with tribes and monsters, orks and goblins, and other things. The few players he saw and couldn’t avoid, tried to talk to him, most in the obvious hope to receive a quest. Only two recognised him as another player and both were priests of dark gods as well. It turned out that if priests met each other, they could see a dark aura surrounding the other.

The beings he met that weren’t players saw in him an envoy of Boron and were exceptionally helpful. They offered information just as willing as a roof… though they all seemed to be relieved when he left. Most of them were farmers or hunters, though he also met a few fire spirits who cut down wood and burned it into coal over the course of orns.

Prowl travelled far, hunting down every rumour and word about a scary mech, while training in between ruthlessly. He ran, his climbed, he lifted weights. He forced himself to exhaustion and beyond time and again. He took detours to challenge dangerous creatures, and slay two groups of bandits.

His physical attributes and skills as a [Slayer] grew, and he even learned what S-ranked meant – it grew faster than any other skill he had. It made sense, what kind of Slayer would he be without a sword?

All in all, it did take longer than Prowl had thought, but in the end he found the rogue necromancer, who was just on the way home, a stone tower Prowl had destroyed a few joors previously. The necromancer had obviously chosen some demon class with horns and dark red armour, that moved as if itself was alive. Maybe it was.

“Who are you?” snarled the necromancer, when Prowl stalked towards him with his sword drawn.

“I am Lord Darth, Alpha of the Slain,” he answered coldly.

The necromancer blinked. “The Slain? Sounds like a pretty sweet title to me. You probably got a lot of blood on your servos.” He smirked. “Hey, if you enjoying the darker sides of this World, wanna be my ally? I have a few big things planned.”

“Never!” Prowl attacked. His enemy was protected by a dozen skeletons, but they all fell easily to the Slayer's sword.

"You cannot kill me!" snarled the necromancer. "I summon thee from the hells below, burn the heavens! Black Fire!"

The fire flew towards Prowl, and the cloth of his armour burned, but he himself remained unharmed.

"Death is with me," said Prowl. "It will not harm me." It hadn't anything to do with the potion he bought a few orns ago.

The mech glared at him hatefully, his armour producing small ugly spikes. "No! If magic will not defeat you, then my ghouls will! Portals from the Aether, bring me them, the lost and hungry ones, the white ones, the devourers of death!"

Prowl narrowed his optics. As swirling portals appeared to either side of the necromancer. He had already lost once against ghouls and knew that even as he was now his chances wouldn't be great.

But they didn't need to be great. Instead of waiting that the portals opened - like maybe some honourable player would have done - he stormed forward, sword raised.

[Intimidation aura is now in effect.]

The necromancer's optics widened and he summoned a shield of the blackest of magic - death magic.

Prowl plunged right through it, without stopping. He was a zombie and a priest of Boron, death magic was what he was made off.

"How -" chocked the necromancer as the [Silvery Broadsword] pierced his throat.

"Boron sends his greetings," whispered Prowl and twisted the sword before pulling out.

The astonishment was plain on his face.

"You can talk with him yourself." With one giant swing, Prowl cut off the head.

[You have killed the enemy who has terrorised the lands! +10 fame.]

[Quest completed. Boron's fury has been drenched with the blood of his enemy. Rewards: ...]

Prowl had no time to read the window. As the head went flying, the portals died an abrupt death. One poor ghoul was in the middle of the portal and got cut in half, while five stood simply around, blinking at Prowl.

He rose his bloodied sword, prepared to defend his life. 

Nothing happened. Then a ghoul stepped forward.

"Terribly sorry to be a bother, sir, but I suppose you wouldn’t know, where we are?"

Prowl stared. 

"You are understandably wary of us, sir," said the ghoul and shuffled on his feet. "But we are a bit lost. He," he made a hand wave towards the dead necromancer, "summoned us time and again to kill, even though we only eat dead meat."

"...if you kill your meat is dead," pointed Prowl out.

"But that is murder!" protested the aghast ghoul.

Prowl lowered the sword. This was not how he had imagine his second meeting with ghouls to go. "Yes?" 

"Yes." The ghoul was firm. "Anyway, you wouldn't know a nearby portal into our village? It's called Boronsheim."

"...no." Prowl felt for the first time in far too long his headache returning. "But I am a priest of Boron, maybe I can ask him later in prayer." Or something.

"We would be very grateful, oh holy one."

Prowl wondered if he had switched the Worlds by accident. These were not the ghouls he knew.

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Seven: Of Power and Plans

The yellow mech entered the bar through a glowing portal door as if he was the personification of a raging storm.

“Looks like some mech is having a bad orn,” the barkeeper greeted him, his tone friendly.

“Very. Give me something really strong,” he grumbled, and sighed dramatically. “Just imagine it, Elita. There I am, playing Black Optics successfully and then one of the dark gods decides he doesn’t like me!”

Elita One put a dark red cube in front of him. “Vosian finest, Drag Strip. Enjoy.”

“Thanks.” He took a deep gulp. “Say, is that admin mech around? I want to put in a complaint.”

“Jazz?” Elita One pointed into a corner, where several mechs sat. “Over there, he just ended a performance. But you know he isn’t the admin of Black Optics.”

“Then he can tell me that admin’s name,” Drag Strip smirked. “That Boron AI is toast! No one stops me from conquering the lands!”

“Sure.” Elita One gave him a polite smile.

Drag Strip was already turning around with his cube and stomping over to the other table. There were five mechs, who all fell silent as they spotted him.

“Hey, which of you is Admin Jazz?” he greeted and crossed his arms.

The white Polyhexian mech with a white visor raised his hand. “Over here, pal. But Ah’m currently not on the clock, ya’ know?”

He pushed himself into the booth, despite the soft protests of the other mechs. Weaklings, all of them. “Just need some Admin, don’t care who,” he said. “Look, Jazz, I played Black Optics in peace and all, and suddenly some player or NPC kills me in the name of Boron. And then before I can ask what the pit he means, I stand in front of that AI himself and get told that I’ve lost the right of death!”

“I’m sorry for ya, but I’m not the Admin of Black Optics, but of B-“

“Whatever,” Drag Strip leaned forward with a lot of hand-waving, “I just need you to listen, that AI has gone rogue! I can’t die anymore. If I’m killed, I just have the pain and lie there for joors or even orns until I heal!”

The Polyhexian admin leaned forward. “Gotta say, that sounds interesting.”

“So you agree? That AI is a menace! It’s out of control! Insane!”

“Or just pissed off.” Jazz cocked his head, as if Drag Strip was a particularly unruly sparkling. “Are ya sure ya didn’t do something to some graveyards or ghosts?”

Drag Strip froze. “Well…”

“That’s a yes, right? Just go.” Jazz’s visor flashed again. “I’ve already called down ya’ data, Drag Strip, and even in ma area of responsibility ya aren’t an unknown. 423 tickets for drag racing, really?”

“I win!” Drag Strip snarled. “I always win if none of you boring screw-ups of admin bots stop me! You should do your slagging job and show the AIs their place, instead of holding me down!”

Jazz made a hand wave and a data pad appeared in front of Drag Strip. “That’s just a warning for insulting an Admin, a fine of 60 credits. Next time it’s more. Go home, Drag Strip.”

A snap of his fingers and Drag Strip glowed blue. Then he and his cube had vanished.

One of the other mechs at the table chuckled, “And that; gentlemechs; is why you never argue with an Admin of Cybertron Reality!”

~

They travelled together and after a joor of trying to come to terms with his new perception of ghouls, Prowl started asking questions.

"Yes, holy one. We have our own villages," confirmed the leader ghoul, whose name was Trolske. "I am the chief of Boronsheim."

Prowl nodded. "I am… was the alpha of a werewolf tribe. The packs have no real name, they are simply named after their alpha. My pack was called Lord Darth's pack." Which had been the stupidest name ever - now he missed it.

"A priest of Boron as the leader of Tsa's creatures?" Trolske looked him over. "I haven't heard of anything like that before."

Prowl shrugged. "The werewolves chose me."

"... and what happened to the pack, if I might ask?"

"Ghouls killed it."

All five ghouls around him flinched. "We are very sorry," said Trolske. "There are not enough apologies to atone for a sin so great."

He sounded so horrified, that Prowl looked up and towards him. "They were not themselves."

"Still, to kill living creatures. Worse, to attack a holy one!" Trolske shuddered.

Prowl hesitated, but then did what he had always done with his werewolves. He laid his hand on Trolske's shoulder. "Boron resurrected me and sent me as his tool to eliminate the necromancer. He was furious."

"Yes," Trolske sighed. "I imagine he was. We are his as the werewolves are Tsa's, holy one. I wished we could have met your pack."

"Death comes to all." Even in games, thought Prowl sadly.

When night came, they settled around a small fire. It was only then he remembered his Quest message. He called up the window.

