Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon

By Matt Dinniman

E - Edition

KAIJU: BATTLEFIELD SURGEON

© 2019 by Matt Dinniman

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. No tapeworms, bats, or children were harmed in the making of this book. The author can’t say the same about himself. Or you, the reader.

For permissions, please contact dinniman@gmail.com

Cover Art by Federico Rivarola

https://www.artstation.com/rivaro

DANDY HOUSE

Hey Mom,

You know how you pride yourself in reading all my books? I really appreciate that, and I love you for it.

Do us both a favor. Skip this one.

This book is unnecessarily gross, pointlessly violent, probably blasphemous, and it contains gratuitous torture. There are also a couple scenes involving a supernatural donkey I really have no desire to discuss with you the next time we talk.

~Matt

Part 1 - Bast

Mural artist ISO blank wall.

No wall too big or too small! Degree in art, experienced muralist will turn your dreary wall into a *hand-painted* masterpiece for the ages! I am quick, talented, versatile, and I *do not* use AI. All art is 100% human-created. Interior or exterior. Please see attached portfolio for a few samples. Low prices. Willing to travel all over the Puget Sound. Email Duke for more info.

do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

Duke-

Hello. I have a loft space in Capital Hill. I am seeking an artist to make a mural. It is a large, brick wall. Do you have a phone number so we can discuss this further?

A.E.

Chapter 1

I should have known there was something wrong with the dude.

He’d been too eager to get me up into his apartment. He had a way about him, you know? Twitchy, nervous. He didn’t look you in the eye. He was otherwise unremarkable. About forty, average height, slightly balding, paunchy, a tired look about him. It was a typical look for the area. He wore one of those fancy watches, an old-school, gold Rolex I think. Looking back, I think that’s why I followed him to his place. He had money, and I did not.  

We’d met at a Starbucks just outside his building. I’d ordered an Americano, black, extra shot. He’d dithered, looking over the menu, like this was his first time. He settled on an iced coffee. It was the first week of February, and it’d been slush raining for two weeks straight. An iced coffee. I should have known right then and there to stay away.

“My name is Anatoly,” the man said as we sat down. He sank uncomfortably into the low couch. His eyes betrayed panic as his body settled into the unnatural position as if he feared he’d never be able to get back up. I wasn’t so sure he would be able to get back up. I’d taken a regular chair across the table.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Duke.”

“I really dig your stuff. I was particularly interested in the revenant mural from your ad.”

I smiled. Most people called it my zombie picture. I hated that term. “Thanks. I did it for a haunted house thing last year.”

He nodded, not saying anything further.

“Is that what you’re looking for?” I prodded. “Something undead?”

“No,” he said after a moment. He seemed to remember he had a drink and sipped it. He frowned, as if surprised at the taste. “Well, not exactly. Are you familiar with Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon?”

“The VR?” I asked. “I’ve never played it, but I’ve seen some of the gameplay. It’s survival horror, right? Like you’re a dude running around the feet of giant monsters while they fight other monsters.” It wasn’t that popular of a game, not compared to the big ones. I was more of a sword and sorcery guy. My jam was Dominion of Blades or The Hot Gates, though I hadn’t been doing much gaming at all lately. I’d pawned my neural cradle, what? Shit, I thought, counting the days in my head. Had it been over a month already?

Anatoly nodded. “Exactly. Anyway, I was hoping to paint a scene from my home base on the wall. I want to make my apartment look a little more like what I have in the game.”

I shrugged. “Sure. Do you have a screenshot I can look at?”

“No,” he said. “A screenshot won’t really work. It’s kinda hard to explain. It’s better if I just show you. I have a rig in my apartment. It’s in Bast. My home base, I mean. You’ll have to jack in to get a look.”

I didn’t know anything about Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon except it catered to a more alternative crowd. It had sort of a cult following. Wasn’t it a single-player game? I couldn’t remember. I did a lot of cons and art shows, and there were always a few cosplayers walking around in costumes from the game. Some of it was pretty messed up. I remembered one outfit of a guy with the skin peeled off his face. He looked like a damn bloody banana.

I liked horror movies just as much as the next guy, but when it came to VR, I just couldn’t stomach it. I even had the gore element turned down when I played Dominion of Blades. The guy who created Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon was a doctor himself, I remembered. His thing was realistic anatomy, even for the monsters. It made the gore more real. I shuddered.  

“The game will let me log in as your character?” I asked. Most VRs nowadays had some sort of biometric verification. They said it was for security, but in reality it was so you couldn’t sell your account to anybody else. “Is that because it’s single player?”

The man sighed. “No, unfortunately. You’ll have to roll a new player. Don’t worry. I’ll get you in and get you there to my base so you can eyeball it. We can walk to the portal and teleport right there. The whole thing will take about 10 or 15 minutes the first time, but once you’re there, I’ll get you a brand, and you’ll be able to log in and out at will to get a look.”

“Err, okay, I guess,” I said.

“Also, the game is single-player, but there’s also a co-op mode. You can have up to 22 players. I run a private server, and there are a few other players who regularly log into it. We each have our own base of operations.” 

This whole time the man—Anatoly—didn’t look up from the table. He put his coffee down and started furiously itching at the back of his left hand.

Run every instinct told me. This guy is bad news.

“Is fifteen okay for the mural?” he said. “I don’t know how long this is supposed to take. Why don’t you follow me up, and we can take a look. It’s just right there.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Fifteen? Fifteen dollars?”

“No, no,” he said. He didn’t look up. He kept scratching at his hand like a damn maniac.

“Fifteen thousand.”

