CWD: GA ~ Prologue

“It’s time to go.”

On the last night of his life, Nacho stood perfectly still, wrists manacled as his eyes roved one of the few overgrown green spaces of the camp. At that moment, he was doing his best to smell the roses that had bloomed in the area.

He snarled deep in his chest as he looked at his ‘captors’. They didn’t need to lock him up, but even knowing that he couldn’t do anything against them—guaranteed by the magical contract that he had signed the second week after meeting the Guild Master in this new world—his own guild members were terrified of what he might do.

The reputation he had made for himself after the apocalypse made sure of that.

They’d already taken his assassin leathers, which he’d bought with an exchange of a month’s worth of food. Now, he stood in clean jeans and a hoodie, which he’d bought specially from the Store to force people to see how far they had fallen. A person could get anything from the Store.

“Anything except redemption.” The best assassin in the world breathed the words softly as he looked at a trio of roses that had grown to be several feet taller than the rest. The flowers were supporting each other, allowing for growth unmatched by those around them.

“Silence, prisoner.”

Eli ‘Nacho’ Naches was flanked by Hogan and Whitney, Guild Master Crave’s heavy hitters. As the moon began to rise, all three stood on the outskirts of his guild’s compound, the muddy camp inside the walls cluttered with a mixture of tents, huts, and stone houses. On the other side of the barrier, the night was filled with howling and chittering monsters. They’d grown so large, powerful, and numerous that it was all humanity could do to hold off the few that came to investigate the fragrance of cooking fires coming from their area. It was autumn on the Starter World, though sometimes it still smelled exactly like Kansas City, Kansas had in the fall… before.

“Thanks for letting me take a few minutes to collect my emotions. I was going a little wild there,” Nacho deadpanned; he had been a stone-hearted killer for years now. His emotions were dead and buried in the empty graves he had dug for his friends. His utter lack of empathy—as well as any positive emotion—was part of why he was so feared even by those who were supposed to be his teammates. He figured it had happened thanks to a mix of the terrible conditions, lack of proper food, loss of his friends, and getting hit in the head a lot.

The manacled assassin sniffed at the air. “Smells good. Someone found some proper oak. What’s for dinner?”

“You are.” Hogan’s laugh caused the tiny bit of extra flesh beneath his chin to wobble, and Nacho stared at that movement hungrily. The mirth vanished quickly, replaced by awkward silence. The goon was a monster of a man; well-fed, his muscles strained his magical plate mail, yet he couldn’t hide his fear when Nacho’s dead eyes landed on him. The correct response, by all available data.

Crave’s heavies were Body Players, and they’d been with the Guild Master since the very beginning of the Juxtaposition, three years ago, when life on Earth had changed forever. Whitney was shorter than Hogan, though with a mop of bright yellow hair. Like his counterpart, he wore a giant sword at his hip, and he’d paid through the nose for his impressive white lacquer armor. The coloration didn’t go well with his pale complexion—it brought out the pink in his rampant acne.

He wasn’t alone in his dermatological state: three years of having to choose between getting enough calories to survive or spending credits on a bit of hygiene had been an easy decision for anyone that had managed to make it to this point. Despite the unfortunate state that he was in, his sneer only a few moments prior had been full of smug contempt as he pointed his weapon at Nacho’s neck. The huge Tier two man had claimed he’d been a prison guard before the Juxtaposition, but those tattoos seemed a little too messy to have been done by a professional. As with all things before the end of the world, what they’d done in their previous lives didn’t matter.

The only things that mattered these days were filling food and drinkable water. Those things didn’t come cheap. Not anymore.

The assassin had just been returning from his most recent—and apparently final—mission for the guild when Hogan had slapped on the manacles and let him know he was about to be walking to the butcher block; the guild’s only method of execution. Waste not, want not.

Nacho inhaled deeply, letting the smell of campfires and Putrid Mana-filled meat cooking fill his nostrils. Even after having lived in this reality for so long, it was still easier to pretend he was just at a backyard barbecue. Normally after a mission, he would’ve wanted to eat, chase a pretty face that wasn’t too mud-caked, or seek any other distractions that kept his mind off what he had been forced to do.

Right now, his eyes held a glint of hope. The hope that all of this horror would be over soon. Best not to fight it. He had long since learned that panicking would only waste valuable calories.