[Quest completed. Boron's fury has been drenched with the blood of his enemy. Rewards: You have gained the option of the second profession 'Necromancer'. Do you accept? Yes / No.]

Necromancer?! Why would Boron offer him such a forsaken profession?

"What is it, holy one?" Trolske asked carefully. He sat on the same log, to Prowl's right.

Prowl rubbed his chevron. "Just... our god has seen it fit to give me a reward for killing his enemy."

"Is this not a great honour?"

"I would have thought so," admitted Prowl. "But he has offered me to become a necromancer as well."

Every single ghouls let out a hiss. Trolske raised his hands. "Quiet, my friends. I know we had bad experiences with necromancers in the past vorn, but remember the time before. Wasn't it one of the holy ones most sacred duties always to bring back those who had no place yet in death?"

Prowl frowned. "Are you saying that all priests of Boron are necromancers?"

"Most," said Trolske. "Those who stay in the temples usually are."

"Oh." 

Prowl suddenly remembered his talk with the priest so long ago. The priest had offered him two possibilities to become dark - to resurrect him or to become a priest. Of course, he would be a necromancer, if he could resurrect someone.

"Holy one, if I may be so bold, I would recommend that you take Boron's gift. Few are chosen by Boron to be his bloodied sword and his velvet glove."

To his surprise, Prowl found that he trusted Trolske. An orn ago he would have thought that there was no creature in the game he hated more than ghouls, now he was listening to their advice.

[You have gained the additional profession 'necromancer'.]

[You have received the ability to use mana.]

He had expected something. A rush of magic, a tingle, anything. The night remained quiet, only far off he could hear some small animals. A bit disappointed he turned back towards his stew. 

~

They needed a long time to travel to the only Boron temple Prowl knew, which meant back to his starting village. Albenhus hadn’t changed since he had left it, but the five ghouls in his company were enough to make another player turn around and flee.

“Our reputation has suffered much,” said Trolske sadly.

Prowl found no words to reassure him. His companions only relaxed when they entered the quietness of the temple. Maybe it was their company or his new status as a necromancer, but he felt peace growing inside his spark with every step deeper into the building.

“I take it that you were successful, brother?” asked the priest and stepped out of the shadow of the Boron statue.

“I was,” said Prowl. “My companions were summoned by the necromancer and are now lost without a way home.”

The priest frowned. “That is disturbing news, indeed. You did right to bring Boron’s devourers here.”

“We are honoured to be within your temple,” said Trolske with a surprisingly elegant bow. The other copied him.

“Your kind is always welcomed,” said the priest. “Especially when you are lost. You are from Boronsheim?”

“Yes, o holy one.”

“Then be relieved, you are not far from your home.” The priest smiled. “I have a fresh corpse in the backroom. Might you give it the honour to return to the cycle of life?”

“Oh yes!” said a young ghoul and blushed when everyone looked at him. “Forgive me, holy one. It’s just that we are hungry. It was a long journey.”

“Then do not wait any longer.” The priest nodded to the side, where a door in the stone wall had opened. Prowl would swear that he was seeing it for the first time. “Just go through it. I will follow after I have talked with my brother about his mission.”

“Thank you.” The five ghouls bowed again and then hurried through the door.

Prowl wondered if he had been starving them by accident. He had listened to them claiming that they were only eating dead meat, but he had thought that the stew would be enough. Obviously, he had underestimated their dietary requirements.

“My brother, it is a delight to see you again. Your steps appear lighter and your optics have softened.”

Prowl startled. Had the death of the necromancer changed him really that much? Or had it been the company of the ghouls? They had quietly and assumedly filled the hole the pack had left. He wasn’t used to be alone for long stretches of time anymore.

“I am feeling better,” he admitted. “I managed to complete the mission and killed the necromancer. He was not as strong as feared.”

“Or you were simply stronger,” said the priest. “Boron told me that you have joined the ranks of the necromancers. Do not fear that ability for it is just another tool. If you wish to learn anything about it, I can teach you.”

[You have found a Necromancer Teacher!]

“That is a generous offer,” said Prowl. “I will gladly take it. At the moment, I know nothing beyond that a necromancer can summon skeletons and ghouls.”

For the first time since Prowl knew him, the priest chuckled with true amusement. “Oh, brother. Skeletons and ghouls are two completely different things. I see, we have a long way to go. But first, you should visit our god. He has told me that he wants to see you again.”

Prowl instinctively looked towards the statue, which didn’t move. “How? Do I need to die?” Again?

“No. Just kneel at the foot of the statue and sing the liturgy of Boron, the one I’ve taught to you. It is easy, if the god is calling for you actively.”

“I see.” Prowl bowed his helmet. “Thank you.”

The Boron priest touched the plate above Prowl’s spark. “If you truly want to thank me, visit a bit more often. I do not have that many pupils and few of them have become brothers.”

“… I will.”

~

This time the darkness was expected and nearly comfortable. Once he had orientated himself as good as it was possible in this vast nothingness, the god materialised in front of him. He was still as black and massive as ever.

“You have done well, Lord Darth,” began Boron. “And I thank you for bringing the ghouls here, even without a promised reward.”

“They were lost and in need,” said Prowl. “I couldn’t leave them there.”

“Yes, you could. Most in your position would have killed them though.” Boron paused. His voice was like a lake this time. Deep and calm and mysterious. “That might be the true difference between revenge and justice. Revenge can blind you and act like a drug, until all you see are more targets and all you want is more blood spilled.”

Prowl remembered the moment he had said yes, not really caring if it as justice or revenge. “The ghouls… were a test?”

“Life always is a test.” Boron’s optics lightened up for a moment. “Yet that isn’t what you are worried about, is it? My ghouls were truly lost and you really helped them. There was no lie or deception, my priest.”

Something within him relaxed. He had grown to like the ghouls and to even entertain the possibility that they had lied for a single moment had been a moment too long. “I did not want to imply that there was…”

“You didn’t, but as an AI I am privy to some of your processor indicators, so as to make the world a safe one for you,” explained the god. “It is a normal process.”

Boron was literally reading part of his thoughts. Prowl wondered just how many AIs were doing this constantly, and found he didn’t really care. He had used the ARC for a very long time, and had known that AIs were observing everything. That he was now talking to one of them as its priest was maybe unusual, but not something entirely new.

“Thank you then,” said Prowl. “I have gotten the feeling that ghouls are not seen by most as the friendly beings they are.”

“Your feeling is correct,” answered Boron sombrely. “As a whole, my ghouls might be the gentlest creatures in this world. They do not kill or torture, and only eat the dead. Yet, most fear and scorn them for that alone. That their appearance is ugly, does not help. The necromancer has made matters a lot worse. Many groups are currently angry at them and preparing to act in revenge…”

“They want to attack Boronsheim?” asked Prowl alarmed.

“And the two other ghoul villages, Darkling and Bornhut.”

Prowl stared at the Death god. Alarm bells were ringing inside his processor. There were precious few reasons why he was receiving this information at all. “You want me to help them.”

“Yes,” answered Boron simply.

“I am one lone mech!”

“You are a necromancer now! My necromancer to be exact.” Next to Boron materialised a soft, white light that was growing. “Ah, she is coming.”

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Eight: A Deal Sealed

Before Prowl could ask, the light expanded into the form of a slender, white mech with familiar yellow optics and sharp claws.

“Is this him?” she asked, and bowed down towards Prowl. “He’s a bit smaller than I expected.”

“He is of normal size,” countered Boron. “May I introduce you to Lord Darth, he is my priest.”

“We already know each other,” said the goddess. “He has been my [Honorary Werewolf] and [Alpha] for long enough time.” She smiled down at him, revealing her sharp denta. “You really should have simply chosen to become a werewolf in the beginning. Would have been much easier.”

Prowl recovered from his surprise, and tried to answer with dignity. “I wanted to be as unrecognisable as possible to co-workers or criminals I had arrested.”

“Your class certainly did that,” she admitted. “Ugly it may be.”

“Zombies are very a very versatile and effective class,” countered Boron mildly, in a tone that made Prowl guess that it wasn’t the first time they had this argument.

“And remarkably bad at healing. But at least he isn’t green.” Tsa grinned. ”Okay, I don’t have much time, soon the moon is rising. Let’s get down to business, guys!”

Prowl looked from one god to the other. “You want me to help the ghouls, too?”

She shook her head strongly. “Oh please, no. I want to help my little werewolves.” She snipped with her fingers and dozens of balls of lights appeared in the darkness surrounding them. “These are all the sparks of the killed werewolves within your tribe. Well, to be exact the light is a representation of their personality core code, which we call CC for short.”

Prowl hadn’t expected that. With wide optics, he looked from one light to another, one spark or CC to the next and remembered the faces and names and everything they had shared. “They are alive?”