The words hit me like a meteor. Fifteen thousand. I sat, stunned.

Fifteen thousand dollars.

You can do that, if you recognize it. You can know the exact instant your life is about to change. We all look back at our memories, pick out individual instances, realize them as turning points, places where our paths diverge, moments where everything changes.

But we don’t always recognize the moment as it happens, in real-time. This was an exception. Fifteen thousand dollars. Not an earth-shattering amount of money. For this city, it was pocket change to many of the people coming and going as we sat there, awkwardly facing each other.

But for Mary and me, it would be everything.

It’s a miracle, I thought. A god-damned miracle.

Looking back, I now realize that amount was too much. Too convenient. Too close to the exact amount of money we needed.

You can do that, too. You can look back upon yourself. Replay moments in your mind. Wonder how you could be such a fool, so naïve.

“Where’s your apartment again?” I asked.

***

Ten minutes later, Anatoly pulled open the grate on the freight elevator, revealing the large loft apartment. His building was older, non-descript, nestled between a single-story bar and a taller, more modern apartment building. The gray, five-story building had no markings on the outside. I’d passed by it hundreds of times over the years and never given it a second thought.

“So I have the whole top floor,” he was saying. “The bottom floor is about to be renovated into some café or something. I’m not sure. My father runs all that. We’re renovating the other floors, too, splitting them into apartments. If you’re looking for a place in Cap Hill, we can give you a deal.”

I wouldn’t be able to afford a closet in this neighborhood. Mary and I owned a three-bedroom apartment in West Seattle that she’d inherited from her parents. We’d had to refinance just to make it livable, and with the crash, we were deep, deep underwater. Six digits of underwater. We shared it with two other couples, and even with their rent, we could barely afford the mortgage. A few payments were missed. A note had been stuck to the door this morning when I’d left. We had less than thirty days to come up with over $14,000.

This morning we had less than a hundred in the bank, with two hundred coming out the next day for bills.

And now with Ruth moving in…

I took a step into the space and stared, open-mouthed.

Fifteen thousand dollars. He’s offered you fifteen thousand dollars.

The way the guy talked, I’d been expecting some sort of stereotypical man cave. I had Anatoly pegged as one of those socially-awkward, never-married techie types who didn’t know what to do with all their money. Guys like that usually collected swords and action figures and spent hours ranting on the internet about the latest superhero movie or some obscure detail on one of the latest VRs. I was expecting eclectic clutter. A massive television, a high-end immersion rig, a ratty couch, a couple old-school, stand-up videogame machines. Maybe one of those Real Dolls puttering around the apartment, dusting.

Instead, this looked more like the waiting area of a high-end old folk’s home. The bamboo floor led to what had to be an 18th-century dining table with matching chairs. Antique Persian rugs were strategically placed throughout the cedar-smelling apartment. A Victorian-style chaise lounge stood facing a large, ornate fireplace. On the opposite end of the room stood a modern kitchen area almost as big as my apartment. An industrial-sized, silver refrigerator gleamed next to a large, silver stove. The metal countertops shone like a mirror. Dozens of pots, pans, and cooking utensils hung from ceiling racks.

But most of all, I noticed the art. A massive, five-foot-wide impressionistic painting looked like… No way. It had to be fake, right? It appeared to be one of Manet’s more substantial pieces, depicting a bullfight at its apex. Other large paintings in that style dotted the walls.

An unmade, queen-sized bed was the only lived-in part of the whole apartment.

Sitting next to the bed were a pair of Honda immersion rigs. Each resembled a mix between a coffin and a weight bench, angled upward. The neural cradles were sleek and black, a brand I was unfamiliar with. It was the only modern technology in the entire apartment.

Multiple skylights dotted the loft. There was only one window, facing the alley between the building and the bar, leading to a fire escape.

Across from me was the empty wall. The wall was about thirty feet long and twelve feet high and was all red bricks. The bricks were of a varying, magenta patina and were pockmarked with age. It looked more like an outside wall than something one would find on the interior.

The wall, as it was, fit the space quite well. It needed some adornment. It did not need a mural. Maybe some accents, but definitely not a mural. Especially not a scene from some stupid video game. It didn’t even make sense.

“So there’s the wall,” Anatoly said, indicating the bricks.

I sighed, panic rising in my chest. Fifteen thousand dollars.

You’re too honest, Mary always said. It’s why we’re poor.

“That is a beautiful wall,” I said. “I could probably do some awesome work on it. But I gotta tell you, man. I just don’t see it. You want a mural on that? Maybe I can do an old-school, industrial-style sign, make it looked faded and antique. Maybe something from the end of the Victorian era to go with your décor. But what you’re asking just doesn’t make sense. Plus it’s brick. Something too photorealistic is going to look odd.”

Anatoly nodded. He chewed on his fingernail, looking down at the floor. A tuxedo cat jumped out from the bathroom area and started circling between his legs, purring loudly. I went to pet it, but stopped. This was a robot. A Sony Koneko version 3.5. Top of the line. 

“I figured you’d say something like that,” Anatoly said. “I know it seems incompatible with the rest of the apartment. But you really got to see what I want drawn. It’ll make sense when you see it.”

Fifteen thousand dollars.

“All right,” I said after a moment. “Let’s see what you’re talking about.”

“Great,” he said, perking up. He nodded at the pair of VR rigs sitting by his bed. “Let’s get you jacked in.”

Chapter 2

I pulled my outer shirt off and slid into the coffin-like VR bed. This was a top-of-the-line rig. It had a Honda logo, but I didn’t see a model number. It had to be a custom job. Most people didn’t even bother with the coffins anymore. They just used neural cradles.