Various eyes followed Hogan and Whitney as they escorted Nacho through the squalor. Dirty, gaunt men appraised them, some wearing inexpensive metal armor, others garbed in hardened leather skins. It was easy to tell the Body Players from the Mind Players, generally by how much meat they had on their bones. The Body Players had to be thick to wield their melee weapons; even the archers had to be overly muscular on their arms and shoulders to fire those massive longbows that required a ton of strength just to pull back the string.

The Mind Players were thinner, practically skeletons in comparison, but their skin was clear and well-hydrated. They all wore oversized packs that had once upon a time reminded Nacho of the tanks that flamethrowers required. Their mana pool was directly reliant on the volume of clean water they drank, so no one in their right mind was willing to leave access to a water source to chance.

“Earth is gone. Humanity is on its way out as well, if things don't change.” Nacho chatted serenely as they walked. He knew he was correct: he had access to the highest levels of information available, whether legally or not so much. Even the most generous prediction only gave humans another eight months of survival. Not just because of the lack of food and presence of monsters. No… they were actively being hunted.

Monster attacks, rampant cannibalism, not to mention their main opponent in the Juxtaposition: the CrossHumans. They were so far ahead of humans that the competition was a joke, and they were sowing mischief, murder, and mayhem in equal parts.

As for himself, Nacho had done well. He’d kept himself and a lot of the people in the camp fed and safe because of the credits he’d brought in from his staggeringly numerous kills. He was Richard Crave’s number one contracted assassin: the famed Shadow Killer. Nacho was the merciless dagger which the Final Victory Guild sent to end the threat of their enemies.

In the end, it appeared that Nacho had been too good at keeping himself alive and making his enemies dead. There was one last little question about his final fate, but he wasn’t going to waste his time wondering when he could just ask the two goons. Nacho’s monotone chuckle made his escorts shiver. “Tell me, gentlemen… is Crave going to buy some tortilla chips, cheese, and jalapeno peppers for me? ‘Last meal’ sorta thing?”

“Why would he do that?” Whitney questioned his charge seriously. “Seems a waste to spend credits on a dead man.”

“You tool, he’s making a joke.” Hogan slapped his partner, then settled a thick hand on Nacho’s neck and squeezed it: a threat he assumed that the assassin couldn’t do anything about beyond glare. “It’s ‘cause his name is Nacho. Why do they call you that, anyway?”

“You should be careful where you touch.” Nacho deftly twisted away from Hogan, who gaped at his hand in horror upon realizing it was completely numb, and the numbness was spreading. “I’m named after a river. Back on Earth, I was Eli Michael Naches. My friends called me Nacho. Crave thought it was funny and ordered me to tell everyone that my name is Nacho. Now I can only tell you what the rest of it was. Also… those guys aren’t from around here. They shouldn’t be guarding the area, no matter if they will be allies.”

A few warriors stood with pikes near the drawbridge of the keep, staring at Nacho with disturbing glares. Two parts hate, one part hunger.

“Always looking out for the guild, even after you found out that they’re gonna spit-roast you for peace. You know, we do appreciate your sacrifice.” Hogan’s lips curled into a disgusting grin as he looked Nacho up and down. He licked his lips, and Nacho had to suppress his internal shiver.

“Not my choice, so it’s not my sacrifice,” the assassin growled in a low tone as they passed the unknown sentinels. “You’re fools to think that allowing me to be killed is going to help you. All it does is take one of Crave’s chips off the negotiation table.”

“Chips! Because you’re Nacho!” Whitney laughed uproariously, garnering scathing glances from the people around him. The outburst nevertheless succeeded in drawing rapt attention as the prisoner was led through Crave’s crowded throne room, gliding like a ghost as the spectators stomped around on the ground hard enough to create tremors. Nacho had to wonder if he actually was some kind of dead creature already, and this was just going to be his body accepting that fact. “This place has been a living death since Reuben and Brie died. I’m just glad to-”

Hogan shoved him hard enough that he stumbled and fell to his knees. “Quiet down, meat. On your feet!”

“Someone’s trying to get a promotion, using their big-boy brain to make rhyming threats and orders.” Nacho muttered as he effortlessly regained his standing position, like a snake coiling up to strike. He was briskly marched from the throne room, through a corridor, and into an enclosed courtyard. There he found Guild Masters Crave and Kala waiting, along with their Warriors, Mages, and Healers. “Quite a collection to see little ol’ me off.”