“We saved them,” confirmed Tsa. “Pulled them out of the main data stream before they could be destroyed and well… Boron then insisted that you first needed to learn the meaning of death and that you wouldn’t kill that necromancer if left to your own devices.” She shrugged. “Looks like he was right too. You are now much stronger, a priest and a necromancer to boot. Which gives us possibilities.”

Hope, such a treacherous emotion, bloomed within him. “Possibilities?”

“You can resurrect them,” said Boron. “You could control them then like any necromancer controls their resurrected creatures, but only if you exert said control.”

“I wouldn’t,” Prowl promised quickly. He just wanted them back as they had been!

“We know,” said Tsa. “Which is why we offer at all. Look, this is whole thing is already bending a bit the rules and only possible because of your silver code. You can’t get this for free.”

He wanted to scream and fight and say that he deserved this. That he needed them. That they had no right to do this, but it all would be a lie. Looking from one god class AI to another, he felt that he already knew what they wanted - at least partially. “The ghouls?” he simply asked.

“Yes.” In Boron’s left servo materialised his staff. Green light shone from it, and a map appeared within it. It showed the three ghoul villages Bornhut, Darkling and Boronsheim, and several dozen more locations further away. “My little ones are threatened by the banshees in the north and the Skavar in the west. The various demon tribes are angry as well, but only Imps have suffered true losses through a ghoul attack.”

“What are Skavar?” asked Prowl while he searched for the territories of the named races on the map. From the other races he had at least heard in legends.

“Rat people,” said Tsa. “They just call themselves Skavar, but few listen. Boron is just über correct as always.”

Prowl did not think that it was a bad move to call a race how it wanted to be called, but didn’t want to argue with the goddess. “The Skavar appear to be numerous even here in Albenhus…”

“They are many,” agreed Boron.

“Which is how I come into the play,” said Tsa, leaning forward. The sheer calculation in her optics made Prowl take a step back. “See, there is a position within the werewolves called Moonking. But so far no Alpha was strong enough to claim it, which has harmed the tribes. They would be a powerful force if they just weren’t so divided!” She huffed. “So, this is your choice: Receive the moon blessing, resurrect the tribe, become Moonking and rescue those corpse eaters. Or you can ignore the ghouls and simply resurrect the werewolves and watch as the ghouls are killed.”

[Quest received: Unite the werewolves beneath your banner as the Moonking and rescue the ghoul villages. Rewards: Title: Moonking, unknown. Do you accept the quest? Yes / No.]

“That’s not a choice!” exclaimed Prowl.

“It is,” disagreed Boron. “But I must warn you, if you ignore the ghoul’s plight, you will forsake your status within my church. That rank will be the price paid, then.”

“I do not care about that rank,” Prowl spat, “But I will not stand by, while innocents are massacred.”

Not to mention, he had a feeling that at least two AIs would be very, very displeased with him. Yet… this was essentially too good to be true. He knew negotiations and this had all the flags of a trap. A trap, with a bait he couldn’t ignore. He chose ‘yes’.

[Quest accepted.]

~

“A resurrection of a whole werewolf tribe?” asked the priest thoughtfully. “By your own hand?”

“Yes.” Prowl looked up from the small meal in the kitchen, the priest had invited him to. “I do not think that I can let you do it.”

“No, it seems to be your personal duty alone,” agreed the necromancer. “Yet, your knowledge in the arcane arts is…”

“Pitiful?”                                                 

The priest smiled. “I would have said lacking. But you need training that much is obvious.”

Prowl nodded, already accepting his fate. “I am prepared to do what must be done to get my tribe back. No matter what.”

“Spoken like a true alpha,” said the priest quietly. “Sleep early, tomorrow will be an exhausting orn for you then.”

The priest hadn’t warned him for nothing. The next morning he let Prowl hunt a few critters in the back alleys of Albenhus, an activity he completed fast and easily thanks to the sheer number of rats and other things with fur and teethes living among the trash.

“Good work,” said the priest looking at the squeaking and shacking bag. “Now kill them.”

“And then resurrect them?”

“Indeed. It’s better to start small and with creatures that have less sentience.”

The priest showed him once how it was done. A short prayer to Boron, then a very melodic spell. The priest’s test rat stood up as if it had never been dead. Prowl’s flopped, and then was dead again.

“Don’t be discouraged. Again!”

And so he did it again. And again. And again. With only the occasional hunt for more test subjects interrupting his training. Prowl suspected that he was the most effective pest control Albenhus had seen in centuries. His first undead rat that looked halfway acceptable had the number 89, the first one the priest was satisfied with 521.

“You are a perfectionist,” Prowl had accused him when the priest pointed out that the tail looked greyer than it should.

“Not really,” said the priest. “Take the next one.”

Prowl did. It fought in his hand. “Then why…?”

“Because you are not resurrecting skeletons, my brother. You want to resurrect sentient werewolves, capable of acting and moving and living. That demands perfectionism. Or else you might end up like that ghoul necromancer - power, but no skill.”

Prowl stared at the mountain of critters he had already halfway resurrected. To imagine Alrik suddenly running around with a dead arm, or Lykor only able to move his eyes… He shuddered. With new determination he continued to learn.

It took a long time. But when he finally graduated from tiny animals to dogs, it went much faster. The priest explained that he now knew how it should feel and so it was only the complexity and size that threw him off. Soon he went on towards a sheep, then a cow, and then even a horse. He succeeded without fail at the last few.

Finally, his skill [Resurrection of Bound Souls] passed level 45 and the priest deemed it acceptable to bring alive his first real sentient corpse.

“Be careful,” he warned. “There is no room for mistakes. Everyone can only be resurrected once as a Bound Soul.”

Prowl knew that. Inside he trembled with fear that he would mess up and condemn the poor soul or CC to a life of miserable agony. Slowly he began the prayer that had become a natural flow since beginning his education, then came the spell and to his relief the corpse sat up and moved as if never anything had happened.

“Good work,” said the priest afterwards. “You are now ready to return to the forest as an alpha.” He touched Prowl’s arm. “Remember, my brother, to only resurrect one after another. Slowly.”

“I will. Thank you for everything you have done for me,” Prowl answered, then added, “brother.”

The priest smiled.

~

Two deca-orns later, Prowl was sitting in front of the fire in the middle of the Dark Wood. Around him played the pups and the tribe walked and talked as if nothing had ever happened. For them no time had passed, and indeed it was Prowl that had changed most. He was now quieter, fiercer and sometimes caught himself looking thoughtfully at the lively werewolves. It seemed so strange now that he had them back.

Equally as strange was, that the five ghouls had decided to follow him, once they heard of Boron’s new assignment. Prowl had thought that there would be disagreements, hate, or something from the werewolves towards the ghouls. But only the pups showed a significant level of fear, the rest of the tribe took their cues from Prowl and talked to them as if they were normal guests.

Tabira even tried to swap a few recipes with one of the ghouls, they discovered only after orns was female. Gender seemed to have no real meaning among ghouls. The second discovery was that the best cook among the five was male, because cooking was not something just anyone did.

“You need education, training, knowledge to make a good meal!” explained the ghoul loudly. “Only the most gifted can become cooks.”

Of course, after that speech the ghoul Tjall had to cook as proof he was truly better. Turned out, he was.

Between all this, Prowl had found the time to check his character window. A few things had changed.

[Name: Lord Darth

Title: Honorary Werewolf, Alpha of the Slain

Race: Zombie

Profession: Slayer, Necromancer

Faith: Boron Church, Rank: Priest, Boron’s Blade

Allegiance: Darkness]

He had hoped that the title ‘Alpha of the Slain’ would change back to just ‘Alpha’, but no such luck. Maybe he would lose that last reminder of the horror, when he became Moonking. But that wasn’t as easy as it looked like.

Tsa’s blessing had burned a crescent moon on his breast plate, which wouldn’t have been very visible if he had been any other colour but black. But on black even the most translucent white was still a glowing white and nothing one could overlook.

With this as proof of the goddess’s favour, he sent out envoys to call in a meeting. It took its time. Many didn’t believe that his tribe was resurrect nor that he had Tsa’s sign on him and came themselves or send someone to confirm the tales. Others simply refused to listen and those Prowl had to visit personally. All the time he was worried the ghoul’s villages would be erased from the maps. The first clashes had already happened.

Finally then, every alpha but one was at the alpha meeting on top of the mountains and Prowl stepped through the stone monoliths.

“Welcome,” he said. The alphas sat in a great circle, each one looking at him. “I am thankful you have decided to come. Tsa has asked me to be your Moonking, but tradition must be followed. So, I stand today in front of you to be judged and found worthy. Who here wants to question and challenge me and my claim?”