He handed me the cradle. I turned it over in my hands. It was lighter than I was used to. Like the bed, it had no model number on it.

Next to my bed at home I had a picture of my dad from when he was a kid. He wore a bike helmet in the picture. Jet black and sleek. Looking at it straight on, the helmet appeared to be made of three different pieces. This neural cradle reminded me of that helmet. It was nothing like the cable-laden, fat headband I currently had sitting at the pawnshop.

“No cables?” I asked.

“It’s all wireless,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “The new rigs have the PC built into them, but I find the wireless to my own custom-built farm is a way better connection. I had to pull an emergency eject the other day, and it felt like a regular log out. It’s pretty sweet.”

“Wow,” I said, pulling the headband over my temples. The goggles fit smoothly over my eyes. I felt a quick jolt as the system completed the handshake. A green light flashed, indicating I was okay for immersion.

“Why do you have two rigs?” I asked as I leaned back into the coffin.

“I actually have four of them,” he said. “The other two are in the server room behind this wall. I don’t personally game in there because I keep the room cold. I like to tinker with and modify rigs, so I always have backups. Okay, so relax for a minute, and I’ll load up the game. The system isn’t going to recognize you, and you’ll have to roll a new character. It’ll take about ten minutes. Pick whatever you want except maybe a mole man. They have limited eyesight, and you’ll need to see. Also, maybe stay away from a crusher class or anything that seems like it might be strength-based. They have shitty dexterity for what you’ll be doing.”

“I’m just looking, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, but you might have to crawl around to see it better. Once you enter the game, I’ll find you. If we miss each other, just stay put. There probably won’t be too many people except NPCs. We’re at the end of a season, so don’t wander out of town.”

“What are you going to look like?” I asked.

“My player name is Anatoly, and I’m a human bonesaw. You can’t miss me. I’ll be the only human with a player tag. If you see any other players, don’t talk to them.”

“Okay, but how are we…”

My question was cut off as I was sucked into the VR.

All sounds cut away. That plummeting feeling some people described as the Alice Hole overwhelmed me, but it was smoother than usual. Entering VR sometimes felt like going down a rocky, jarring path on a bike with no shocks. This was smooth and almost seamless. Words appeared on the screen before me:

Loading…

Welcome. Searching…

Player Unknown. Are you a new character? You may vocalize your response.

“Yes,” I said. My words played back at me in my own ears. The difference in hearing yourself talk in the real world was subtle, but it was always jarring, uncomfortable. No matter how realistic they made these worlds, this was something they hadn’t yet been able to replicate. Just like listening to yourself being played back in video, the sound of one’s own voice was always something that made the immersion just a hair off.

Welcome new player. You may exit at any time by saying “Quit Game” two times in a row or by logging out in the player menu. Warning! This is a development build of Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon. Some features may not work as expected. Gameplay may vary from the commercial release. Proceed at your own risk. Loading…

The screen flashed, and I was transported to a new world.

I floated featureless upon a green hill. I had no body, but I could see. A blue sky hung over me, and a walled city stood about a mile away, nestled against the edge of a forest.

I was immediately taken by the realness of the VR. I could smell the grass, hear the wind. I looked about, and I couldn’t see any seams at all in the sky. I’d never seen such excellent rendering, and this was an old game. The warning had said this was a “development build,” whatever that meant. They must have updated the graphics.

Above, the sky turned dark. Ominous music blared. Behind me, an explosion echoed, followed by a distant roar. The camera flipped, and I found myself facing the other direction. In the distance, two dozen huge shapes barreled across the darkening hills. They ran away from my position toward the source of the explosion.

“We all knew this day would come,” a deep voice intoned. “For centuries the Guardians stood watch over the realm, protecting Medina from the gates of hell. For centuries, the demons trapped within their bitter dimension have yearned for escape. And on this day, they have finally broken free…”

I felt myself flying across the hills, up and down, nauseatingly fast. Small, abandoned and skeletal towns dotted the landscape. I passed through the outskirts of another, larger city, long abandoned. This was a modern city with skyscrapers and shops and the rusted-out husks of long-forgotten cars.

I left the city and approached the back of the shadowy beasts. They were huge. Each was a Godzilla-sized monster, each a different shape. No, bigger than Godzilla. Impossibly large. One was a stag beetle, shooting flames out of its mouth, another was a two-legged beast with a rhinoceros head and four meaty arms. Another was a mountain of a centipede that was half bug, half clockwork gears.

The giants roared and trilled and rushed in concert toward an enormous crevice in the ground, which billowed smoke.

From the crevice poured dark shapes, hundreds, thousands of them, all of them small, human-sized. An army of demons escaping hell.

The kaiju smashed and attacked the demons, breathing fire and lightning and acid, melting the legions away.

The sounds of war faded, and the scene before me dimmed. The disembodied voice continued. “The guardians were placed in this realm as a stopgap, to protect the heavens from the inevitable onslaught. The cities and towns of this world have all been abandoned, left to rot. All the remaining humans fled to the walled stronghold of Medina, where they live in constant fear that this day may come.”

A thousand demons swarmed up the side of one of the kaiju. Everything was now in shadow. The giant beast was shaped like a six-legged lion with tentacles erupting from it. The demons swarmed the monster. The monster fell to the ground with a resounding crash.

The world changed, and I once again stood upon the grass. However, the lion kaiju now lay before me. The thing was god damned huge, at least 1,000 feet long, the size of an aircraft carrier. It lay on its back, breathing heavily, thousands of long, angry cuts along its side.

