Arturus respawned, screaming. He wasn’t in pain. Pain didn’t carry over through a death except for Death Sickness. No, it was something more visceral. True, unbound rage.

  He was fine with being defeated; it made for good streaming. His numbers had been better than ever after his draw against Mara, but now millions of watchers had not only seen Elijah defeat him but also humiliate him. His army was trapped; there was no way he could get them out now. Not without finding the Reality Warper and undoing whatever he had done to that dungeon to trap them all there.

  All of his carefully laid plans for the next few years—the steady push of the Reapers across the continent, the overtaking of the eastern seaboard and eventual push on Mara. None of it was possible without his army.

  When death couldn’t keep a person in the grave, there was little reason to come up with contingency plans in case his army was eliminated. He’d have to scramble to figure out a suitable alternative to his plans. Something that would be engaging and interesting to his audience.

  This was a setback, one that would likely lose him several million viewers, which translated to tens of thousands of dollars a month, but Arturus wasn’t in this for the money. Especially not now that they were all stuck within the game. His wife would handle making sure everything was kept up to date and paid. The house, the farm. He was just lucky she hadn’t been logged into the game during the glitch.

  Arturus rolled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the cold stone of the castle’s master bedroom. That was one benefit of kingdom building in this game. You didn’t respawn in the Temple like everyone else, and when you were of Celestial-tier, that was a small comfort. People thronged to him in droves, hoping to glean some minor wisdom or advantage.

  Walking over to his personal vault, a device shaped like a large vanity, he pulled open one drawer. He cared little for those who only wanted something from him without giving something in return. Like the Mana Mage Bob. He knew the man’s plan was to serve Arturus only until he could get his hands on a Celestial Relic. Like the one that rested within Arturus’ storage. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. There was a waiting list of near-Celestial, Legendary-tier players who had hoped to be given such a relic. He could sense something in it, something he’d never noticed before the events that trapped him here. There was a presence. A life. As if the game’s AI had become sentient and embodied this relic.

  He smirked. He would figure out what power this relic contained, and if he was capable, he’d take that power for himself. There were rumors that there was something beyond Celestial, rumors that a player could ascend to true godhood within the game.

  There was a knock on the door, so he quickly shoved the locket into the storage and went to answer it. Tom burst through his door a moment later, his movement jerky and rigid, the aftereffects of using one of his most disturbing abilities.

  “Good morning to you too, Tom,” Arturus muttered as the Flesh Reaver moved past him and sat down on one chair.

  “Felt your presence as soon as you respawned. That little pissant managed to get the drop on you too?”

  Arturus grunted.

  “I wouldn’t say that, no. There were,” he paused while trying to come up with the proper words to describe what had happened, “extenuating circumstances.”

  “The army? Haven’t noticed many of them respawn. You’re not telling me you died before them, are you?”

  “No, they were captured,” Arturus growled. He’d had just about enough of the Flesh Reaver’s impertinence. He was Arturus, the strongest of the Celestials. Not even Annika or Kyle were able to match him in sheer power. Mara had only managed to best him, barely, because she had levelled her dispel magic to Celestial-tier just in time. He wouldn’t make that mistake with her again.

  “So the big bad Necro Drifter got himself and his army wrecked by a bunch of low-level noobs. Pathetic.”

  No single celestial could rival his power, but here was his underling acting out as if he were untouchable. What good drama this was to keep the viewers watching.

  “You think you would have done better?” Arturus asked. “Where were you during the assault, anyway?”

  Tom laughed and kicked his feet up onto the table. “Some kind of challenge. It gave me the opportunity to kill another player, so I took it. Turned out to be a challenge against your little Reality Warper friend.”

  Arturus walked over to where the man was sitting and knocked his feet off the table. “You’re one to talk then. The same man who bested me, also bested you.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tom shot to his feet. Long, razor-sharp blades sprang from his forearms, covering the stone floor in blood. “He didn’t beat me! He cheated. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to find out.”

  Arturus glared between the man and the blood on the floor. He’d have to clean that up. It would despawn on its own in a few days, but this was his bedroom. “No, we’re pulling back any remaining forces.” Arturus told him, not even deigning to make eye contact or acknowledge the threat that Tom had just levelled by drawing weapons on him. Arturus could end this man in a heartbeat if he unleashed his full might.

  “We need to regroup and decide how to proceed further.” Arturus looked towards the window of his chamber, considering the options. “Every good story needs room to breathe between arcs. We’ll regroup and figure out where to go from here.”

  “No!” Tom screamed, which caught Arturus off guard. He knew the man was unhinged; no sane person would pick a class like Flesh Reaver after all, but screaming at someone like Arturus was a new level of crazy. “I’ve had enough of these arcs and stories. I’m not going to let him grow his power while we sit around doing nothing!”