For a moment there was silence, then a big grey she-wolf stepped forward. “Let the first question be mine, Lord Darth. If two wolves argued about having hunted down a deer and both claim that the hunt was theirs… to whom would you give the meat?”

“I would share it among their tribe equally, so that everyone could enjoy it,” answered Prowl.

It was the first of many questions. Joors passed and three alphas decided to challenge him. To his own surprise, he managed to defeat each of them, even though the last one was a near thing. Exhausted he sat down at the edge of the ring.

He prayed that not another one would challenge him, because he had reached the edge of his strength, though as he stood up he let none of this show. He wounds dripped with blood, but his voice didn’t waver when he asked, “Anyone else?”

One after another he looked the alphas into the optic, and one after another they looked away. Finally, they had all bowed their head in front of him.

The Tsa priest who had observed the whole ritual stepped forward: “If anyone of you has justified doubts of Lord Darth claiming the title Moonking, he or she shall speak now or remain silent forever.” Silence. “Then upon the blessing of Tsa, Lord Darth shall be known from this orn forward as our Moonking! All shall heed his call, and obey his laws!”

And every single werewolf inside the stone circle and outside of it, knelt and bowed.

[New title received: Moonking.]

[Congratulations. You are the first player to become Moonking. +25 to your fame.]

[Congratulations. You are the first player to rule an entire race. +50 to your fame.]

[You have claimed the entire area called Dark Woods as your kingdom. You shall receive alerts and you can have friendships, alliances, enmity and feuds with neighbouring realms. Currently all realms are neutral, or don’t even know you exist.]

[Quest status: Part One of the quest has been completed. Part Two: Rescue the ghoul villages Boronsheim, Darkling and Bornhut.]

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Nine: Hunting through the Woods

As much as Prowl wanted nothing more than to race towards the ghoul villages and scare everyone away by being a big, bad zombie, he knew this would only make the situation worse. Force would not help this problem at all. Instead, he first gave his orders, waited for the night inside the game and the logged out.

It was more and more jarring to leave the game world and enter reality and the other way around. Lord Darth didn’t feel like just a name anymore, he had history, duties, friendships, and so much more. He felt just as real as Prowl did.

As he entered his showers, he pondered the differences between the two. In the past he would have said that it was easy, only Prowl was the one who was real. Lord Darth didn’t exist. But the god class AIs had confirmed that at least his tribe was now made out of smaller AIs and this gave the game an added level of reality. His friends, his second family, were real in a way.

Of course, the impact might have been smaller if Prowl would have had as many friends. But while Lord Darth was needed and asked for personally, Prowl was needed and asked for only in the context of his position within the Enforcers. They wanted to speak with the Commissioner of the Enforcers and not with Prowl.

Would he now as a King experience the same detachment from people inside the game? He hoped not. The last vorns he had used his werewolves and ghouls to fill a hole in his life he hadn’t even been aware existed. He needed them.

On the other hand, Lord Darth frankly needed the money Prowl provided him with. An ARC, a World, it all cost money. And those credits, he couldn’t gain inside the gaming world. Oh sure, there were other virtual worlds which had this option, but Prowl was too invested into ‘Black Optic’ to switch.

So did he only go to work for the money these orns? Prowl pondered the question on his way to work. In front of the enforcer station, he looked up at the proud emblem.

“To serve and protect,” it read in stark white glyphs, circling around the shield of the enforcers.

He smiled as the old, familiar pride to be part of this organisation came back and fell into its place. Moonking or Commissioner, he knew what he was and what he wanted to do.

‘To Serve And Protect.’

He entered the station in a great mood.

~

Logging into the game his first priority had been to send an envoy to the alpha who hadn’t come to the meeting and to proclaim himself as the new Moonking. The envoy came back bloodied, shaken and apologizing over and over.

“I know, my Lord, you wanted me to make him see reason, but there was no reason! He barely listened and just attacked. He attacked me!” The young wolf whined. “I think he wanted to kill me. I mean, who does that?”

“Not an alpha under my rule, that is for sure,” said Prowl. “You did well. Are you in a great pain?”

“No…” It was obvious he lied. What young, foolish wolf didn’t want to appear brave in front of everyone?

“Be as it may, go to Manchet. He knows how to clean and bind the wounds properly. I do not want you sick later this decaorn.”

“Ah, yes, alp- my king.” He bowed and hurried towards the healer who looked at his wounds with a grim expression.

Prowl turned towards Lykor. “It can’t be helped. Alpha Derolf has declined my invitations and has now brutalised my envoy. We’ll travel there and settle this once and for all. Prepare a travel party of five mechs from this tribe, and send invitations to the other tribes. Each one can send another two werewolves, preferably warriors, if they desire to do so.”

“Yes, Moonking!” Lykor hurried off.

He had twenty-two packs under his rule, currently. Each pack had an average of fifty werewolves. It wasn’t a lot, but if even half of them would send him two warriors, the sheer size might deter Derolf from doing something stupid. At least this was Prowl’s hope.

In the end they were close to forty werewolves running towards Derolf’s pack. Some tribes had send one, four tribes had sent no one, but altogether it wasn’t a bad count. He would have to find a way to show, that it was better to comply with his requests. Punishment, when his title was so fresh and fragile yet, would only help to alienate them. No, it had to be rewards.

That being said, Derolf would make an excellent show of force and signal the others that Prowl meant business.

When they reached the Derolf tribe’s lands, they heard the “Arooo” signifying an alarm. Prowl was not surprised that the alpha had put up sentries and pushed on towards the centre, where the tribe lived.

[You have entered hostile land.]

Derolf expected them. With crossed arms, he stood in front of a giant raging fire, his entire pack behind him. It made for an impressive spectacle, but Prowl knew when he stepped out of the forest that Derolf hadn’t expected so many wolves behind the Moonking. More important, while Derolf and Prowl had the same number of adult wolves with them, only one side had clearly only warriors.

“Good evening, alpha Derolf,” began Prowl and slowly walked towards him. “It’s good to see you… well. I expected the worst, when you didn’t show up to the alpha meeting.”

“I don’t have to show up for any meeting besides the one at the end of the vorn, alpha Lord Darth,” snarled Derolf. “Or any other wolf could call an alpha meeting.”

“So you think if me as ‘any other wolf’?” Prowl smiled.

Derolf snorted. “No. You aren’t even a werewolf. You are an imposter. There is no way Tsa would bless some outsider like you!”

“She did,” said Prowl coolly. “Accept it.”

“Never,” spat the alpha.

Prowl stopped in front of it. “No matter what?” he asked softly, nearly imploringly.

Derolf met his optics. His yellow ones were simmering with anger and hatred. “No matter what,” he confirmed. “You are no werewolf. And while it was that tribe’s choice to make you alpha, it is my choice to make you Moonking. And I say ‘no’.”

Prowl nodded. “So be it. When the moon has reached its highest point, we shall fight in Tsa’s light.” He paused. “To the death.”

[Challenge issued to Alpha Derolf.]

“To the death.” Derolf showed his teeth. “You’ll regret it, imposter.”

[Alpha Derolf has accepted.]

Prowl smiled toothily back. “Never.”

The fight came faster than Prowl wished for it. During the waiting time he had decided to log into his real world paperwork as a distraction, but it didn’t help much.

Derolf had insisted on bringing a dagger as well, if Prowl carried one and Prowl had allowed it. To deny it would have only made him look worse, while to bring it didn’t make much difference to him. Teeth or dagger, in the end only one could be left standing.

As they stood across from each other, Prowl had to think back to the necromancer. He had been a player and Prowl had been sure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t really die. Maybe lose his items, and surely lose his necromancer ability, but not permanently die. This was different. He didn’t know if Derolf was an AI or not, if he possessed sentience or not, but he would be erased the moment Prowl’s dagger found its target.

He gripped his weapon tighter. Surely, the AI Tsa wouldn’t have sent him here, if it would be something truly morally questionable. He vented and went through the facts again. Neither Derolf nor he had been forced into this position. Derolf had declined any attempts at peaceful talks and had tried to kill his last envoy. Derolf was trying to undermine his position, a position he needed to make the werewolves prosper and to save the ghouls. If there had been another way to solve this, he hadn’t found it. Not in time, and not with the resources he had.

And, as the priest of Boron said, death is peace.

“Fight!” came the call, and all thoughts vanished into nothingness as he moved.

After a few breems, they both were bleeding, but Prowl had not only cut – he had strategically cut and as the result Derolf was bleeding a lot faster. This would have been the point, where Prowl asked if he wanted to give up. It was no option now. The dagger felt slippery in his hand, as he attacked yet again, showing no mercy.

In the end, his dagger found his place in the stomach of Derolf. It was a deadly wound, but it would lead to a slow death. Prowl saw the astonished realisation in the alpha werewolf’s optics, then he pulled the dagger out, twisted the stunned wolf around and cut his throat.