The ground around it was littered with dead demons. The world was eerily silent. To my right, the crevice remained, smoking, but no more demons emerged. In the distance beyond, the shadows of the other kaiju all wandered away.

I examined the shattered demons at my feet. I have feet now. I have a body. Each of the beasts were about seven or eight feet long, bug-like, a mix between a preying mantis and a fire ant with massive, dripping mandibles and four, sharp, angled arms. Their armored bodies were covered in angry spikes. Some of the corpses twitched. I felt myself take a step back.

I looked at my hands, but they were nothing but a dotted outline.

“The demons have once again been beaten back. Guardian Bast lays before you, injured. You are the last remaining…”

Son or Daughter?

I startled at the question, the words floating before me and simultaneously spoken in my mind in a male, computer voice. I quickly realized I’d just entered into character creation mode. I tried to figure out how to click on Son, but it seemed I couldn’t access a menu or move a cursor with my mind, like with most games.

“Son,” I said.

Your name?

I thought for a moment. My regular gamer tag was BitchSlapMagee, but I wanted to keep some sense of professionalism with Anatoly.

“I’m Duke,” I said, giving the system my real name.

“You, Duke, are the last remaining son of an ancient order of healers who have been tasked with the frontline care of the guardians. While the arcane creatures are immortal, they are not invulnerable. It is the duty of your order to brave the battlefields and administer field medicine to the injured guardians. Without your ministrations, the beasts will surely succumb to the demons of hell.”

As the words spoke, sepia-toned still images appeared in my vision. The first was of a giant monster battling an army of the bug-like demons. The second was of a person hanging off the side of the kaiju, pointing a device at a wound on the monster’s side. On closer inspection, it appeared he was welding the wound closed. Other, armored humans wielding odd, steampunk-style guns defended the healer as he ministered to the beast.

“A millennia ago, entire clans of humans supported a single guardian. But after the false peace, years, then decades, then centuries passed. The clans faded, and the ancient art of guardian support was forgotten by all but a few stalwart humans, who kept the old traditions alive. The years of dedication to a single guardian, however, had permanent, lasting effects on the humans who were charged with that particular guardian’s care. As a result, 22 distinct races of people have evolved. You are…”

Choose your race.

Warning: This server is in co-op mode, and only one registered player of each race is allowed per season. Please make a selection.

A carousel of types of people appeared before me. Each person had a shadow behind it, apparently indicating the kaiju they’d once been in charge of protecting. I tentatively reached forward and gave it a spin. Human, dwarf, elf, ogre, fish, a lizard-headed thing, a robot-looking guy, and many other types of humanoid creatures appeared on the spinner.

Each race had a name over it. The dwarf-like creatures were called mole men. Their associated monster looked to be a mole-like beast covered in tentacles similar to those on the lion. The elves were called fae. Their monster was a panther thing, stalking close to the ground. A second set of elves, thinner and smaller with wings were called brownies. Their kaiju was also winged, a hornet-like monster.

The humans were called humans, and their beast was the lion that lay injured before me, just beyond the spinner. The giant ogres were called nerve agents. Their monster was hulking, uneven, hard to discern.

The humans, ogres, both types of elves all had red, transparent Xs over them, indicating them as races I could no longer choose. Presumably these were some of the races played by Anatoly’s friends. Anatoly himself had stated he was the lone human player on the server. I clicked on the human with my hand, and several paragraphs of information popped up. I dismissed it without reading. 

I flipped through, looking at the choices I could pick. After scrolling through all 22 races, it appeared I only had four selections: A dwarf-like mole man, which I’d already been warned away from; a fish-like creature called a dagon; a squat humanoid called a groundling; and a gray-skinned, human-like creature that was about six and a half feet tall called a “worm surgeon.”

This was a zombie creature of some sort. Tall, disgusting. Awesome. Its associated kaiju was a pile of body parts and giant eyeballs and detached, slathering mouths.

Typically, if I was really playing this game I’d spend an hour going over each available race, and I’d carefully weigh all the pros and cons of each character before choosing. I was a stats guy, usually preferring the characters who were weak early on but became powerful later. In Dominion of Blades I played a fire mage auric, a class and character who was very difficult to keep alive until it learned some more powerful spells.

But I was only doing this to gain access to the game. I clicked on worm surgeon without reading any of the info. My hand went from a dotted outline to a long, emaciated arm. I was suddenly taller and dressed in rags. I took in a deep breath. 

“You are a worm surgeon. For centuries, your people have been shunned by the others. In only recent years have your kind been allowed back within the walls of Medina. Your ancestors served the outcast guardian the Shrill, a former demon who turned its back on the princes of hell. Using Resurrection magics, your people healed your kaiju by siphoning away the lifeblood of others. Your expert knowledge of parasites and infestations, plus your ability to survive and see within toxic environments makes you especially suitable for deep-dive medicine. However, while you are physically strong and agile, your lifeblood is constantly ticking away. You must kill to survive, and for that reason, you are not trusted by the others.”

“Jesus,” I muttered. A character whose health was always dropping away? No wonder nobody had picked it yet. I should’ve picked the fish dude.

“While your elders taught you some of the healing arts, you spend your days working as a…”

Pick a class.

A long, scrolling list of occupations scrolled by. There had to be at least 500 choices. I hadn’t realized this game was so elaborate. About half of them were grayed out. I assumed that meant my race couldn’t perform them. My eyes caught the “crusher” class, whatever that meant. That was one of the other items Anatoly had warned me against. I assumed that was some sort of strength-based profession. Then my eyes caught another class. Without giving it a second thought, I picked it.

