The First Great Game (A Litrpg/Harem Series)

Chapter 282: And then we eat?

Mason ran through open plains with Streak at his side, watching the open horizon. It was strange to be out of the trees—to be able to see so far in the distance, to mountains looming in three directions except the way he was running.

He was heading south following Kiaan's mapped out territory. It was a visible clear line in the unexplored darkness, the scout's entire journey 'uploaded' into Mason's Wayfinder power. They’d both been rather excited to learn it worked.

The scout had been busy, and fast, but even so he hadn't actually found the end of the landmass they were on. Instead he'd reached a huge desert, then what they game was calling a 'Nexus', or ‘Central Hub’.

What exactly it contained they couldn't be sure, but according to Kiaan's scouting it was a kind of collection of special tools for players that might allow communication, settlement function, and possibly far-ranging teleportation.

It was, in other words, possibly the most important opportunity for human beings discovered.

And if Mason and his players could get there first—after an almost certainly difficult challenge—they could claim it.

So Mason had to hurry.

First, he'd used his new 'WyrdWalking' power to reach the furthest edge of the 'Great Forest' where his settlement was. He could have tried to go even further, but he didn't trust his power enough yet. Navigating the wyrd was difficult, involving following the sounds of natural landmarks that Mason could 'recognize'.

He wasn't entirely sure how he did any of that, but is ranger and druid classes, as well as the blessing he'd received from an ancient druid, almost certainly helped.

An elven oracle, Dariya, had said he would only be capable of teleporting to the Great Trees. But she was wrong. Mason heard many voices he recognized in his forest, and he'd been able to teleport to the very south-east edge of the forest.

This saved him a huge amount of time. And time was just about the most important resource Mason had. He'd even been able to bring Streak. Though the wolf...hadn't enjoyed the experience...

The animal went back and forth between whining and growling at every sound in the 'Wyrd', practically crawling under Mason’s legs or wrapping around him. He’d eventually had to literally carry the damn thing like a puppy, groaning as he lifted the giant wolf and staggered after the sound of his trees.

When they’d gotten out and back to the ‘real’ world, Streak hunched down and looked at him like he’d just shit on the rug.

“Well you should be embarrassed,” Mason said. “I was right there. And since when are you scared of weird new things? I saw you shapeshift and literally ride a robot like a cowboy while goblins threw bombs at you. And I doubt you even know what any of those words mean.”

Streak had growl-whined, flopping over until Mason had given him a comforting scratch and belly-rub.

“This is ridiculous,” he'd said, fighting the grin. “You’re like a lion-sized apocalypse wolf. You make people piss themselves when you growl. Now look at you.”

After he’d been appropriately comforted, Streak hopped up as if the world were alright again, panting and looking over as Mason shook his head.

“No, I won’t tell your pack. No, I won’t tell Rosa. Wait, why do you specifically…you know what? Let’s just go.”

It seemed Mason could understand more and more of the wolf's thoughts and desires. They could basically have full conversations at this point, though a conversation with Streak pretty much always involved food, hunting for food, or wondering how long they might scratch or fight or sleep before the next time there was food.

But Mason didn’t mind. Now that they were alone in wide open terrain, with nothing but a long run ahead, he couldn’t be more at ease.

All the complications of running a settlement were left behind, along with all his...female problems, including three 'girlfriends' living with him, and a new elven bride he was supposed to marry when he got back…

He hadn’t exactly sorted that out with his girls. Only Haley even knew it was happening, and they’d decided to wait or at least let her handle things with the others. She said she’d get a feel, and only come to him if it ‘blew up’. He expected that would be immediately.

But he had bigger problems to deal with.

His brother Blake, for example, currently living in an orc tower with two groups of former enemies. The son of a bitch even wanted Mason's help to protect the creatures from...demons, or something.

Frankly, Mason didn't see why he shouldn't be cheering for the demons to finish off the whole lot of them. But Blake had his plans, which were sometimes foolish but sometimes brilliant. Mason wasn't quite sure yet which this one was.

For now the miles of grassland flew by.

Mason was pushing himself as hard as possible, practically sprinting for hours and hours without pause or rest. Streak was panting hard beside him, more from heat than exhaustion. His fur was built for the cold north, and unlike Mason he couldn't just sweat everywhere to cool down.

Nothing in the old world could out-pace a man over distance, especially when it was hot. And with every mile the climate seemed to warm so quickly it felt unnatural. Not that Mason had any idea what 'natural' was anymore.

After his latest stint of almost six solid hours of running with no rest, Mason could feel Streak's suffering. He was about to stop and maybe spray him with water when he remembered one of his powers—Shared Pain.

Could it help with heat exhaustion, too?