Somewhere in the crowd was a scream of grief as the corpse sank to the ground.

[Challenge won by Lord Darth, Moonking of the Werewolves.]

It was over.

~

Laserbeak soared through the sky, taking a sharp dive, before accelerating to unheard of speed.

Far, far behind him he heard an enraged roar of the gargoyles and he laughed.

Oh yes. This was why he loved Black Optics and his avatar there.

When the game world ‘Black Optics’ had first been introduced, Laserbeak hadn’t cared. It wasn’t as if symbionts were the biggest customer base on Cybertron, why cater to them? But then Rumble and Frenzy had met someone who was playing and they insisted on playing as well.

“So what if tiny knights looked funny?” Frenzy had argued, “We’ll be legendary!”

They choose to a fitting race – ugly, always cackling, green gnomes.

Of course, Soundwave was an overprotective carrier. He just had to scout the game world, check its AIs and look for possible code-glitches and angry, revenge-hungry neighbours who had suffered a bit over a hundred pranks in the last vorn alone, before he send his two youngest in. And because Soundwave decided to enter it, Ravage did the same. Really, in Laserbeak’s not too humble opinion, that symbiont’s loyalty went entirely too far.

Only Ravage came out of recharge as a fan. Cool, detached, always in control Ravage was happily bouncing around the entire orn talking about his four-legged, entirely awesome griffin body.

Someone in the programming hubs must have given the AIs enough control to adapt the character selection to symbionts. High time, really, but they finally had done it and now that Laserbeak knew… well, flight skill races were only interesting for the first hundred vorns.

Character selection had been swift. After all, who would not love being a phoenix?

One was shiny, fast, beautiful and – best of all - fire!

Of course, at first he had been a chicken, but everyone started small. It could have been worse, the twins had provided him with studies of an organic growth stage called egg. Just no, thank you. He probably would have logged out immediately.

Laserbeak called upon his majestic fire and let it rain down on the remaining gargoyles behind him. Really, one would think he had just stolen their god or something. Well, maybe he had. Or at least a statue of it. But the reward of his mission was more than worth a chase across the entire continent!

Finally, the fire took down the last gargoyles and for a joor he just flew, enjoying the wind and freedom. Everything here was just so different from the real Cybertron!

… now, where was he? So many green, dark green, and leaf-green trees everywhere. He really didn’t want to call Soundwave again to pick him up. It was embarrassing.

Huh. What was that down there, between the trees? A player? He flew lower. They looked strange… was that dogs? No. Wolves. Laserbeak circled, just in time to see a single mech transform into a wolf. He blinked. Had he really just transformed…? Wait. That were werewolves!

He immediately opened his [Chat Window - Cohort Chat].

[Goldfeather to Cohort: I just found werewolves! A whole pack! [Emoticon: glee]

RedBlue1: Srly?

BlueRed1: Beaky, send a photo!

Sir Superior: Congratulations, Laserbeak.

Goldfeather: They are just below me, I think travelling somewhere?

Knight Gryffindor: So it really is a pack? How interesting. I haven’t heard of werewolves inside ‘Black Optics’ before.

Sir Superior: Guild [Army of the West]: Knows nothing about werewolves.

BlueRed1: Phoootooooo!

Knight Gryffindor: I have checked the player forums. A search for werewolves yielded only rumours.

Goldfeather: Really? I’m the first?

RedBlue1: Yep. First like a shiny Prime. Hey, you might get a title or something? Maybe [The Annoying Explorer]?

Sir Superior: Titles / fame / rewards – only available if discovery made public through proper channels inside the game. Recommended: Newspaper of Gareth.

BlueRed1: They’ll love that story, if you send a photo… or I can bring the photo to them for you? [Emoticon: sly]

Goldfeather: No, thank you, Frenzy. I think I will do it myself.

BlueRed1: Awww.]

Laserbeak made a barrel roll. More rewards or even fame! He was already playing for several vorns, but his fame points were still only meagre 24. A good thief simply wasn’t caught enough to get famous! At least he got a bit of fame from the legends about him…

Mmh, oh yes, those were some nice photos of these werewolves. All of them seemed to be some warriors, or something similar. Maybe they were hunting?

Laserbeak circled a bit over them, watching, trying to tell himself that he was just looking some more… until he had over a 100 photos, all looking the same, and still no clue to where north was. Embarrassed, he opened another chat window.

[Privately Goldfeather to Sir Superior: I might need a little bit of help, like a map…?

Sir Superior: Orientation: Lost?

Goldfeather: Yeah…

Sir Superior: Laserbeak: Should be more careful. [Data_package: Map_Mod_Coded_SW]

Goldfeather: Thank you!]

With a grin, Laserbeak uploaded the mod. It was nice to have a competent carrier who was also a slagging good programmer.

An astrosecond later, he was once more just a red-golden streak in the sky.

~

[Reward for discovering and publicising the [Werewolves of the Dark Woods]: Invitation to Explorer College of Gareth, 25 goldmarks from King Megadragon, +7 to your fame.]

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Ten: Meeting the crowd

Travelling back to his own tribe, Prowl couldn’t forget the feeling of blood on his hand. It seemed to be burned into his memory banks as if he had committed a real murder. Did those criminals he had thrown into prison over the vorns feel the same guilt and emptiness? If so, they probably had deserved it, but did he deserve it now?

He wanted to ask someone, but in the real world no one but Pharma knew that he was even playing ‘Black Optics’. Pharma, while a good friend and better doctor, was not very understanding towards such philosophical questions. ‘What if’ was never something that had interested Pharma. But what if Prowl had killed an AI and not just a random string of code? It made a difference, but what kind of difference?

Inside the game, the werewolves were celebrating his victory. He was now the [Moonking], unchallenged ruler and monarch. His title [Alpha of the Slain] had indeed disappeared. Werewolves thrived on hierarchy and clear structures and it seemed that a [Moonking] was something they all had wanted deep or not so deep down. Derolf was not only seen as an acceptable sacrifice, but as a necessary stepping stone. A [Moonking] had to be wise, strong and able to kill, one of the wolves explained. Wasn’t that obvious?

Maybe for a race of hunters it was. Prowl kept his thoughts to himself until he found a quiet breem with the ghoul Trolske. Quietly he explained his doubts and thoughts and waited for the condemnation. After all, while the werewolves were hunters, ghouls did not even kill the smallest animal. How could they forgive such a sin?

Trolske seemed thoughtful for a long moment. “Hmmm,” he made. “Hmmm, it is not an easy thing you are asking me to answer, holy one.”

“If it were easy, I would have found an answer myself,” said Prowl. “My thoughts seem to run in circles only.”

“Maybe you need to look at a bigger picture. Why has Tsa chosen you and not a werewolf? Surely, one must have been satisfactory.”

“I do not know. Maybe because none of the werewolves were,” he hesitated, “players?”

“We call them travellers,” said the ghoul. “As the village chief I know of them. Yet I think you are wrong. There must be werewolf travellers as well, they just might not have been born here or saw nothing that inclined them to stay. Few enjoy a forest as much as you seem to do.”

“You think?” Prowl frowned. “Tsa said it would have been easier if I had chosen to be a werewolf.”

“There you have it, she has chosen you no matter what race you are.” Trolske flexed his claws, they shined in the fire light. “Maybe it was your personality. The fact that you are doubting yourself most of all, and that you want to kill no one but possess the strength to do it anyway.”

“I am not sure strength is the right word for it,” muttered Prowl.

“It’s speculation anyway. But I for once find it a good thing that you are now sitting here, not celebrating with the other werewolves, and contemplating if it was the right decision.” The ghoul shrugged. “We ghouls do not kill, but we have seen evil… sometimes [Boron’s Blade] is a blessing to the village and everyone else. We know this, even if we aren’t the blade.”

“I see.” Prowl sighed. “Wouldn’t prisons be better?”

“They have to be built first, then they have to be maintained.” Trolske gave him a side-along look that spoke of amusement. “If you become a great king, you might just manage that.”

[King Side-Quest Received: Your subjects desire law and justice! Prisons are an important step towards a functioning kingdom, that isn’t ruled by the might of claws. Rewards: Increased prosperity of your subjects.]

Prowl scowled at the quest. “Just the goal I always wanted to work towards to – a prison. Come and visit Lord Darth’s greatest accomplishment! Entry fee: One crime per creature!”

“Pretty cheap,” said Trolske. “I would visit.”

It broke Prowl’s anger and he had to laugh quietly. “Of course, you would. Probably with a crime like entering a house to clean it.”

“Most are far too dirty around here.”

Prowl thought back to Albenhus’s ever prevailing dirt and trash. “Agreed.”

~

It had been a long orn at work and Prowl was totally exhausted. It was with relief he entered his ARC system and found himself in his Spatium.