“You spend your days as an artisan, decorating the clay pots your family makes and sells at the market. It was on this day that you were outside of town, delivering your wares when the attack came.”

A cart appeared next to me on the field, and in the cart several dozen brightly-painted pots sat stacked. The carriage was pulled by what appeared to be a giant earthworm, brown and undulating. Floating over the earthworm’s head in green letters was:

Level 3. Nightcrawler. Mount.     

“You are alone on the battlefield. Guardian Bast is injured. Approach the beast and administer care.”

All the words and menus disappeared. It was just me, the worm, and the giant, dying monster.

“What the hell?” I said, looking over my shoulder toward town, which was very, very far away. This was still part of the tutorial. Anatoly had said this would take about ten to fifteen minutes, but I felt as if it was taking much longer than that already. Most games had some sort of head’s up overlay, but there was nothing here.

How am I supposed to heal something the size of a shopping mall?

I sighed, walking toward the monster. Again, I marveled at the realness of the VR, at the smoothness of the action. My limbs felt odd, a side effect of being in a different body. I also had a deep, painful rumbling in my stomach.

“Menu,” I said, hoping to pop up some sort of status screen. Nothing.

“Pause… Pause game.” Nothing. “Health. Status.” Nothing. “Help.” No response.

The pain in my stomach alarmed me. It was discovered early on that these things had the ability to convey realistic pain onto anyone who was immersed, but a few lawsuits later, no games ever utilized it. Most used the one to five scale, with one being zero tactile and five being 20% sensation. People would only jack it up to five when they were getting it on. Most people played on two or three. Getting burned alive by acid at a sensation setting of three was like feeling a mild sunburn. I’d tried playing other games at 20%, and even that was too much for me. I’d once had my arm broken at pain level five, and it’d hurt enough that I’d had to eject.

The ache in my stomach wasn’t overly painful, but it was a little too real.

I could say “Quit Game” twice in a row to get out. There was also the universal eye-closing motion that would eject you at the rig level if your game ever crashed. So I wasn’t worried about being stuck here. It was just… disconcerting.

I looked over at my worm companion. “How you doing there, buddy?” I asked. I patted it on the head. Its skin felt cold and slippery, yet rigid underneath. It made me think of a dirty, erect penis. I wiped my hand on my ragged shirt. “Okay then,” I said.

As I approached the monster, the angry wounds along his body started to pulse and glow. There were hundreds of bloody cuts up and down his flesh. Each wound was about six or seven feet long. I walked to the closest cut on the lion’s skin. The box around the wound turned green while the others blinked red. The monster radiated heat. I was so close now it was nothing but a wall of flesh in front of me. If it rolled on its side, I’d be squished.

Beside me, the nightcrawler dutifully followed, stretching its front segment forward then contracting its back half into itself rapidly. The wooden cart creaked. 

I walked all the way up to the side of the monster. What was I supposed to do? I raised my hand toward the bloody gash.

The voice spoke. “Most of the guardians heal physical wounds rapidly and on their own. As a result, the demons have found alternative methods of battling the guardians.”

The wound bulged outward. The lion’s tan skin ripped and cracked further. A demon’s insect-like head popped out, surprising me. I yelped. It looked at me and hissed, its mandibles snapping. I jumped back as the bug attempted to decapitate me. Instead, it turned its efforts on my poor nightcrawler. It ripped a segmented chunk off the worm’s body. It disappeared back into the wound as my worm collapsed to the ground, twitching.

The game world paused and faded away. A wagon wheel with six spokes appeared floating before me.

“There are six schools of magic in this realm. They are Earth, Technology, Wind, Celestial, Resurrection, and Steam.” The words appeared one by one on the wagon wheel. “As a worm surgeon, you draw exclusively from the school of resurrection. Today you must administer a simple antiparasitic. Resurrection spells require souls to power them. The more recently-deceased, the more powerful. Luckily for you, you have a nearby source of soul power.”

I mentally clicked on the wheel. This time the motion worked. Controlling mouse clicks with one’s mind was like riding a bike. Once you learned how to do it in one game, it was easy peasy, second nature. I clicked on steam, and a long paragraph appeared explaining the origin and source of the magic. I clicked away. If I ever did buy a copy of this game, I’d delve deep into it when I got a chance. For now I just clicked through and looked at the races of players and how they associated with the schools of magic.

Unlike other games where player class had the most bearing on your school of magic, in this one it seemed it was all about the 22 different races. Fifteen of the races could use two of the schools of magic (The mole men, for example, used earth and technology. The fae used wind and celestial.) Six of the races, like the worm surgeons, could only use one, and humans could use all six, though it seemed they had some restrictions. No two were the same. I was stuck with resurrection magic. Even though I wasn’t really playing, I felt disappointed. I was so used to fantasy games that the “normal” magics like earth, wind, and resurrection (usually called “dark” magic or something like that) were a little too familiar. One of the races in this game was something called a shade gremlin, and it used the schools of technology and steam. That sounded so much cooler. Oh well.

I took my hand off the wheel, and the world reformed.

The corpse of my dead worm blinked purple. In the upper right of my vision, a purple bar appeared. I felt an odd whooshing sensation, like water being poured into a bucket. I was the bucket, and the purple energy coming off the dead worm was the water. The worm drained free, and my purple power bar went up a few notches.

“Now, using your soul power, administer the antiparasitic. You must physically touch the blood supply of Guardian Bast to administer this medicine. Luckily in this case, the open wound before you gives you access.”

