D.I.A.N.N.E. Ch. 05

I hefted my coin pouch and grimaced. There was not going to be enough to buy what I needed. Griswold seemed to read my thoughts. "How much ya got?" he asked me bluntly. I spread my coins over a nearby table and did a quick count.

"Fifty-four," I replied, looking up at the big man. I suddenly found myself wondering why he didn't go into the Cathedral himself. He certainly appeared capable enough.

The blacksmith snorted and shook his head. "You ain't gonna be buyin' much with that, lad."

"Is everything alright, Griswold?" a female voice said from behind me. I turned to see a pretty young woman standing there, watching me uncertainly. Fair-skinned, buxom and dark-eyed, her chocolate hair was tied up in a bun. She was wearing a simple country dress with a low neckline that showed a healthy amount of lightly freckled cleavage. "I heard a kerfuffle."

"Aye, Gillian," Griswold replied. "Our young hero here just needs some sturdier equipment."

Gillian's eyes widened, and her expression changed from uncertain to intrigued. "Oh? So, this is the man who is going to save Tristram?" She came closer and held out a hand. "It's a pleasure, mister." She curtsied deeply, giving me an excellent view. I cleared my throat, and Griswold chuckled knowingly.

"Likewise," I said, smiling back at her when she straightened. "But that really isn't necessary. The curtsying, I mean."

"A hero deserves the respect of a simple village woman," Gillian replied. She was looking up at me through her eyelashes. "And whatever else he desires, too." That brought another chuckle from the blacksmith as he moved further into the forge and started tidying up his tools.

I really liked how Gillian was flirting with me, but I didn't feel like much of a hero right now, not after fleeing from the Butcher like a little girl. Just thinking of that beast made me cold in the pit of my stomach again.

"Well," I began with a sigh. "Don't go handing me accolades just yet, for I fear I cannot defeat the Butcher." I lifted my hands and flexed them in front of my face. "At least, not yet anyway."

"Ah," Gillian said as she stepped closer. There was a hint of mischief in her eye. "You look as if you lost your confidence, love." She reached out and touched my arm sympathetically. "Why don't you come over to the Rising Sun and let Gillian help you find it, ey?"

I met her gaze and found myself wondering what she looked like naked. I was still down on myself about earlier, but a look down that plunging neckline made my decision for me. Might as well enjoy myself while I'm here. It can't be all blood and terror. When I nodded, she grinned and took my hand, leading me from the forge and across the square to the largest building in the village, the Tavern of the Rising Sun.

"Alright, Gillian?" A wiry man said from where he stood by the door, beneath a sign that swung in a light breeze.

"Alright, Odgen," she replied happily. Odgen gave me a nod as we passed into the tavern, and a sly wink, as if he knew exactly what was going on. Inside was a large room sided by a bar and a row of empty stools. Gillian led me through to a room in the back that held a small bed and a few other items of simple furniture. A thrill of anticipation shot through me when she turned and began to undo the laces of her bodice, smoky eyes watching me watching her.

"You're a warrior," she said as she peeled the dress off her shoulders and began to push it down over ample hips. "And a warrior needs confidence and determination." I nodded dumbly as I watched her pale body come into view. Her breasts were magnificent, sitting like two proud teardrops on her chest, capped by rosy, pink nipples. Her belly and thighs were perhaps a little on the plump side, but not enough to be called fat. A thin strip of hair pointed to the cleft between her legs.

I didn't remember moving forward, but I was suddenly kissing her and seizing handfuls of whatever I could grab; hips, arse, tits, the lot. She moaned excitedly and pulled at my clothes, stripping me down until I was naked and lying on my back on the small bed. My warrior's body was large, heavy and muscular, and the staff that stood up between my thighs was impressive to say the least. Gillian was not concerned, though, and she mounted me smoothly before impaling herself, taking me to the hilt in one glorious motion.

Suddenly feeling much better about myself, I set about giving Gillian a proper ride.

*

Quite some time later, we lay together in a tangle of sheets and sweaty limbs, catching our breath. Gillian's breasts heaved on her chest as she panted, her head resting on my shoulder. "Do you feel better, love?" she asked me after a minute.

I tilted my face to hers and smiled. "Much."