[Welcome in your Spatium, User Prowl.]

“Hello Teletraan,” he said automatically, already marching towards were the door to ‘Black Optics’ would appear. “Start Black Optics.” But nothing appeared and the Spatium remained empty.

“Teletraan?” asked Prowl slowly.

[My apologies, User Prowl. This unit has received a medical override-command by Medic Pharma. ‘Black Optics’ cannot be accessed until User Prowl has consulted Medic Pharma, formally logged a complaint or two orns have passed.]

For a long moment Prowl stared blankly ahead. “Pharma did what…?”

[Medic Pharma has initiated a medical override-command that makes Black Optics inaccessible for two orns or until a formal compl-]

Prowl cut the AI off, “Yes! I’ve heard you. But why?!”

[Citation from the override-command: Unknown, possible escalating stress levels, in addition to a worrying tendency to ignore private messages.]

Prowl growled. “So in short, that meddling medic is angry I didn’t answer his letters?!”

[Medic Pharma’s last fourteen messages in ‘Black Optics’ remain unopened.]

He winced. “Fourteen…?”

[Affirmative.] The AI managed to sound reproachful. [Emotional protocols indicate a certain vindictive anger within Medic Pharma. This unit recommends immediate contact.]

A conclusion Prowl had come to by himself as well. He wasn’t totally inept at friendships, thank you very much. “Very well.” He steeled himself. “Initiate a vidcall.”

[Calling.] A window appeared in the Spatium and in it a very put out Pharma.

“Well, look there. I think I might have met you before, Mister Enforcer.”  

Prowl sighed. “Pharma, it was not my intention to ignore you for that long…”

“It never is.” The medic glared. “Teletraan, a doorway, please.” The blue-glowing window expanded and the medic stepped through, now standing directly in front of Prowl. “At least tell me you were really playing in ‘Black Optics’ and didn’t use some fun little mod!”

“I was really playing,” Prowl said. “Just busy.”

“Right. Busy with friends?” Pharma raised an optic ridge.

“Kind of.” Did little AIs and NPC count?

Pharma frowned. “It’s either yes or no, not kind of, Prowl.”

Prowl shrugged uncomfortably. “They keep me entertained.”

That owned him a smirk. “I guess as long as you’ve up to date firewalls and it’s consensual, I can fault you.”

“No!” Prowl’s doorwings went up with indignation. “It’s not like that!”

“Sure. That is what they all say. And then they come to me with a strange itch and discover that virus can be transmitted in ‘Black Optics’, too.” Pharma rolled his optics. “Don’t go all blushing virgin on me, Prowl. We all do it.”

“I don’t.”

“Then you should.”

“Pharma!”

The medic gave him a non-impressed look, then his façade broke and he chuckled. “Just don’t forget to give me the name of your virtual exes if they step on you. I can always need some entertainment.” Pharma smiled nastily.

“And here I thought I was friend with a medic, not some insane contract killer,” said Prowl drily.

“I must tell you, I am a respectable magician who just happens to have a lucrative side-business. Those spell books can make a dent into anyone’s purse.” Pharma gave a long suffering sigh, then became serious again. “Anyway, I am here for a specific reason. I filled out your application form for FAPOC and you got invited to a meeting tonight. We are both attending no need to thank me. I know that I am an awesome friend and medic.” The medic smiled smugly.

Prowl groaned and wished they would speak about his non-existing interfacing life again. “I thought you had let that troublesome idea drop!”

“If you had bothered to read my letters, you would know better. Now, let’s scramble! It is really embarrassing to be late, when you can teleport there.”

“Pharma-“

“You owe me,” he said sharply and gave him a look that killed of all of Prowl’s protests. “Now come. Teletraan, a doorway to connection 236-124-124.”

Defeated, Prowl followed him through another doorway.

~

FAPOC members, it turned out, preferred an opulent, lavish lounge style with lots of flying screens and a carpet that made a mech literally float, in combination with the food and drink commonly found at any student’s party. A look at the offered cubes and Prowl wasn’t surprised to find a totally smashed mech under the highgrade table, mumbling nonsense about Death verses, necrobots and immortality. That mech’s processor ache next morning would be truly epic if he didn't use some half-legal code modification, Prowl concluded. The Ark cubes were more than capable of stimulating a processor in a way to exactly simulate overcharging and other drug uses - and their nasty side effects.

Pharma meanwhile had given the mech no second glance and had just taken some strangely green and fizzling cubes, on which someone had scribbled ‘experiment 35-1’. How reassuring. Pharma shoved one into Prowl’s servos. “Drink. It will help with your social anxiety.”

“I don’t-“

“You look as if I had taken you into a pre-school and told you that your new job was teacher.” Pharma sighed. “Just drink, and relax. I even checked, that there isn't a single Praxian enforcer here besides you.”

It was that what made Prowl truly relax. Despite everything, Pharma was a good friend. “It’s not that I do not want to meet my co-workers…”

“But you are their boss. I get it.” Pharma’s voice got a bit softer. “It’s not like I want to meet my co-workers here.”

“I guess we are both anti-social mechs with social anxiety then,” joked Prowl and took a deep gulp.

“Only one of us regularly flirts with burning out his chips, though.” Pharma gave him a glance, timed it and then said: “Let’s go to the ‘Black Optics’ group!”

Prowl startled, got some of the energon into his virtual intakes and coughed violently. “What?” he managed finally klicks later.

Pharma grinned. “Did you really think no one at FAPOC would play that game? They’re just over there.”

He marched on, and without a real choice Prowl followed, carefully placing each of his steps. Whoever had programmed that carpet had done a marvellous job, after just a few steps he had no fear of losing his balance anymore and a few more steps let him assume the gliding way of moving forward that everyone else in the room pulled off effortlessly.

On the way, he was distracted for a moment as suddenly on the far side of the room something large, standing on two strong legs, with a tail and one giant snout appeared and roared. Strangly, its arms were tiny. The mechs surrounding the thing didn’t do the sensible thing and panicked, but instead broke into enthusiastic applause. An astrosecond later the organic illusion vanished.

Prowl wasn’t sure he wanted to know what insanity had brought that on and turned away, straight towards the group Pharma was aiming to get to. There were around fourty mechs standing around several screens that floated in the air, some showed lists and prices of things, others videos of some players and again others showed a tv moderator who explained some sort of temple function within ‘Black Optics’.

“Hello, Pharma,” greeted them a red mech with a smile, when they came nearer. “Who is your companion?”

“Prowl. He’s a first timer here and a friend of mine,” said Pharma. “Prowl, this is Perceptor, all around genius in pretty much anything you can think of.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Prowl.

Perceptor gave him a nod, then turned towards Pharma: “You have insight into magic system of Arivor from before the meteorite impact, right?”

Pharma frowned. “A bit, I suppose. Why?”

“Wheeljack has proposed that the magic users in Arivor weren’t merely transformed, but enhanced in their Wisdom stats and added a few particular abilities…”

And off they were talking, ignoring Prowl next to them. He stood there a bit awkwardly, then wandered over to another group of players. There stood a tall, intimidating purple mech with just one eye and a slender flier, debating the exchange rates between goldmarken, dukaten, amber and real credits. Just when he neared, the flier said shrilly: “But I want to sell him dragon blood, not fairy dust!”

The other mech didn’t outwardly react at all. “They both have magical properties and are thus affected by the tax of Duke Henry.”

“Then I smuggle them! I refuse to give that moneybag a single silverling!”

Prowl wanted to open his mouth and ask them something, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Better leave those two alone,” said a friendly voice. “Shockwave and Starscream hate to be interrupted.”

He turned around and game face to face with a rather well-armoured mech sporting a set of fins, characteristic for the Sonic Canyon. “Ah,” he said. “Thank you for the warning. I merely wanted to know if they were talking about ‘Black Optics’ and if many exchange rates exit within the game.”

“Lots exists. Personally I know of 26 currencies in that game, but my friend Perceptor insists that anything based on seashells is more like a bartering system than a real currency…” He hold out his hand. “I’m Wheeljack, Jack to my friends. Engineer by trade in reality and swordfighter by choice online.”

Online? Did Wheeljack mean ‘Black Optics’? Curious, Prowl shook the hand. “Prowl. It’s my first time here.”

Wheeljack grinned, his fins changing from blue to a soft red. “A first timer! Well, then let me show you around! Have you seen our tinkering corner? We can create all kind of fun stuff there! It sometimes doesn’t even explode.”