I warily reached forward and touched the wound with my bare hand, ready to jump back if the demon thing popped out again. I shuddered as my hand came into contact with the warm, squishy flesh. I was already re-thinking my decision to buy a copy of this game.

A menu popped up.

Available talents:

Administer Antiparasitic. Level 1.

Cauterize Wound. Level 1.

I administered the antiparasitic.

I felt a reverse of the whooshing sensation as about 3/4's of my available soul power left my body and entered the behemoth. The green circle surrounding the wound started to blink. Soon, all the hundreds of injuries on the kaiju’s flank flashed.

“Good job. The medicine takes some time to work, but that should be enough. As the days progress, you will be required to perform more and more complicated healings and surgeries. You will be in constant danger from both the invading demons and the guardians themselves. And sometimes…”

A club appeared in my hand. I startled at the suddenness of it. It was a crude baseball bat with a long, bent nail sticking out of it. I stared at it stupidly.

“…even the parasites themselves will fight back.”

All of the wounds on the guardian started to pulsate and throb. Hundreds of them.

Oh shit.

Hissing, screaming demons poured out of the body, like water out of a spigot. The wound closest to me ripped even further as two of the parasites fled the guardian’s body and came at me, the injury vomiting blood and beast. Their bug-like bodies all glowed a sickly green color, and a red exclamation mark appeared over their heads. I didn’t have time to interpret the symbols. There had to be thousands of the things, some a hundred feet in the air above me. They fell, lurched, and grasped at me as I stumbled back, instinctively swinging my crude bat at them. I connected with one swing, and the club broke in half.

A demon bit my left arm, severing it off. Pain exploded. My vision flashed red. Holy crap, real, actual pain. Then another started to devour me. Then another.

I screamed as everything went black. The pain fled. I was surrounded by darkness filled only with the sound of chewing.

Pain swirled in my mind. A sudden thought flashed in my mind, the memory coming unbidden. Mary holding her hands to her head, screaming. This is too much. This is too much.

Then words appeared on the screen. The bold font slamming into place, blood spattering on the black with each letter.  

Welcome, Surgeon. Welcome to the Wet Gates of Hell.

Loading…

Screw this, I thought. Even though I no longer had a body, the sudden, sharp memory of pain overwhelmed me. No amount of money is worth this.

Loading…

“Quit game. Quit game.”

Nothing. My words echoed in the empty, black room.

Blink, blink, blink. Hold eyes closed for five seconds. Blink, blink, blink.

Nothing. I did it again, panic rising.

Nothing.

Chapter 3

“Wake up. Duke, wake up!”

Finally, I thought.

“You were having a nightmare. Were you dreaming about the return of the demons again? That old legend?”

I opened my eyes, staring up at the ceiling of a shack. My heart lurched. My vision was filled with the game’s status bars and menu options, several more items than before.

I still hadn’t logged out.

Maybe I couldn’t leave because I was in a loading screen.

“Quit game. Quit game,” I said.

“What do you mean?” the voice said. It was raspy, young. Like a twelve-year-old boy who smoked three packs a day. “You were dreaming again, muttering in your sleep about the demons returning. Ha. As if that would ever happen. Dray says they were all defeated a millennia ago.”

“Quit game. Quit game,” I repeated.

A tiny, red notification appeared in the upper left of my vision. It disappeared as promptly as it came.

Log-off currently unavailable.

That was it. No other explanation.

I sat up in bed, groaning. The purple bar indicating my soul power was all the way to the top. The bar above that, showing what I assumed to be my life, was also all the way to the top. As I watched, the little heart by the bar pulsed, and a red -1 appeared. The life status bar went down just a tiny bit. By my estimation it would take at least a day for it to run all the way out on its own.

“Are you okay?” the voice repeated. I looked to see another decayed, zombie-like creature staring at me. Jesus. These guys were hard to look at. Even the young ones were gross. Over his head the words Bloff – Cousin (Level 4) appeared in black letters with a yellow glow around them.

This was an NPC. A computer-controlled, non-player character. This was still part of the game setup. 

“Honestly, Duke,” my virtual cousin continued. “Your obsession with the old ways is going to be the death of you. There’s no need for battlefield surgeons anymore. The old veterinarians go out there when one of them steps on a thorn or something. Aunt Bernadette’s warning that the demons would come back is nothing more than the mutterings of a crazy, old woman. She’s been filling your brain with nonsense. Let’s do our daily health check. First…”

My cousin’s speech was cut short when a human burst into the room. 

He was a tall, long-haired, armor-clad human. His legs appeared to be covered in some sort of science fiction power armor while the top half of his body was a mismatched leather jerkin. He wore what appeared to be a laser rifle over his shoulders. He looked like one of those AI-generated RPG characters you’d get after entering “1980’s wrestler mixed with a science fiction barbarian.”

Floating in green letters over his head was Anatoly – Player (Level X).

“Anatoly,” I said, jumping up. My NPC cousin simply stopped talking.

“Duke,” Anatoly said. “You chose a worm surgeon, I see. That’s good, good. We’ll need to get you a familiar right away to keep your health from flatlining you.”

“I’m having trouble logging out. The pain threshold in this thing is completely out of whack.”

He nodded. He waved his arm. It appeared as if he was fiddling with a menu, but I couldn’t see it.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice in this world was much more sure, confident. “This is a developer build, and the pain threshold is hacked past the limit. Here, I’m lowering it down to two. My friends like to play with it jacked up. This build is programmed so only the game captain can adjust the pain threshold. I’d had to purchase a developer pass just to do it.”

“I can’t log out either,” I said.

