Maintenance (2)

Space Survival had been, among the VR games of its era, one whose genre boundaries were uniquely hard to pin down.

Its stated motto was survival, competition, and evolution — but the means of pursuing those goals varied so wildly from player to player that the game meant opposite things to different people.

To some, it was a grand strategy simulation. To others, a sci-fi horror.

That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠complexity and ambiguity was reflected faithfully in the ranking system as well.

Space Survival ranked players by score.

Simply put, the higher your score, the higher your rank.

The problem was that the factors making up that score were complicated, and the variables so numerous that calculating it yourself was far from easy.

How much influence a player wielded in this universe, how far they had progressed toward the unique objectives tied to their species, how skilled they were in a pure mechanical sense — all of it fed into the number.

In other words, everything a player experienced from the moment the game began contributed to their score.

Which raised an obvious question.

Wasn't the ranking just a measure of who had been grinding the game the longest?

To be fair, the players ranked 40th and above were all fossils who had been playing since the game's earliest days, so the accusation wasn't entirely wrong.

But from rank 20 upward, a world of a completely different dimension opened up.

The single most lucrative action in Space Survival was achieving your species' final objective and witnessing its racial ending.

And the difficulty in the approach to that ending — the reason it awarded the highest score in the first place — was brutal for every species without exception.

Reaching the ending inevitably meant breaking rankers of your own species or of rival species, again and again, and exterminating raid bosses of monstrous power.

Even veterans who had played for years found the attempt far from easy, and those who punched through those obstacles to actually witness the ending were rarer still.

That was why the rankers from 1st through 20th could not help but be special.

Every single one of them had seen the ending of Space Survival.

Comparing playtime alone, there might be little difference between rank 20 and rank 40 — but in terms of experience, an unbridgeable gulf lay between them.

They were the ones who had returned from this world's conclusion.

At the same time, they were its living legends.

Of course, Space Survival being an online game, watching the ending didn't mean the game was over.

Beyond it waited a sort of epilogue campaign — Galactic Conqueror — a new set of objectives, and a new line drawn through the rankings once more.

Galactic Conqueror flaunted a difficulty even more deranged than the ending itself, so almost no one had ever completed it in full.

Every member of Jason's group had seen the ending — in other words, they were all former rankers inside the top 20. One of them had even cleared more than half of that infamous Galactic Conqueror checklist.

Transcenders of that caliber.

And now they were whining that they were being killed by a single Amorph. Jason's head was starting to ache.

"Think it through for once. What happens if we leave the Rank 5 alone to grow? Then there really is no answer. You know that, right?"

｢You're not wrong, but it's hard without you, old man.｣

｢We don't know exactly what stage his evolution has reached, but at minimum he's a Young Adult or beyond. And we have to account for his perks as a variable on top of that.｣

"...Right. I forgot about the perks."

The middle-aged man's words were the truth.

Every player Jason had ever encountered, without a single exception, had possessed special abilities that did not exist in the game — abilities known as perks.

Jason himself, and every existence beyond the steles he was communicating with, all carried multiple powerful ones.

｢How about this? We leak information to the Outspacers. They hate the Rank 5 just as much, don't they?｣

The leader of the group currently hostile to them was of the Outspacer species.

A master of rank 4, rated as possessing skill rivaling even Amorph the ranker.

｢Opposed. The risk is far too great.｣

｢Huh? Why?｣

"Fucking cunt! Use your damn heads — whichever of the two wins, they'll swallow every essence the other has hoarded whole. And if the Outspacer wins? You're telling me to get fucked?"

｢Tsk.｣

At Jason's explosive reaction, the sound of someone clicking their tongue drifted over from the girl's stele.

Among the Outspacers' final objectives was the fall of the Cult homeworld itself.

In lore, the Outspacers' goal was to amass an enormous reservoir of psychic power and use it to exterminate Vortex One.

Because Vortex One's seal denied their entire species access to psychic power, they intended to compensate by offering up countless Cultists as sacrificial fuel.

Which meant the stronger an Outspacer ranker grew, the worse things became for Jason, a Cultist through and through.

｢Then what do you suggest? I'm a busy man. If you've got nothing to say, I'm leaving.｣

"There he goes, acting like it's not his problem. Unbelievable."

｢Wait. A method just occurred to me.｣

Just as Jason and the girl were about to start bickering again, the middle-aged man cut them off.

｢...I hear that recently, MegaCorp completed a Planetary Purification Weapon.｣

｢Huh? Ah, dammit, didn't I tell you to stop sending spies!｣

"Everyone already knows about it, so what's a spy even for. Reds— ahem. Jubaka. You're seriously suggesting we blow up the planet?"

At Jason's question, the middle-aged man called Jubaka signaled his agreement.

｢I am. MegaCorp and the Cult both possess planetary purification weapons, no? Why not simply use one?｣

"……."

