Chapter 1: Glitch Villager
POV: Corson
Author: Forscythe12
Outside in the dark were the usual, awful sounds. Zombies snarling, skeletons rattling. Also, the grinding punches of the village's iron golem. No way anybody would hear the sneaky steps of thieves. Unlike his fellow villagers though, Corson was wide awake. He was creeping into the blacksmith workstation with an iron sword clenched tightly in both hands. The guy looting the chest was definitely human, light from the forge lit up the orange hair that grew from his scalp. Corson hated humans. His heart was racing with fear but fury inched him closer to the thief's back. Corson got closer and closer. He was almost in striking distance…
The human finished bagging the wares, turned and saw him. Corson tried a swing and he leapt back. He drew his own sword – diamond, enchanted – and easily disarmed Corson. With a laugh the human shoved him and testificate coordination did the rest: Corson stumbled over his back foot and fell. The lava light shone on the lower half of the human's face, stripping the darkness off his smirk.
"Your iron golem won't attack if we don't hurt you. So stay out of our way, stupid villager!"
He rushed out, slashed a stray zombie then ran through the dark. Corson grabbed his sword and jumped up, chasing after him. He heard shouts and turned.
One of the zombies was glitching. A bunch of humans fired arrows but most of them phased through it. In the end they had to scramble back and run. So the zombie switched up its target, staggering towards Corson!
His house was right there so he sprinted for the door, got inside then backed up. His heart was jackhammering. No zombie could get him indoors.
The zombie glitched through the door.
"AHHH!" Corson tightened his grip and swung. The blade ghosted through. No space to run in his single-room house. Corson shrank into the corner and the zombie closed in with its green, saggy skin and stank breath. Corson closed his eyes and tried for one final stab.
A dying growl and ash cloud.
Corson blinked teary eyes then slumped down. Seconds later there was a pounding at his door and three villagers stormed in with torches. Leading them was the village chief.
"What's wrong? We heard screaming!" she said.
"Charna…" he managed after wetting his mouth. "There was a z-zombie… It walked through the door…"
"A glitched mob? That's rare," a villager said.
"Did you slay a zombie?" the other villager yelled. He and his buddy's eyebrows shot up their heads.
"It was weakened already… but yeah."
"Why do you have a sword?" Charna's eyes narrowed. "In fact, why were you awake?"
Corson realized in all of a second that he couldn't come up with a good enough lie, so he blurted the truth. "More looters came back tonight. That's the third time this month! I've been staying up to-"
"That's enough, Corson! We already discussed this when you were caught sword practicing during wandering time. Villagers cannot fight! They certainly cannot fight humans!"
"We can't keep letting them rob us-!"
"That's exactly what we're gonna do!" she exploded. "Villagers can't fight! There are hard rules to life! To our world!"
Each sentence was a nail hammering down his spirit. Corson's head lowered but then he frowned and looked up.
"...But that's not true. Glitches break the rules all the time. That zombie before, and months ago I saw an upside-down pig moving like it was right-side up. And what about naturally generated floating islands? Or the Far Lands-?"
"YOU'RE NOT A GLITCH!"
Corson had no more words after that. Silence filled the room.
Charna sighed. "Get some sleep. Then return that sword to your workstation first thing tomorrow."
She turned and the other villagers followed her out, running hastily back to their houses.
Once alone Corson slowly stood. Outside he could faintly hear their iron golem fighting. He was too depressed to revel in his first ever win against a hostile mob. He leaned the sword he'd crafted against his bed, then reluctantly got settled in under the covers.
It was a warm morning in their Savanna biome. Corson sat under a tree with his brother. He scowled at the building tops where the pale sky met acacia logs, planks and terracotta. Salkadina was the typical size, home to a mere twenty villagers.
"Look! Pretty!" Romir held out a daisy.
"Sure is, buddy."
Romir turned and kept searching through the grass. His top was green, not red like everyone else wore. Their parents were no longer around, so the responsibility of watching his adult brother fell on Corson's shoulders.
"I have something to tell you, but you can't tell anybody else."
Romir perked up immediately. "Tell me! Tell me!"
"You have to pinkie-swear not to tell anyone."
Romir groaned but nodded. They crossed pinkies.
"I'm sneaking off today. I'm going to the human village, Trine, to talk to the sheriff about the looters."
"I wanna come!"
"You have to stay and watch my workstation, okay?"
Romir sighed, "Okay…"
Corson didn't want Romir to get worked up over his absence so it was better to just tell him. "I'll be back before sundown, okay?"
"'Kay."
Corson brought a compass and packed food and water, just in case. For protection he had his iron sword in his sash. With the string bag over his shoulder he embarked on the quarter-day journey. After an hour, open grass and sloped acacias melded with sand and cacti. His determination got him to Trine a bit faster. Corson stopped by a stick bush, raised a hand to his sweaty brow to squint through the white sun's glare. Below was a much larger Wild West settlement of over two-hundred people. All humans.