“Were you using the ‘quit game’ prompt? That’s disabled too. We switched it to ‘I’m a wuss.’ Sorry about that. I should have told you.”

I relaxed. Everything was okay. It was just an unfamiliar game and an unfamiliar rig.

I laughed. “I’m not gonna lie. I panicked there for a minute. I did the rig-level ejection routine, but it didn’t work, either.”

“Huh,” he said. “That’s weird. That should’ve worked. Were you in a loading screen at the time? Sometimes it doesn’t catch it when the data is transferring like that.”

“I was.”

“Well no worries, now. I got you.” He waved his hand then started typing in the air. “I’m the king of this domain, so if anything goes wrong, I can get us all out with the snap of a finger.” 

“Cousin, we really need to do our daily routine,” Bloff said.

“So,” Anatoly said. “Normally you’d follow your cousin around for another hour or so, and he teaches you a lot of the basic stuff. He has you go outside the city to gather some berries, and you get attacked by a small demon. It’s all still part of the tutorial. But that’s not going to work because you joined a game already in progress. New players aren’t really supposed to join this late in the season. I had to break a bunch of stuff just to make it so guys like you could join. The damned AI is determined to keep me from doing some of it. Anyway, you step outside the city now, you’ll get roasted alive in seconds. You’re level 1, and those are end-game level demons out there. So instead I’m going to take you to the town square, open up a portal, and zap you to my base, and you’ll see what I’m talking about. I have to get you a brand first, though, so every time you log back in, you’ll end up back at my base, and you won’t have to go through all this stuff again. Sorry it’s taking so long. I guess I forgot how long that first intro part took.”

I shuddered, remembering the feeling of the bug demons eating me alive.  

“So, I understood about half of what you said,” I said. “But I’ll follow you to your place and take a look.”

“Good man,” Anatoly said. He looked me right in the eyes, unlike the IRL version. I’d almost swear it was a different person, but he had an odd gait to his walk, something I’d noticed earlier. He also started chewing on his fingernail. The quirk followed him from the real world to the virtual one. “This way.” He turned and strode out of the shack, his finger still in his mouth.

I followed. My cousin called for me to come back. In the top left of my vision a green message appeared with a chime.

Quest. Discuss daily routine with Bloff.

The line disappeared into a folder. I made a mental note to take a look at it later if I got a chance. I liked the streamlined menu system of this game more so than most other games. This had to be a new, updated UI. Everything except my life and soul points bar disappeared when I wasn’t thinking about it. All of the options returned when I pulled my eyes up into the top corner, just like with the newest PCs. The whole thing was quite intuitive. It only took a minute to get used to it if you were already familiar with the latest generation of Windows VR.

I stepped outside.

Entering Medina.

We entered into a miserable, muddy city. The overcast sky flashed with lightning, illuminating hundreds of bird-like demons hovering over the city. Rain fell in sheets. I noted I could sense the cold rain bouncing off my rag-covered arms, but I barely felt it. This was the sensation setting I was used to.

All of the races were represented in the city, drudging morosely about their daily lives. All the NPCs had their names, levels, and sometimes—but not always—occupation floating over their heads. Some of the wooden buildings appeared to have recently burned to the ground. In the distance, more significant, more opulent buildings stood, but they were obscured by the darkness.

This was a city under siege, surrounded by demons, yet the NPC version of my cousin hadn’t seemed aware of the problem. Multi-player games always had weird continuity issues like that.

I examined Anatoly as we walked. As I focused on the back of his head, a green box appeared with the note Examine Player. I clicked on it, but I received an error message.

“Why can’t I examine your properties?” I asked. I had to shout the words to be heard over the rain. In the far distance, something bellowed.

He grunted. “It’s turned off for co-op. You can’t examine other player’s skills or level or anything like that. I can’t even do it, and I’m the captain. We like it better this way. I’m trying to program out the ability to see our names floating over our heads, too. It’s just another item on my list. I’m level 53, by the way. That’s pretty high.”

“So you’re a programmer?” I asked.

He nodded. “I worked for Bart Hughes games for years, programming for the Ortiz storylines. I don’t anymore. My father owns a lot of real estate, and I help him manage it now. Some friends and I are working on a co-op build of this game for fun. The co-op version was never released to the public and is buggy as hell. We’ve had to implement some major changes to make this work, and we’re just getting started. There’s still a lot to do.”

“I noticed the graphics are really good,” I said. “They’re better than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re using the new quantum stacks for the server,” Anatoly said. “Expensive, but their processing power is… it’s unbelievable. I just pushed a new upgrade a couple days ago, actually. The AIs are getting better and better. It will change everything, and not just with gaming.”

We passed out of the poorer part of town and onto a street with more brick buildings. Several shops stood in a row. Some were lit by torches, some appeared lit by electric lights. What a weird, schizophrenic game, I thought. It’s fantasy, sci-fi, and steampunk all smushed together.

Anatoly chattered on about programming, mostly things I only barely understood. “Years and years ago, most of these games were built in a language called C++. Bart Hughes and his partners developed AI-C and eventually AI-Squared before the plane crash. This game was originally built in AI-Squared and then the updated rerelease with AI-Squared Plus. It’s a blessing and a damned cursed for people with a developer license. The problem is the game is built with a learning AI that has a few ironclad rules. That means the game changes itself if you break something. It helps enormously with many, many tasks. You can be sloppy, and it fixes it for you. It’s scary as hell, really. But trying to change stuff after the fact without starting over is a pain in the ass.”

He pointed to a tall building. The top of it was lopped off. “You see that building over there? That spire?”