｢…….｣

At Jubaka's radical proposal, the other stele and Jason alike fell silent.

PH-101, the planet where Amorph resided, had been designated a sacred world under the Cult's protection.

Sweeping away such a place would be no easy feat, no matter how absolute their power. Incinerating a planet carried an enormous political cost.

However terrifying the Amorph ranker might be, the decision could not be made lightly.

As silence stretched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over the gathering, the girl's side spoke first.

｢Not happening on this end. With the civil war going on I can't spare one on a whim — and besides, isn't that one of your sanctified planets? If I fire, the Cult and MegaCorp end up at war.｣

｢Fair point. Jason? Can nothing be done on your side?｣

"Dispatching an Imperial Carrier would do it, I suppose, but the mood in the Council these days is... yeah."

｢Well, sure. If you send it, not just the Reform Faction but the Providence Faction fossils will riot too. 'It's a holy world, what the hell are you doing' and all that.｣

Jason was a high-ranking Cultist wielding tremendous power within Cult society — and precisely because of that, he sat in a position where purifying the sanctified PH-101 was anything but simple.

｢Leave that part to me. I'll work some angles.｣

"How, exactly?"

｢I'll feed false intelligence to the moderates. That the planet has been contaminated and must be purified. The Providence Faction is firmly under your control, so no need to worry there, yes?｣

｢I'll take the Reform Faction. Promise them a novametal shipment and they'd demolish their own ancestors' graves for it.｣

"...Fuck, the Cult council really is a total clown show. Ahem. Fine, whatever. Let's go with the Imperial Carrier, then."

At this point in time, the players had each established their own power bases. Nothing like the great upheavals of the past — the old wars, the handful of historic incidents — existed anymore.

Instead, there was only fighting between individual players.

With that mechanical peace dragging on for so long, a considerable number of players — Jason included — had grown bored.

Some had tried to escape the tedium by chasing the ending, but countless failures had already proven that to be nothing more than a hollow fantasy.

Some had fixated obsessively on an impossible goal, while others had sunk into their seats and drowned themselves in twisted pleasures.

And then, into that stagnant landscape, a new stimulus called the Amorph ranker had appeared — and Jason's group had come alive for the first time in ages.

"Even so, mobilizing an Imperial Carrier will take some time. Even after it passes the Council, the Elder Assembly has to review it. Three weeks at the absolute earliest."

｢I'll send a surveillance satellite ahead. It might slip out before then.｣

"Send it discreetly. If it turns into a diplomatic incident, we'll all have headaches."

｢As for that, if we jam them on two fronts simultaneously—｣

The plan to exterminate Amorph carried on deep into the night.

When I arrived at Muriel's camp, Mother of the Sky was there.

She had returned to her beastman form and was gathering up the clothes the young Volfs had worn. The corpses themselves were gone — I had absorbed every last one of them through Human Sacrifice.

｢…….｣

With the head of a raptor, her face could not express much. But the emotion held in those eyes was anything but small.

It was the deep grief of a mother who had lost her children.

She was married to the Earth Father, wasn't she?

As far as I knew, the Earth Father was a named Wolf who spawned as a fixture on the Saintopia 02 continent.

He was an NPC tied to the Temple of the Forgotten Earth, so given enough time, a new Earth Father would be born somewhere on this continent again.

Though whether that being would be the same husband she loved — no way to know.

But she would understand, all the same, that the one she had loved was never coming back.

So that's why she's reacting like that.

Muriel had mocked Mother of the Sky during the interrogation for falling in love with an NPC, but I could understand her completely.

Because I, too, cherished No. 26 and Adhai. If either of them died or were gravely hurt, I couldn't say for certain that I would keep my sanity.

Asking her about it will have to wait. She needs more time.

I left the grieving griffin to her mourning and went looking for the camp's weapons depot.

Muriel had apparently visited this camp often enough — instead of tents, there were plenty of makeshift permanent structures.

Of all those buildings, the one raised from the largest and sturdiest materials was the weapons depot.

How is there this much stuff?

Stepping inside, I found weapons of every description. Ranged arms like plasma launchers, Stormguns, and spray guns, and beyond those, ordnance of every kind — pulse grenades, compressed plasma bombs, you name it.

But the one weapon that towered above the rest was sitting right in the center of the warehouse: the Thunder God.

The Thunder God was a mechanical device ten meters in diameter, shaped like an intricate mandala. Light shifting across its surface changed its color entirely, like a mandala rendered in motion — a property of its construction from novametal, a metal of exceeding rarity.

Novametal could only be harvested in regions where psychic power was heavily concentrated, like the Dragon's Nest. When psychic power was channeled into equipment forged from it, the equipment transformed into a form designated by its creator.

Call it the Cult's version of shape-memory alloy.

The Thunder God before me was absurdly small for a satellite weapon — but once psychic power flowed into it, the story changed. When the Thunder God drank in psychic energy, it transfigured into an orbital weapon hundreds of meters across or more.