"Good," she replied happily, pecking me on the lips before climbing over me and getting out of bed. I let her go reluctantly, wanting to pull her soft body down on top of me again. I watched her as she went to a long chest against the wall and bent to open it. Fresh desire stirred in me at the sight of her bare bottom, and the lips between her thighs still glistening from our interlude.

I sat up when she turned back, however, as she was holding a long sword across the crooks of her elbows, horizontal to the floor. Scabbarded in fine leather worked with silver, it had a hilt long enough for both hands. "What is that?" I asked as I went to her.

"This was my father's," she replied quietly. "It was made for him by Griswold, and it's very powerful.

***

--TECHNOLOGICAL FACILITY, UNKNOWN LOCATION--

"Does this kid ever slow down?" M asked J from her sleek office chair. She was watching the main display screen on the wall, which was currently showing Subject Twenty engaged in vigorous intercourse with a buxom woman. They were on a small bed in what appeared to be a simple room made all of timber. From this point of view, it had the look of an old cottage or hut.

J left the console he was working at to go and stand next to M. She had one slim, tanned leg hooked over the arm of the chair and her fingers played lazily over her smooth sex as she watched. Her dark nipples atop her petite breasts were hard nubs. "He does not appear to," he replied slowly as he viewed the big screen. Twenty's lover was on all fours on the bed, crying out in pleasure as he pummelled her. Whichever title he'd chosen had put Twenty in the body of a large, strong man, possibly a warrior, judging by the buckler on the ground next to the bed. "What is the title?"

"It is called Diablo," M replied. Her hips were lifting slightly, now, probably because she had a finger inside herself.

"How does his progress compare? Have any other subjects run this program?"

M smiled up at J, then her eyes slid down his fit body to his crotch. "Only two," she answered a little breathily. "But they terminated shortly after beginning. It is a frightening experience, I understand." Her other hand extended in invitation, and J moved closer so she could grip his cock. He let her stroke him while she pleasured herself. Her attentions moved back to the screen. "Interestingly," she added, "he is close to finding a short cut."

J's eyebrows rose, and not just from M's expert handling of his tool. "That is uncommon, to say the least. Are you sure?"

M squeezed his shaft a little harder than necessary, making him grunt. "I would not say it if I wasn't."

J grinned down at her. "I should know better than to question you. You are the best at the software. If you say he's close, then he's close."

M nodded, satisfied, then went on. "In its adaptation to the technology, this program has become much more difficult than that of the original experience. And, of course, there is always the added element of injury or death, making this the most dangerous title Twenty has engaged." She shuddered, then, and her stroking stopped for a moment as she rode a small climax. "This often happens," she continued after a minute, "in programs with high levels of violence. Additionally, the Dianne unit is adapting to Twenty's capabilities and presenting him with greater challenges than would be offered to a less capable individual."

J nodded. He already knew this, but he let her speak without interruption. Her stroking felt too good to stop. "So, he has unconsciously created a potential back door?" On the screen, Twenty and the woman had collapsed onto the bed, their lovemaking finished for now. She was quite lovely, really, the woman, though a little heavy in the chest and hips for J's liking. Still, he would not refuse her, if she offered. Under M's sliding hand, his shaft flexed in the beginnings of his own climax.

Sensing the change, M slid the rolling chair around in front of him and took him into her mouth, one hand clutching at his buttock while the other milked him. A satisfied groan escaped J's lips as his colleague and lover swallowed his load, only removing her lips when he was completely finished.

"Yes," she answered finally, smacking her lips as she turned her chair back to the screen. She lifted a slim finger to point. "See?"

True to her words, the woman on the screen had retrieved a sword from somewhere and was handing it to Twenty. "What is that?" J asked, curious.

"It's the shortcut, in the form of a weapon he can use to conquer the game. This did not exist in the original title, even in the cheat system. It appears Twenty has created it out of need."

J looked at M in surprise. "He has that much control already?"

"Yes," M said thoughtfully, pursing her lips as she watched Twenty hefting the sword on the screen. "After engaging in intercourse with the NPC, his synchronicity jumped twenty-five percent." Her tilted, dark eyes flitted over the multitude of readouts on smaller displays that bordered the main one. "And another twenty percent when he took the sword."