That was where Nacho would die. Winking his left eye, then his right eye, and finishing with a light shrug, he pulled up his Stat Sheet one last time, just to measure how far he’d come over the years.

Eli ‘Nacho’ Naches

Patron Boon—0/1 used.

(Prerequisites for boon use: Unknown.)

Class: Shadow Killer

Level: 28 (Tier 2, level 8)

Experience Points: 166,408,000 to Level 29!

Current Credits: 50,897

Build choice: Self-Applied

Body:

• Fitness: 40
• Metabolic efficiency: 19

Mind:

• Mental energy: 20
• Circuit: 17

Satiation:

• Hunger: 100
• Thirst: 100

Total Health Points: 90

Total Mana Pool: 40

Skill Slots (4/4 used)

• Gamer Reflex (Passive) Level 29: Gain first strike in 58% of all circumstances.
  • No Mana, Hydration, or Metabolic Cost
• Shadow Speed (Active) Level 29: Enhanced speed on the first 6 attacks when attacking unaware targets, or 3 attacks on aware opponents.
  • Tier 1 Enhancement: Darkness Dash.
  • Tier 2 Enhancement: Umbral Stab.
    • Mana Cost = 0%
    • Hydration Cost = 0%
    • Metabolic Cost = 15%
• Ninja Hush (Active) Level 29: Walk silently 116% of the time on normal surfaces and 58% on loud or annoying surfaces, including squeaky boards.
  • Tier 1 Enhancement: Throw Noise.
  • Tier 2 Enhancement: Shush Hush.
    • Mana Cost = 5%
    • Hydration Cost = 5%
    • Metabolic Cost = 15%
• Midnight Blend (Active) Level 29: Hide in shadows 116% effectively at night, 82% in a shadowy environment, and 58% effectively in daylight or other bright conditions.
  • Tier 1 Enhancement: Blending Backstab.
  • Tier 2 Enhancement: Shadow Teleportation.
    • Mana Cost = 5%
    • Hydration Cost = 5%
    • Metabolic Cost = 15%

Nacho couldn’t help but be disappointed in the fact that he’d never been able to increase his mana pool; he’d never guessed that his sneakier skills would use so abyssal much of it. If only he’d known to choose a different Build Type, all of his stats, skills, and every waking moment would’ve been so much better. Alas, gaining knowledge of the System was just on the edge of impossible, so expensive that only the most foolish or desperate bought the information packs offered within the Store.

He still wondered about his Patron’s boon, from a Patron without a name listed. It was common knowledge that the Patrons ran the Juxtaposition, but no one knew why or how; not even the few Warlocks, who received their power directly from their Patrons. Some players had managed to receive a boon without being a Warlock—people like Crave. He had confided in Nacho, back when they were friendly to each other, that he had something called ‘Dangerous/Dope’ Intuition.

Nacho only had a basic idea regarding what that boon granted. When Crave realized that he had mentioned it out loud, well, that was when their friendliness had dried up. Even so, from what Nacho could gather, Crave could tell if someone, something, or some place was dangerous… or if it was dope. As in, whether it was a good idea for him to interact with it or not.

Upon seeing how beneficial even such a ridiculous-sounding boon had been for the Guild Master, Nacho had tried everything he could think of to trigger his own mystery boon, but it was all for naught. When he finally did manage to snag a boon, it had come with some kind of hidden requirement for use that he had yet to find. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time left.

Kala, the so-called Death Knight, was the Guild Master of the Gorged Guild. She was a big, broad woman, imposing in her black plate armor with her helmet’s visor closed. She had been lucky to acquire a rare artifact early on, a colossal black sword nearly as hefty as she was. The weapon had helped her level up faster than anyone around her, and her personal power was one of the reasons her guild had survived the first calamity-class monster that had appeared.

Crave had survived as well, thanks to Nacho. That fact still irked the assassin, moreso now that his good deed was about to go on to be punished.