It was even set to return to its owner automatically, coming home on its own once its mission was complete.

In the game, it was one of the most infuriating pieces of equipment around.

The Thunder God's overwhelming advantage was that it was an orbital weapon capable of shrinking down, making it trivial to conceal. I'd been properly burned by the thing more times than I could count.

I'll give the Thunder God a closer look later.

Setting it aside, I picked up a plasma launcher lying around nearby.

If I devour this, I gain the plasma launcher's power, right?

Launcher in hand, I activated the Plunderer's Amorphous Polyhedron trait.

｢Grrr.｣

When I activated Metal Absorption there had been no particular sensation, but this time was different. It felt something like being a little hungry.

Seems it's active. Time to eat.

I spread my jaws wide and pushed the launcher into my mouth. The moment my teeth closed on it and began to crush, the acrid, metallic tang of alloy flooded my senses.

Tastes awful.

It was metal, so that much was unavoidable.

The instant I forced the shattered pieces of the launcher down my throat, a change came over both my body and the translucent textbox floating before me.

Heat surged abruptly through my chest. Like swallowing a punishingly strong liquor, a burning, faintly stinging sensation spread from my throat down through the esophagus, the chest, and into my gut.

At the same time, a soft green glow kindled across the carapace around my ribcage.

I think it worked?

Like taking one sip of hot broth in deep winter and exhaling a long breath, I suddenly wanted nothing more than to expel the heat pent up inside this body.

I stepped outside the warehouse and lifted my head high toward the sky.

Here goes.

With my jaws spread wide and my senses fixed on my chest, something hot rose up.

Green light flashed in sequence through my gut, my chest, my esophagus, my throat — and then a fierce torrent of energy erupted from my mouth.

A column of green light far thicker and brighter than anything the launcher could produce tore through the toxic fog and speared up into the blue sky. At that width and length, it might well be visible from tens of kilometers away.

With that one burst, the heat and energy inside me drained away all at once. Confirming there was nothing left to expel, I closed my mouth.

Looks like I inherited the launcher's basic function.

There were differences, though.

The raw output far exceeded the launcher's, but in exchange the recharge time was longer. Going by feel, after firing once I'd need to wait roughly ten minutes before firing again.

That's probably because my body has no dedicated energy source for it.

My guess was that the trait had to draw on the energy suffusing my whole body in order to substitute for plasma fuel.

Even Unique-grade equipment can't reproduce its original ability exactly.

I'd know better after testing, but it seemed inevitable that the ability would apply differently from the original.

That said, it wasn't all downsides.

The plasma beam I'd just fired hit far harder than the launcher's version. The launcher's output was throttled by overheating and various stability concerns — I had no such need to hold back.

Each Unique-grade ability will reshape itself to fit my body, diverging from the original.

Some aspects would grow stronger. Others would weaken.

After that, I experimented on the other mass-produced equipment as well.

I can only gain a given ability from a given piece of equipment.

And anything that consumed energy or ammunition carried a cooldown after each use. The plasma launcher ran ten to twenty minutes; the Stormgun, thirty to forty.

The body part that changes also differs depending on which equipment's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠power gets traitized.

With the launcher, the heat beam always fired from my mouth; with the Stormgun, a gun barrel resembling the weapon itself sprouted from my left arm — the lowest of my combat limbs.

Incidentally, the Stormgun's depleted uranium shells had been replaced entirely with shards of bone.

That's enough experimenting for now...

I lined up the Unique-grade equipment I had taken from the Saintopia 02 continent in a row.

The Harmonizer and the Golden Spear, the Thunder God, and the small spider-shaped Blood Reaver I'd scooped up outside just moments ago.

Which one do I eat first?

They were all Unique-grade, which made acquiring replacements anything but easy. That was exactly why I had to choose what to traitize with care.

The Golden Spear is out, for now.

The High Priest's Golden Spear could only be obtained from the Temple of the Forgotten Earth. And one of the prerequisites for entering the temple was subduing the Earth Father.

In other words, until a new Earth Father was born somewhere on this continent, the Golden Spear was beyond my reach.

The odds of getting another Golden Spear are slim...

The other weapons were a different story.

Any Cultist could obtain a Harmonizer through quests, and both the Thunder God and the Blood Reaver could be manufactured.

The Harmonizer was one thing, but there were surely more than one or two Thunder Gods and Blood Reavers out there.

The production costs would be astronomical, so I can't be certain...

Either way, weapons that existed in multiples could be devoured again later and traitized anew.

So the smart move was to prioritize eating one of the remaining weapons — everything except the irreplaceable High Priest's Golden Spear.

What'll it be?

Still deliberating, I looked down at the three weapons laid out in a row on the floor one more time.

Seeing them lined up like this, the answer finally became obvious.

It had been a question with a fixed answer from the start.

No point agonizing over it.

Having made my choice, I reached out toward the equipment.