Corson hesitated for the first time that trip before trekking down the slope. There was only one street and it bent in an L-shape. Humans wandered about. Corson walked between planked and sandstone houses, his eyes shifting this way and that. A hanging sign identified the police station, making Corson thankful he'd learnt to read. He pushed through saloon doors into a wide space with cluttered desks. A mustachioed man was chewing gum.
"Howdy," he said. His friend lowered a newspaper and stared.
"Is the sheriff in?" Corson asked after a few seconds of standing there.
Mustache guy hollered and out the backroom came a third man in a cowboy hat, thumbs looped into his belt.
"A villager?"
"He's a testificate, Boss," Mustache corrected with quiet wokeness.
"Look at his clothes! He's also from one of their villages!"
The other man flicked out his newspaper with a snap, sniffed his sinus clear and continued reading.
"I am from a village, it's called Salkadina and it's three hours west-south-west of here. We get looters, Sir. Three times a month we get human thieves who probably live in this town."
The wall clock ticked away for a few seconds.
"Don't your kind got iron golems to protect yeh?"
"They only attack if one of us is hurt. The thieves always rob us at night."
The sheriff sighed and took creaking floorboard steps around the desks. "...Listen, son. We're in Zone 3, that means we're over 25,000 chunks out from Origin Point. Closer you get to the Royal Capital, towns get denser and stricter, there's more law enforcement see. Out here…"
"Us three is all they got for miles," Mustache finished. The other dude turned a page.
Corson looked between them.
The sheriff crossed his arms and leaned on the table. "Have you ever seen the north wall?"
"Yeah."
"Well that's how you get to Zone 2. Towns are closer. They're a lot nicer to your kind there."
"Can you help us or not?"
"Son, Zone 3 don't even have a wall border. If there's a criminal standing in front of us they can run off in any direction, all the way to the Far Lands if they wanted. What you want us to do?"
"But they probably live here! I want you to investigate this! The King's law states that testificate villagers are entitled to their own land, the fruits of their labor and protection under the law!"
"This aint the wilds but law enforcement is still very limited in what it can do. Zone 3 is the last circle of civilization, then you got everything else in Merriam. You get me?"
He just stared at him, relaxed. Corson's fists were shaking.
"Thanks for nothing."
Corson threw out the swinging doors on his way out.
"Stupid villager…" he overheard from the window, "they oughta rebuild their village over the wall."
Corson's head was like a blast furnace as he stormed off in a random direction, his vision blurring. He was huffing breaths and felt tendons popping all over his skin. Nobody gave a crap about villagers. Humans would always exploit them, belittle them. He didn't notice someone calling him until the third time. A bristly-bearded fellow crossed the street to intercept him.
Corson stopped. "WHAT!?"
"Heyyo, villager dude. Is that a sword? You fight?"
Corson's eyes flicked to his sash then back. "Don't got a choice when our village is continuously ransacked and police won't do anything!"
Through the angry blur Corson could see pity cross the man's features.
"I got a buddy who could enchant that for ya."
Corson felt his blood pressure start to cool. After a few seconds he nodded and the man turned away. Corson followed and they exchanged names.
If the police refused to help, another option was hiring private protection. With this in mind, Corson followed Bristle-beard into a small shoppe. Corson surveyed the dusty clutter then stared as Bristle-beard indicated proudly to the balding middle-aged dude behind the counter.
"This man here can enchant!"
Corson got that guy's name too and they shook hands.
"So you're a Player?" Corson asked.
"That's right. Pleasure to meet."
"Show him the thing!" Bristle-beard said.
The Player rolled his eyes then held out his hand. An apple appeared in his palm, then disappeared back into nothingness.
Corson blinked. "How did you…?"
"He's descended from the first humans, Steve and Alex."
"That's true," the Player said. "I can craft and don't need no carry bag either."
"Players are rare but scattered all over Merriam. It means he can enchant." Bristle-beard reached into his satchel and pulled out a book that rippled with purple light. "Knockback II for his sword. My treat."
"How kind of ye."
"Thanks man," Corson said. "I can pay you."
"Don't bother, I can tell ya need it. It's the least I can do."
Right then Corson was reconsidering his thoughts about all humans being bad.
"Follow me." The Player led them through a doorway to his equally cluttered workroom. He took the book from Bristle-beard and placed it on one side of a chipped anvil. He rested his hand in the middle and it shone the green color of XP. "See this here, son."
"This how you enchant?" Corson stepped over.
"Now on the other side there-"
Corson touched the anvil. The XP was sucked out of the Player's hand, the book dissolved and the resultant magic flowed up Corson's fingertips, into his body. He tripped backwards and his butt hit the floor. A strange heat roiled beneath his skin.
The Player stared without words.
"Woah, you alright?" Bristle-beard bent down to help.
"Stop!" Corson pushed the guy off and he flew across the room. His back hit the floorboards and he grunted then groaned. "What…?"
"The enchantment…" The Player looked from the empty anvil to Corson, who sat wide-eyed on the floor. "...It went inside you."
"Huh? A person can't be enchanted."
The Player swallowed. "It must be your code. You're a glitch."
Corson locked up.
"Oh shit."