While Kala had embraced her Death Knight persona with full-on roleplay enthusiasm, Crave had chosen a three-piece suit from the more modern outfit selections in the Store. He’d earned an assassin class, like Nacho, but no one looking at him would have ever known it. Crave didn’t talk about his class very much, but he’d been quite stabby in his time—even if he wasn’t all that great at fighting. He’d had to go out of his way to kill people in their sleep, thanks mostly to his lack of variety in powerful magic items. That is, until he enlisted people like Nacho to do the dirty work for him.

In his breast pocket lay a fluffy black feather—his best magical item—and while everyone knew it was there, few knew what it actually did. Beneath his suit coat, in a shoulder holster, was his black dagger: the Onyx Tooth. It was a nice magical item, but it wasn’t even the best small blade in the room. Abyss, it was barely in the top five. No, the best knives in close proximity belonged to Kala’s master assassin, Myron.

Nacho hated Myron.

The man had zero professional standards; he was just a too-sneaky thug. Even more irritating, he had lucked into a greater artifact: the MurderSong Blades, which were a linked pair of very powerful daggers. The rumors about the twinned weapons indicated that the MurderSong Blades could cut through anything, but the only thing Nacho knew for certain was that their every attack came with a variety of bonuses.

Myron, dressed in red leather armor, carried the knives sheathed at his sides. One was as short and as fat as an actual cleaver, while the other was long and slender. Nacho nodded dismissively at him. “Hey, Myron. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Fancy feast, Nacho. All you’re good for now is cat food.” The rival assassin appeared well-fed, his cheeks tinted with a healthy pink glow. It was the unibrow and the bad haircut that wasn’t doing him any favors. He licked his hand and wiped at his own face. “Meow. Doesn’t look like you were expecting that… haa. Yeah, you’re not the only one with jokes. I gotta admit, I’m sorry to see someone with your talent going down. You were too good, Nacho, and you know it.”

“No, you’re not sad.” Nacho scoffed at Myron, who simply shrugged and smiled back at him, highlighting his missing teeth.

The unfortunate fact of the matter was that Crave didn’t need exceedingly powerful armor or weapons to intimidate other humans. He had the ultimate power: ten thousand guild members working for him. Most were Tier one, but some few were Tier two like Nacho. Feeding people at that level was a full-time job, and in the end, the Tier twos were the reason Crave had made this despicable deal that was costing Nacho everything.

The reality of this situation was starting to hit him, and despite his typical propensity to be unemotional, his hands began to display a slight tremble. Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, he went over the facts of why he had been betrayed.

Kala would join up with Final Victory, becoming subservient to Crave, and bring along something special that would alleviate some of Final Victory’s issues. All Kala wanted in return was Nacho served up on a silver platter—literally. Crave, tall and handsome, had been a Vice President of Sales before the Juxtaposition. Or he’d been a guard at a prison. The story changed, depending on his mood and level of sobriety.

“Oh, hello there!” Nacho snapped out of his despondent mood and cheerily waved toward Kala. He could see her blue eyes drilling into him through her visor. “Did you finally get tired of me killing your Tier ones? Stealing their credits is just the way the world works, isn’t it? Last thing; you do understand that I could only do that if I was ordered to do it, right?”

“Don’t be dramatic.” Kala’s voice was weary. “You know why I want you dead.”

“Yup. I killed your dad. Stab, stab. Right through the clavicle and into the trachea. Poor guy had no chance at getting that healed.” Nacho shrugged and clapped, the manacles clinking together harshly enough to make the observers clench their teeth and reach for their weapons. “Didn’t know. Didn’t much care. Frankly, didn't have any choice. You’re a Guild Master; you know exactly what I mean. Crave knew he had that juicy Tier two steak in his Storage Slots. We ate steak au poivre for days. Peppery yum-yum. It was a nice break from, you know, eating each other.”

“All this rampant cannibalism does suck pretty hard,” Myron chimed in, only to have Kala silence him with a glare, barely able to stop herself killing Nacho herself.

Unyielding, she once again fixed those blue eyes on Nacho. “At the end of the day, you were the person holding the knife, so you’re the one that dies. Then the Gorged joins the Final Victory, and we have a chance against Arriod and the CrossHumans. They’re coming for us, and they’re not holding back anymore.”

Nacho’s shoulders managed to get lifted a tiny fraction before dropping once more, as though the weight of the world was holding them down. “The Gorged lucked into that magic oven, which kinda changed everything for your guild. Answer one thing for me: is it true? Does it really take the Putrid Mana out of monster meat?”