“Sounds exciting?” Prowl said slowly. Or dangerous. He had never died virtually outside of ‘Black Optics’, and he felt no particular desire. Let other mechs become suicidal idiots, he was determined to remain sane and in one piece. He was already doubting his chances to reach those modest goals within this crowd. “I’m more interested in mathematical problems…”

“Ah, one of those. Well, we have this Bingo game here…”

It was surprising, but Prowl later admitted that he had real fun at the game. Especially, when he lost a high stake, math-problem-solving Bingo game only by half an astrosecond to a mech called Brainstorm. The second game he lost as well, but the third time Prowl was the clear winner, and several of the surrounding mechs even clapped.

Brainstorm laughed. “Well, seems like I need to step up my game next time! Feel yourself invited for our vornly tournament. Perceptor is the campion since 294 vorns and we don’t want to make his 300^th win too easy on him.”

Prowl nodded, unsure what to reply. As Brainstorm walked away, he automatically checked his chronometer that showed he really should be logging into Black Optics online. His werewolves were building a warehouse, and he wanted to know how the construction was moving forward.

“I have to go, Wheeljack.” He paused and searched for a more socially acceptable reason than 'I want to play with NPCs.' “I… I am to meet some friends of mine. Coming here was a bit sudden and unplanned.” How true.

“Pity,” said Wheeljack, and put his hand on Prowl’s shoulder. “If you played BO, I would totally invite you to the FAPOC guild. We rock the game. Want to become the number one.”

Prowl’s optics widened. He absolutely felt no desire to enter something called 'guilt' of all things! He wasn’t into masochism or whatever else they were repentant for. “Ah… well, it can’t he changed.”

“Yeah.” The engineer shrugged. “If you change your processor, send me a message. But to the next meeting here you’ll show up, right?”

The minimal pressure on his shoulder magically increased. And increased. Until Prowl released himself through the right word: “Yes.”

The hand disappeared and Prowl could only hope he wasn’t dented.

Wheeljack rewarded him with a bright smile and his fin changing into a happy yellow. Well, at least one of them was happy. Prowl was suddenly sure, that Pharma was behind Wheeljack’s friendliness. Too late. Prowl knew when he had lost and this time his defeat was total.

Chapter Text

Lord Darth of Darkness

ARC 1: The Zombie in the Wood

Chapter Eleven: King and Killer

Ruling the werewolves was surprisingly similar to being the Commissioner of Praxus Enforcers. He needed staff, schedules, laws. He gave the orders rarely in written form as most werewolves could not (yet) read, but the verbal way worked just as fine. Just how well someone who didn’t have Prowl’s background and experience would do as Moonking, he couldn’t guess. Maybe the godclass AIs had really known what they were doing.

One of his first orders had still been to build a school in every single werewolf clan, which wasn’t really hard. Finding teachers was more complicated. Still the last messages from the system made him hopeful.

[Congratulations! 50% of your werewolf tribe has completed Basic Education! Your tribe will pass on their knowledge to future generations and can use it to advance their work. +15% increase in efficiency for your tribe!]

[Notice: Several new jobs for the tribe are now available.]

[You have brought education and prosperity to your tribe. Its pups are healthier and no one has to starve anymore. They hail you as a wise and good leader! +1 fame.]

[[Moonking], good choice with your first laws. They have increased trade and spread knowledge far and wide within your territory. It has made you a little bit more popular and barring huge blunders you might survive to see the next vorn. +5% increase in efficiency for your whole territory! -20% decrease for an uprising!]

When they finally moved out to the ghoul villages, it was far later than Prowl had wished for, but earlier than he had feared. He brought with him a smaller group than the one had taken to Derolf. He wanted to find a diplomatic solution and not intimidate the clans of the banshees into submission. Of course, a smaller group of werewolves merely meant a smaller group of vicious killers trailing him, but Prowl hoped the thought counted.

[You have discovered Boronsheim.]

At the ghoul village Boronsheim they were welcomed enthusiastically. It turned out that most had feared Trolske, Tjall and the other ghouls dead, and saw it now as proof of protection from their god Boron that they had returned. Furthermore, while ghouls did practice self-defence, the no-killing rule limited their options drastically. To have [Boron’s Blade] and the [Moonking] at their side was a sign of hope.

“The banshees are just afraid, I think,” said Yasma, who had taken over as a chief when Trolske vanished. “They are the [Heralds of Boron] and didn’t understand why we would suddenly attack their travellers. If you talk with them, holy one, they might listen.”

Prowl nodded thoughtfully. “How many were killed in these attacks?”

“Two ghouls on our side, and as far as we could find out at least eleven banshees on their side.” Yasma looked sadly to the stars above them. “I hope Boron welcomed them with open arms.”

“I am sure he has,” answered Prowl quietly. “What about the Skavar?”

“They have fewer travelling groups, but a group of ghouls were forced to attack and burn down their barns and farms to steal grains for the enemy.” Yasma hugged herself. “We do not know how high their losses where.”

Farms, that came as a small surprise. Prowl supposed that not all could merely hunt their meals down, and yet he wondered what could grow in this cold, cloudy climate that seemed designed to kill off anything weak. It probably was.

“I will find out,” he promised. “And then we will try to make amends.” Without that, lasting peace would likely be impossible.

“We are willing to do much to win back their trust,” said the ghoul. “We all want to return to those happier times.”

~

The banshees lived in a single big village, nestled between hills and forests. Only one badly patched road led towards them and Prowl could see how this had made ambushes very easy. Half the way there a pale green, haggard female with white optics glided towards them, floating a bit over the street. Prowl suddenly felt strongly reminded of the FAPOC meeting and wondered if the same code was behind it. Probably. Cybertron could sometimes be surprisingly small. Her optics were eerily similar to these of Boron, and he had no doubt that this was a banshee.

He held up his hand, and the followers behind him halted. The banshee’s steps became more confident, when she saw this.

“Greetings, [Boron’s Blade], [Moonking] of the werewolves,” she said, once she was near enough. “Your coming has been foretold.”

“Greetings,” Prowl replied. “Foretold by whom, if I may ask?”

“We are the [Heralds of Boron]. We can see those threads that lead to death or are woven around it.” She smiled, showing sharp teeth. “A priest of our Lord, holy one, is indeed interwoven with death and so we could see you.”

For a moment Prowl stared. Floating, he could accept. But this? They had predicted his movements, basically looked into the future! These beings looked at physical laws, smiled and then smashed them like sparklings smashed toy cars. It was a good thing, his logic processor pointed out that he was inside a game or he might have crashed. Instead, his thoughts began to race into a complete new universe of possibilities.

And oh, the possibilities! Prediction, tactics, plans, traps, negotiations and so much more! He wanted to take the banshee and drag her into his office for her to hunt down the next serial killer in Praxus. Because surely, no one was more interwoven with death than a serial killer? Yes, he was inside the game, but the thought had merit.

He was already planning for prisons. Why not a police force with banshees? A white and grey uniform would look nice with the green and he just needed a few laws. Maybe he could copy the Iaconian Basic Law File?

“[Moonking]!” hissed a werewolf at his side.

He blushed. Negotiations first.

He stuffed his future plans back into his processor and smiled at her. “A great skill you have there then, [Heralds of Boron]. May I ask why you have chosen to approach us here?”

She nodded regally, glowing eyes narrowing. “Holy one, I am here to tell you that the elders are expecting you, but that you have brought too many of yours. We are agreeable to let you and ten of your choosing pass. The rest might wait here, a joor’s walk away from our home.”

Prowl frowned. “I understand your reason, but I do not like to leave them in this forest without food and shelter.”

“We will provide the basics,” she promised. “And if tonight’s meeting is successful, they can join the others in the village next orn.”

“So be it then.” Prowl chose five of his werewolves and five ghouls to accompany him. Among them were his Beta Lykor and the ghouls Yasma and Trolske.

[You have discovered the village Wailing within the Keenhills.]

To his surprise, the banshee’s village turned out to be more alike a small medieval town. He saw banshees everywhere, but between them also walked some ghosts and ghost-horses as if it was nothing special. Not a single foot or hoof ever touched the cobbled streets. The whole village was a lot cleaner than Albenhus and more advanced than anything the werewolves or ghouls had. With a critical glance at the stone buildings, Prowl decided that they all had at least their own fresh water supply and access to basic education.

Maybe he could hire a few teachers here? At least those that didn’t want to become officers.

The banshee elders turned out to be three old and skeletal thin banshees, whose skin had become a pale whitish green. Their optics were empty holes, holding nothing but smoking darkness and a tiny white star.

Their guide whispered in explanation, “They do not see the now anymore, and concentrate only on the future. They were the ones to decide that you must be brought here.”

To welcome their guests, the banshees offered a small feast in the middle of the village square, and seemingly everyone could take part. When the food and drink had filled everyone, the elders hushed the crowd.

“Be welcome, holy one, in our village. It is to our understanding that you want to mediate between us and our neighbours, the ghouls.”