J whistled through his teeth. Now that was new; they'd never seen a subject sync so fast. "Maybe we should monitor some of the other subjects for a while," he suggested carefully. M gave him a look that said she understood his meaning, and with a wave of her hand from left to right, the screen changed to Subject Nineteen. For a change, Nineteen was not holding court in her palace. She was standing nude in a round copper tub, with several handmaids washing her down.

Nineteen was showing some difference in her physical body to when she'd taken up the trial, though not as drastically as Twenty, or even some of the others. Her pale body had slimmed some, however, leaving her perhaps chubby where before she'd been bordering on obese. She would be beautiful if she survived the trial; that result was always the same without exception.

Putting Twenty out of his mind, J took a chair and began to discuss Nineteen's prospects with M.

***

I left the Rising Sun feeling very different to how I'd entered, even apart from the sex. The sword strapped to my back had me thinking I could take on ten Butchers without breaking a sweat. Well, not really, but it was hard to fight the huge swell of confidence from the sheer amount of strength flowing into me from the weapon.

*Now we're talking,* Cloud said in my mind as I made for the portal. *We can do some damage with this!*

In response, Indy made a derisive noise. *Would make more sense to find a good revolver, kid.*

I halted mid-step, by the fountain. This was the first time the two had spoken to me at the same time. "You two can talk to each other?" I asked in a hushed voice.

*Sure can,* Indy replied. *He's a bit weird, though, this Cloud fella. What kind of name is that anyway?*

*I could say the same about you,* Cloud retorted.

They began to bicker, but I intervened. "Quiet!" I hissed. Griswold, standing over in his usual place at the forge, shot me an odd look, but I ignored it. "If we work together, maybe we can beat this thing."

*Can't we just go back and have more fun with that barmaid?* Indy complained. *I've seen enough tombs and dungeons for one lifetime.*

*I vote for some battles!* Cloud enthused. *And then more barmaid.*

"This is not a democracy," I growled. "You're inside my head, and we play by my rules."

They both made noises about letting me handle things on my own, but a crafty thought occurred to me. "You know, Indy," I began. "At the bottom of this cathedral is an ancient stone, called the Soulstone, guarded by the most powerful being in Hell. They say it holds great power for anyone who claims it." Indy said nothing, but I got the sensation he was listening. "Nothing like this exists in the world you know," I continued. "But wouldn't you like to see it?"

Indy's exasperated sigh reverberated in my head as he relented. *Fine, kid. Let's play it your way. I got nothin' better to do anyway.*

"And Cloud," I added, "wouldn't you like to test yourself against the best of the monsters in this land?" At Cloud's affirmation, I also threw him a carrot. "Plus another shot at the barmaid?" When Cloud answered in the affirmative also, I nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now let's be about this before we get any older."

Before any element of doubt could creep into my mind, I made for the portal, still open and waiting for me next to the well. I passed through to find the Butcher waiting for me. His sharp, pointy teeth glistened in the low light as he grinned. Ignoring the clenching in my gut -- no matter how amazing I felt since obtaining this sword, that grin would never be easy to behold -- I reached up and pulled the sword from my back. Holding a guarding stance I'd picked up from Cloud -- sword held in both hands before me, blade pointed upright at a forty-five degree angle -- I waited for his inevitable attack.

"Come on, you big ugly-" The rest of my sentence was cut off by a blood-curdling roar as the Butcher lumbered forward and swung at me with enough force to cut a prize bull right down the middle. With instincts that could only have come from Cloud, I smoothly stepped aside, letting the cleaver come down and smash into the stone where I'd been standing.

Another roar, and the hook in his other hand swept around as he attempted to gut me. I moved without thought, bringing the blade around to block his attack with the sharp edge. The metal bit into his arm and blood sprayed, misting in the air as he cried out, loud enough to rattle the stones in the walls.

In my mind, I saw the next few moments before they happened. I knew what he would do next, and I knew how to counter it. I flowed forward and slashed him across one thigh before evading the cleaver again. Next, I cut him across the middle, leaving a bloody line across his belly, though not deep enough to kill. He was big and slow, and I was small and fast. I had him, and I knew it.