  Arturus didn’t lash out at the man; instead, he did something far worse. He took his Reaper Mask from his inventory and placed it against his face. The searing pain of it merging with the bone felt like an old friend now rather than something to fear. He reached out to Tom with his will and activated the subjugation ability the mask granted him. Even if the Flesh Reaver wasn’t actively wearing the mask, this close to him he could still subjugate the rebellious lieutenant from his inventory.

  Tom just started laughing. “You’re a piece of shit, Arturus. I don’t know how your little ‘hero’ managed it, but when he killed me he stole my mask. You don’t have any power over me anymore.”

  The razor blades retracted back into Tom’s forearms. “We’re through now. I’m gonna plot my own course to Celestial, without your help. And I think I know exactly who to target for that.”

  He turned to leave the room.

  “You are going to ruin the narrative,” Arturus told him, almost offhandedly.

  “Good.”

  The drama was excellent and would tell a good story. He was certain that Tom meant to target Elijah and would be working against Arturus to get what he wanted; perhaps he would even rope Bob into helping him now that Arturus had cut him loose from the Reapers.

  Two factions attempting to defeat and capture one hero. A three-way battle for supremacy in the game. It would make absolutely delightful cinema. The view counter on the edge of his screen was already recovering from its slump after his defeat.

  A message popped up in his vision from one reaper stationed on the walls of Raystown. A bright comet had been seen flying through the sky from the southeast.

  Arturus couldn’t help but laugh. This game didn’t have comets or meteors. No, this was something equally marvelous. No doubt it would lead to the next arc in his story.

  A man in golden armor crashed through his window, coming to a stop a few feet from him. He floated in the air, bright light seeming to emanate from his feet and hold him aloft.

  He turned to face the man, though looking upon him hurt Arturus’ eyes. “To what do I owe this honor? Finally ended your self-imposed seclusion, Daven?”

  [Player]

  Name: Daven

  Class: Starbreaker | Level: 100+

  HP: 85 / 85

  Daven, the fifth of the Celestials and the only player in the game to have three stats at Celestial level. Arturus had made the mistake of underestimating the man’s low health pool once. A mistake he’d never make again, this man was the only player in the game that he truly feared could surpass him. He’d made it to Celestial-tier with no help, far enough away from any other player that nobody had even heard of him when he finally ascended.

  “Mara and the others request your presence at the Temple of Creation. I was asked to escort you there.” There was no emotion in the man’s voice. A simple statement of fact, unhindered by feelings.

  “You know that I respect you, I do,” Arturus stepped around him to flop down on one of the chairs, “but what makes you think I will come with you? You are in my city, my base of power. How do you see this going?”

  A chill ran up Arturus’ spine as he finished asking his question. He closed his eyes and gave a light chuckle. “Annika has sent her guard dog as well. Yes, I do suppose that having two of you here would pose a problem.”

  From a shadowy corner, one that Arturus hadn’t noticed before—had he been here during the conversation with Tom?—stepped Kyle, the Grave Sovereign.

  “Nethy is gone, Arturus, by your own action. We’d rather not see Raystown meet the same fate.” Kyle threatened. Knowing that any of the three of them had the power to make that threat a reality, much less all three of them combined.

  “You could have been such a formidable villain in these stories, Kyle. Instead, you chose to be a crafter. You let your necromantic talents go to waste.”

  Daven drew his sword, a gleaming weapon; its flavor text said it was forged from a star. He’d had enough of the idle chatter, Arturus could tell. But Arturus liked to push the boundaries of others, to see how much they could take before breaking.

  “Are you going to come with us, or are you going to force our hand?” Again, the same steady, emotionless voice from the Starbreaker. He knew he had little control of this narrative going forward. For the first time since ascending to Celestial, he was being boxed in. Only two options remained for him here. Give in, or fight.

  He quickly ran through the options in his head as the necromantic energy from the Grave Sovereign welled up around him. He was co-opting it before Arturus could. It would do little to dull his combat effectiveness, but it was a good start.

  If he fought, it would make for great views, but he risked wearing out his audience on these big climactic battles. Not to mention the time he would need to spend rebuilding. No, it would be better to let the audience breathe. A bit of politicking and statecraft could be good for his audience and viewership. Besides, if Daven was here, this would be one of the few chances that viewers would have to see him in action. He never streamed after all.

  Arturus stood and held his arms out to the Grave Sovereign. “Well, I suppose I don’t have much of an option here. Let’s head to the Temple of Creation.”

  “Oh, the stories we shall tell, my friends,” he laughed as he let them lead him away.