“Yes. It does,” the Death Knight informed him firmly. “We can eat what we kill now.”

“Then my guild members might get an actual meal. Good enough. I just wanted this to be worth something real.” That fact made Nacho feel better, and it was time to die before he lost his nerve. “Now, who is going to be doing the actual execution here?”

Myron raised his hand and waved it like an excited child. “That would be me.”

“Ugh. No. You’re the worst, Myron.” Nacho stuck his tongue out, then looked over at his Guild Master. “How about you, Crave?”

“I can do it. Gotta preserve any credits you’ve been hoarding, after all. For the good of the guild, of course.” Crave took the black feather out of the pocket in his suit, and Nacho’s eyes followed it in confusion. “Thank you, Nacho, for your sacrifice.”

“You can thank me by winning whatever messed-up game the Juxtaposition turns out to be. Keep our people safe.” Nacho kept his eyes on the feather. He didn't know for sure, but he had a feeling that when Crave had ordered him to kill the party that had included Kala’s father, he had known exactly how valuable they were to Kala. It was messed up, but if it was true… the bait had been masterfully set.

Nacho closed his eyes and relaxed. Life had given him a putrid deal, but he could finally be done with it. He could see Reuben and Brie again. That realization brought a real smile to his lips for the first time in months.

Crave nodded at Hogan.

Hogan grabbed at Nacho to force him onto the table that had been ritualistically prepared for the event. At that moment, Nacho triggered his Shadow Speed and dodged the hand easily, then swept around before anyone could react, easily plucking the keys off of Whitney’s belt. He had the manacles unlocked in an instant.

His Shadow Speed ability gave him three attacks against surprised targets. He had found loopholes in his skills over the years, which was the only reason he was able to do this all so quickly. He had ‘attacked’ the keys, then ‘attacked’ the keyhole with them. Finally, he used the last strike on Myron.

“Nacho, I order you to stop attacking!” Crave called as soon as he realized that the man was moving.

“Are you hiding a delicious secret, Myron? Something right under the skin, if you know what I mean?” Nacho trailed the flat of his blade down the man’s stomach, forced by his magical guild contract not to hurt the morally filthy man. Baring teeth blackened by one of the many debuffs that came from having to eat other people, Nacho reached out and gently squeezed his target’s nose. “*Honk, honk*. Just wanted to prove one last time that you were always… second-best.”

Kala got all huffy and had unsheathed her weapon in the same second that Nacho began taunting his rival, roaring at her counterpart, “What’s the meaning of this, Crave? We had a deal!”

“Getting betrayed by his superior, about to be eaten, and he couldn’t do anything about it. I love it.” Even with a ‘honked’ nose, Myron grinned like the unibrowed weasel he was. “I agree you were better, but this just makes me number one.”

“Nah, I’m fine with all… this.” Nacho dropped his hands and hopped onto the table on his own. “I just wanted to make it clear that I decided to do this of my own free will. If I were able to actually fight the compulsion, this would’ve turned into a bloodbath before the charter reduced me to a burned-out husk. I bet I could have taken out all your top rankers… but guess we’ll never know now, huh? Don’t worry. I’ll be quiet and die like a good boy.”

He unzipped his hoodie and let it drop, then shivered at the cold wood of the table against his back, relaxing as well as he could. Three years of being alone. Three years of killing other people. Three years of struggling to get food and water…well, food hadn’t been a problem at first. Not until he’d Tiered up. Then it had become his only problem.

Crave stood over him with the feather in one hand and the Onyx Tooth in the other. “Any last words, Nacho?”

The assassin laughed despite the cold sweat dripping down his face and the colder fear in his belly. “Cook me face down, so you can kiss my butt.”

Crave chuckled, then touched Nacho with the black feather. Nacho fell asleep instantly, missing his chance to learn what the feather did. He never even felt Crave’s knife plunge into his chest.

One second—or an eternity—later, on Earth, May eleventh, two thousand and twenty-three, six months before the Juxtaposition… a notification appeared in Eli Naches’ vision as he sat at his kitchen table, a bite of succulent omelet halfway to his mouth, and his eyes wide open in horror at the terrible vision he had just experienced.

Kronos Boon–Probability Vision—1/1 used.

Weirdest. Thursday. Ever.