He activated it, and groaned. In a blink it felt like someone had stuck him in a sauna and turned on a few fans. Waves of warmth radiated over his body, the feeling oppressive and suffocating. Streak perked right up.

"OK," Mason wiped some sweat dripping down his forehead. "I get it. Consider shedding. Like really fast."

The wolf could technically shapeshift, but his 'hybrid' form was still pretty much covered in fur, and likely not as fast. Mason realized he should have left the wolf in Nassau with the others and 'teleported' him with the same device. Though with him coming it meant he could bring one extra person. The device only worked for six.

Of course they had to get back…but Mason was hoping after seeing the terrain himself he could wyrdwalk, and send the others with the device. At least that was the theory…

Meanwhile, he and the wolf got to suffer. Shared Pain was better than nothing, but sure not as good as actually cooling them both down. Mason had a druid spell called 'Inner Fire', which obviously didn't help, but he couldn't help but think there would be some other version that protected against heat.

So far he'd avoided taking any kind of druid spells with his levels, knowing from his experience in the game he could learn 'spells' through other means.

Powers were just so...vital, so powerful, he couldn't bring himself to do something just for the short term that would end up being wasteful. Haley, his French-Canadian assistant/slave/pregnant/kind-of-spouse, had been right when she told him the game was a marathon, not a sprint. He couldn't just survive. He had to keep gaining power. And knowledge. And yes, allies.

Winning first was good, but winning last was what really mattered.

So on Mason ran. He camped and slept briefly in the hottest part of the day, then ran all night. To reach the desert had taken Kiaan three weeks. Between Wyrdwalk and his ridiculous speed, it took Mason three days.

Finally the horizon blurred with waves of heat rising from baking sand. It stretched across Mason's vision in a line so clean and straight it was like some giant had sliced the grassland off with a scythe.

Mason supposed that was more or less what happened. RoboGod, as he called their synthetic alien overlord, proved again and again he didn't much care about the old norms of earth. Or the laws of physics.

According to Kiaan's map, it was another three or four days at his speed through the desert to the hub. But then Kiaan had spent several hours a day avoiding the worst heat. He'd struggled a bit to move in the sand, and hadn't sprinted like a madman without rest. Mason decided he could do a little better.

"Come on, Streak," Mason called as he rushed into the desert without slowing. There was a strong wind and sand blew across the dunes, and across Mason's face. It didn't bother him. Or, perhaps more accurately, it did bother him, but discomfort was about five levels down from whatever tier of suffering actually phased him.

The truth was, Mason was beginning to like suffering. He wasn't sure, exactly, when it started. But somewhere between gnolls clawing him apart in the tutorial, and powers that regenerated and transformed him whenever he got hurt or felt too weak. He often leaned into violence and pain to boost his Transformation and Duality of Strength. He supposed all his life he'd done something similar.

When he and Blake were first adopted by rich parents he'd recognized his luck. He could have tried harder, embraced the life like Blake had.

But he still got a job when he was sixteen. He still worked his body and prepared his mind for poverty or failure, for injury or rejection. All his life he'd had one foot out the door, ready to bolt, ready to survive. How much suffering had he caused himself for no reason except fear?

But then came RoboGod and the apocalypse and the 'great game'. Suddenly the things that made Mason strange and slightly broken were suddenly an asset. It's not as if he’d expected any of that.

I guess I just got lucky, he thought wryly, and startled Streak when he burst out laughing.

But like so many times in evolution, it made no difference why a thing was well adapted. It only mattered that it was.

And Mason felt like he was born to run through a desert for two days with no sleep. To survive in a world without rules or fairness except 'last man standing'.

So he was going to take this 'Central Hub'.

And he was going to use it to benefit his people first, then any deserving pieces of humanity second. And if they didn't like that they were free to try and kill him and make their own rules. A terrible piece of him hoped they tried.

"Come on, boy," he called, not sure now how many times he had. He blinked and it was day. Blinked again and it was night.

The desert howled, it cooked, it cooled, it whispered. Then the never-ending mirage of heat wavered and changed, gaining new shape and substance for long enough it wasn't a trick.

Mason glanced at Wayfinder and grinned. He'd crossed the desert and reached the Hub in no more than twenty-four hours. But his water was almost gone, his mouth dry. He'd traveled lighter than he should have, probably, but expected he could find what he needed in the wild.

Streak whined and flopped down beside a big rock, sensing Mason meant to stop and camp until morning.

"One more rest," he whispered, staring at the strange construction of the Hub. "Then we get the others. And we take this thing and change the game."

Streak made a sound that meant 'and then we eat?". Mason chuckled and shook his head.

"You're hopeless."