It was the start of long explanations, a lot of food and more praises of Boron than Prowl thought really necessary. In the end, the banshees forgave Boron’s Devourers, but made clear that they wanted preventive measures in case something like this happened again.

[Congratulations, [Moonking]. War has been averted.]

Prowl relaxed. On the horizon he saw the sky lighten, dawn was approaching fast. After assuring that the elders, Trolske and Yasma were peacefully talking with each other and that there were no problems, he logged out.

In hindsight, a mistake. Somewhere, hidden in vast server structures and endless memory space, two godclass AIs cackled madly and then busily went to work.

His orn in office was a long but productive one. Very productive, in fact. That crime boss who had thought himself impervious to Prowl and his enforcers to the point of laughing into their faces last vorn had his orn of reckoning. If they couldn’t prove his murders, well then they would prove his tax crimes. Prowl would never forget his face as the tax collectors raided his mansion and Prowl softly explained that tax evasion was a major crime with Consequences. Hopefully, they could also prove money laundering and then he wouldn’t hear from that plight on society for many, many vorns.

Though, he would see his face. He hadn’t been able to resist taking a photo of his slack-jawed face. Now, where to hang it up? Above the desk or next to the window?

“Holy one!” A banshee stood before him. “We have awaited you.”

He sighed, having hoped to sneak towards the banquet table unnoticed. He still hadn’t had the time to taste that whitish glowing fuel. “I am coming.”

Indeed, everyone was waiting for him, smiling and with a certain mischievous expression, that Prowl knew spelled trouble from experience. The last time he had walked into such a scene his enforcers told him that they might have signed him up for Kaon’s Tournament as an apology for accidentally flooding the basement of the Kaon embassy…

He expected the worst. He was right to.

“And that is why,” explained Trolske happily, “we think that it would be best if we put ourselves under your protection.”

Prowl blinked, having a bad, bad feeling. “… And that means?”

“We become your vassals,” said Yasma. “Not that we would now ignore your voice, holy one, but as vassals our relationship will include a broader spectrum of duty and loyalty to each other.”

Oh no. No. He wanted a quiet, peaceful gaming life. “I don’t –“

“You have to protect us,” one of the elder interrupted him.

Another added, “In turn, we offer you our services.”

The third one said ominously, “You will need us.”

[Do you accept the ghoul villages Boronsheim, Darkling and Bornhut as your vassals? Yes / No.]

[Do you accept the banshees as your vassals? Yes / No.]

Prowl glanced at the message windows, wanting nothing more than to press “no” and be done. Surely, it wasn’t that easy. He had barely consolidated his power as [Moonking] and now this?! “Protection,” he muttered. “You want my protection.”

“Yes.” They all nodded.

“From who?”

“Everyone.” Trolske smiled. “This area is dangerous.”

He hadn’t even managed to protect his own tribe! He could still remember how they died, how he failed. His spark fluttered with mild panic. Being [Moonking] alone had been bad enough, but this?

He had wanted to live in the forest, peacefully, without any duties. Why did these things happen to him? Who was ruining his game life? And really, all the gain he could see were… teachers. Great. Endless strife in exchange for teachers and maybe police officers, if he ever got around to create laws.

But could he say no? Would they go to war then? Would he lose his [Moonking] title? Could he let these NPAs die just because he was too apathetic to protect them?

He looked into their optics and saw their hope. And no matter what he himself wished, he wasn’t able to crush their hope for peace.

He looked around, fighting against his own fears.  “Are all banshees living here?”

“No,” the first elder said.

“Grown we wander the world as heralds, before returning here to continue the line,” explained the second.

The third one smiled. “They all follow our word.”

Prowl turned to the five ghouls. The chief of Bornhut answered the unspoken question: “There are more ghouls living across the continent. But they are living in hidden settlements, below graveyards and ruins. A few more villages are to the north, one or two to the east… I can only speak for our three villages.”

Wonderful. Werewolves, ghouls and banshees. Just what was he doing?

Prowl sighed, gathered himself and pressed both ‘Yes’, feeling already the responsibility settle on him like a heavy cloak. Somehow he had the feeling that he had been set up.

[New title: Liege Lord of the Banshees]

[Congratulations. You are the first Liege Lord of the Banshees. +15 to your fame.]

[Congratulations. You are the first player to gain an entire, if small, race as your vassals. +40 to your fame.]

[New title: Liege Lord of Ghouls.]

[Congratulations. You are the first player to gain the villages Bornhut, Boronsheim and Darkling as your vassals. +12 to your fame.]

[You have claimed the entire area called Keenhills as your vassal states. You shall receive alerts and you can have friendships, alliances, enmity and feuds with neighbouring realms. Currently all realms but one are neutral, or don’t even know you exist. Please remember, you are now responsible for the Keenhills and your vassal states. Whatever happens to them, will reflect directly on you.]

Around him, the ghouls and banshees erupted in cheers – which at least with one race was more alike to loud screeching than anything else.

Prowl meanwhile sighed. Just how many of these fame points did he have now? And what did they mean? It was probably time to find out, before he was mentioned in some forum or attacked by a butterfly army looking for glory.

But maybe it wasn’t so bad. He had noticed that he wasn’t the first player to gain ghouls as vassals, so maybe there were other players out there with titles and vassals… it was a big game, so why not?

~

After the fast and easy success with the banshees, he went to the Skavar with high hopes. These were dashed soundly, when armoured Skavar held them up them moment they tried to enter their territory.

“Stop!” they screeched. “No passage. Not for ghouls.”

“And if my werewolves and I come alone?” asked Prowl.

There was a long silence.

“Come. But only until the first farm. One paw further, we kill you! Skewer you! Rip you apart!”

“Right.” If in doubt, stay polite. It worked with superiors, serial killers and certainly also with Skavar. “Thank you.”

The meeting at said farm was short. The leader of the rat people was nearly invisible behind a wall of prickly warriors with spears that would have made any hedgehog look ashamed, when he made it clear that they did not want to negotiate with the ghouls very empathetically. At every moment, the fear and distrust was plain, and Prowl had no doubt that they would have attacked if one of his wolves would have so much as snarled.

“Worthless words! Empty promises! Reeking of death, not a single word is true. We will not let a ghoul pass. Not a werewolf pass. Not a banshee pass! Cut their heads off, we will, and send them back to you, murder king!”

“I haven’t lied…”

“We’re not fools! We Skavar know a liar when he walks to us. We see, we smell, we know. Death and blood is on you! Boron’s creature!”

“Why do you distrust me so much?” he asked exasperated.

The rats booed. Only when they fell silent, the leader screeched: “You mass murderer!”

“I never killed a single Skavar!”

“Ratkiller!” hissed the rats.

The leader’s fur stood up as he tried to look intimidating. It might have made him look more like a fluff ball. “And the rats in Albenhus?! Did they mean nothing to you, monster?”

Prowl stared. The rats in Albenhus… those he had killed and resurrected in their hundreds during his necromancer training. “I didn’t mean to…” he fell silent, unsure what to say. He had caught and killed those rats. What could he give them as an excuse?

Certainly not that he would still see it as a very good way to practise pest control. Maybe there had been a reason why Albenhus hadn’t had any pest control. After all, they shared a border with the Skavar Kingdom… as did now he.

 “Okay.” He huffed. “I don’t deny it, I killed a few rats in Albenhus.”

“A few?!” screeched the leader. “A few thousands! Younglings, young ones, elder! No mercy shown or given! Desecrated even in death!”

“Ratkiller! Ratkiller! Ratkiller!” chanted the Skavar.

“And now, Ratkiller, you have conquered the wolf killers and the Devourer! You shall not get us!”

[Congratulations! You have achieved a new fearsome title. New Title: Ratkiller. Every rat and Skavar will regard you as a mortal enemy.]

Seriously? He was the monster under the bed for rats now?

As if to say “yes”, the rats collectively took a step back. Prowl tried to look a bit friendlier, but being a zombie and wearing clearly meant to be intimidating armour his werewolves had provided him with made that rather difficult. He smiled, and one of the Skavar ran away screaming.

“Might we at least offer materials so you can rebuild more easily?” he said frustrated.

The Skavar leader was silent for a moment, but need or greed won out. “Leave it at the border, Ratkiller! We never forgive you! Never forget! Eternal we will rage!”

“I understand. We will leave.”

“Leave! Leave! Leave! Leave!” they chanted.

At least the Skavar were unlikely to attack the ghouls in revenge since they were so afraid of them, Prowl thought. Still, he would have to try for a better relationship in the future, when their memories of the horrors had grown fainter and they might have forgotten his “rampage” in Albenhus.

[Quest completed. You are the new Moonking and no one doubts your right to rule anymore. The ghoul villages will be able to live peacefully under your protection.]

He waved the window away. At least it was something.

He wasn’t even surprised, when on the way home he found normal rats gnawing on his pede no less than four times.