Three more times I cut him, but instead of slowing from blood loss, he only grew more furious. His attacks gained vigour, but I either evaded them or answered them with my own. He came on harder, but I sliced him across each arm successively, deep enough that his arms dropped uselessly to his sides and his weapons fell to the floor with a clang. He eyed me with a hate deeper than the cathedral itself, his huge chest rising and falling with his breath.

"Finish it!" He bellowed at me in rage.

A part of me hesitated. Did I really want to execute an unarmed opponent? Even if it was the Butcher? It's just a game, a small voice said in my head. Does it matter?

Suddenly, I knew what to do. I felt a rush of energy and leaped forward, plunging my blade into the Butcher's gut, sharp edge up. From there, I gathered myself and leaped upward, pulling the sword with me until it cleared the top of his skull, leaving him cloven down the middle from head to waist.

I landed, breathing hard, as his body collapsed to the stone floor. "Holy fuck!" I cried, eyes wide as I looked at my handiwork. A laugh escaped me, and I thought it might have sounded borderline manic.

*Jesus H. Christ,* Indy muttered in my head. I got the sense he was tracing a crucifix on himself with his fingers.

*Braver,* Cloud said. *Well executed. It's a simple finisher, but quite difficult to master.*

"Thanks," I replied dully, still looking at what I'd done. I suddenly felt queasy. "I think I'm done with Diablo for now." Demon or no, game or no, I'd enjoyed carving him up, and now, looking at his ruined corpse, I didn't like it, not one bit. I gave Dianne the quit order, and moments later I was back in the MAP, blinking against the bright lights.

The big room with its square panels for floor, walls and ceiling was empty except for the holographic image of me slowly rotating on a small podium and a big monochrome screen in one wall displaying the usual array of numbers representing my progress. I noticed the numbers at the top had changed -- the largest on display that showed my physical, mental and social stats. They now read:

Physical -- 30, Mental -- 32, and Social -- 20

Down lower, in the complex tree of smaller skills and abilities, I saw flickering as numbers were updated. Sword-related skills were increased, as well as some other general combat abilities, which made sense, I suppose, since I'd just done a fair amount of fighting.

Dianne piped up as I perused the data before me. "There is a message on your phone, Jake. Would you like me to display it?"

"Uh, sure," I replied. The white panel to the left of the big monochrome screen flickered and displayed black text stark against the whiteness. The message from my phone was displayed there, and my mouth twisted as I read it.

Jake, this is Melinda. You said you would drop off your uniform by tomorrow. If it's not back by then, I'll be sending you a bill for its replacement.

"What a cow," I muttered under my breath. "Hasn't she got better things to be doing?" Wanting the task out of my head, I decided to take the damn uniform back right away. With a sigh, I pulled off the headband and returned to reality, noting with a smile that my body did not feel sore this time. Either I was adapting better, or I was getting fitter and my muscles more conditioned.

Night had fallen while I was in Dianne, the windows in the loungeroom large, dark rectangles. The rest of the apartment was dark, too; I had yet to turn any lights on. Unsurprisingly, I was once again a sweaty mess and the towel around my waist was soaked from my fun with Gillian, so I made a shower and a change of clothes my top priority.

Once clean and refreshed, I stood in my walk-in wardrobe and eyed the clothes there, either hanging on the long rack or neatly folded in the square, white shelves. These were the sort of clothes I used to turn my nose up at; expensive, yuppie stuff that only shallow, fashion-minded people would wear. Now, it appeared I had little choice unless I wanted to go out and buy myself something different. Shaking my head ruefully, I grabbed a white tee shirt with some nonsensical logo on the front that looked as if the artist had had a seizure while holding a black marker pen, and a pair of blue jeans.

Both fit me as if made for my body, and when I checked the full-length mirror at the far end of the wardrobe, I looked better than I would have believed. The shirt somehow had me looking fitter than I really was, bigger in the shoulders and chest without accentuating my belly or waist. The jeans hugged me comfortably, fitting to my legs snugly up top and then more loosely below. They flared slightly near the ankles.

For shoes, I had several pairs lined up in the shelves reserved for just that. I chose a pair of black leather slip-on boots that also felt custom-made. "If any of the guys see me in this shit," I grumbled to myself as I stamped into the boots. "I'll never hear the end."