I nodded.

“There’s a quest in there that’s important to the completion of the game, but only if you’re playing a certain race. The sundered. Those are the robot guys with human faces. The thing is, I don’t really care so much about completing the game. We’re using this world as more of a sandbox. A playground. So I tried to remove that building. I took it away, and there were suddenly two new kaiju added. I have no idea why. No human came up with them. The AI programmed them in itself, changing the game on its own to make it solvable again. That’s one of those iron rules. The game has to be winnable.”

I nodded. I understood nothing about programming, but as an artist, I was very aware of AI-created art. Over the past dozen years or so, more and more complex art-creating AI systems were emerging. And while the more traditional arts were still going strong, nowadays all it took was a simple online query to have something drawn for you. The days of visual artists making a living from selling work online, taking commissions were long gone. Digital artists were all but obsolete. Anything from a line drawing to a full-blown, original oil-style masterpiece could be had in seconds.

And it wasn’t just visual art. AI music had a strong fanbase, and even AI-written novels had a small but growing following. I’d tried reading one once, and as much as I hate to admit it, it was better than some real books. The realization made me feel dirty. And more than a little uncomfortable.      

“Anyway,” Anatoly continued, “I ended up stepping back that change. This whole game is a study in the butterfly effect. One of the biggest complaints about the single-player version was that there were too many cutscenes. If you fall in a hole you can’t get out of, if you’re captured by cannibals, if you get thrown in a jail cell, if you’re tortured to death, etcetera, the game would speed up time, and you’d watch it all happen in third person. It took almost two years, but I finally got rid of the game’s tendency to reward failures with a scene. It had all sorts of implications. One of the results was the game getting more dangerous, not less so. I don’t even know why. But I made it work. It also fixed some weird continuity issues with the co-op version of the game. Now the passage of time makes sense. Just don’t get arrested by the Medina guards while you’re here.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“So in the single-player version, if you get arrested and thrown in jail, you usually have to pay a fine or serve a couple days behind bars. But you don’t really serve that long. You watch a quick scene, and you’re out. And time has passed, just like any other game. In the co-op version before I fixed it, the game did the same thing, which had a tendency to put things out of whack. If we both planted an apple tree side by side, for example. The tree takes five in-game days to bloom. You can plant the tree, get arrested a minute later, get sentenced for five days and come out and harvest your apples right away. Your tree will be fully-grown when you get out because as far as you and your property are concerned, five days have passed. But for me it’s only been ten minutes. My tree will still be a shrub even though the two trees are side by side. I fixed the issue, but when I did, it made it so players arrested for five days are now actually trapped in that jail cell for five days. You serve your sentence in real-time. There’s nothing anybody can do. It sucks. It’s no fun. So if you get sentenced to five days in jail, you pretty much just gotta log out and come back five days later, otherwise your character is just sitting in a cell. I’m chipping away at the problem. The good news is I managed to make it so only the town guards in Medina and this one other place called Little Cibola can arrest you. So if you do ever make it to any of the small villages, the guards there won’t be able to throw you in jail. They’ll just kill you.” He laughed. “But, I did have to disable the ability for players in captivity to escape. There’s a whole system in place with lock picking and killing guards and all that, but for right now it’s offline while I fix something completely unrelated. Also, something else broke making the fines just outrageous. Now the fines are something like ten times the previous amounts. I put the wrong decimal somewhere. So the moral is don’t get arrested. Once you’re in there, you can’t get out.”

“Don’t get arrested,” I repeated. “Got it.”

“So anyway, right now I’m mostly focused on making it so all of us can be human players if we want. None of this only one of each race bullshit. It’s the damnedest thing. You’d think it’d be an easy change, but the moment I implement it… Oh, here we are.” 

We stopped at a building near the end of the row of businesses. An old, wooden sign hung over the shop that read simply, “Pets Plus.”

“So, I don’t know what you read or were told during character creation, but you picked a race called a worm surgeon. Not too many people play that race because resurrection magic requires souls to power. It’s easy early on in the game, but later when you’re doing deep dive surgery, there are a lot fewer things to kill. Most of the demons you face later on are big and don’t go down easily. So instead of having to fight 50 level-one demons, you fight one level 50 demon. A level 50 gives a lot of soul power, but it’s like getting a big paycheck once a year instead of smaller ones every week. You gotta learn to conserve it. Your life force is constantly going down, and you have to use your soul power to heal yourself. So it’s a losing game.”

He entered the shop. I followed.

Entering Pets Plus.

“However, there’s a trick,” Anatoly continued. “You can get yourself a certain type of familiar. It will give you enough soul power to keep yourself alive. It won’t give you much more than that, though. Normally you wouldn’t be able to afford or capture one of these for a while, but I’ll get you one now.”

The shop was filled with cages of monsters. The very first cage had what looked to be a miniature warthog. It snarled and smashed against the bars. As I focused on the angry little pig, a menu box appeared over the creature.

Snagglesnort.

Race restriction.

You cannot bond with this pet.

50,000 teeth.

“Teeth?” I asked.

“Teeth is money,” Anatoly said. He put his hand in a pouch and pulled out a handful of glistening, white teeth. “You won’t have to worry about that.”

“That’s a little fucked up,” I muttered.

The next cage was a peacock, followed by a cat, followed by a trio of rats. The rats were the first ones that weren’t race restricted.

Vile Rats.

15,000 teeth.

I could click on their name, and additional information popped up.

Excellent thieves and scavengers, vile rats work in concert to attack and perform tasks. If one is killed, it will not regenerate until all three are dead.

Health: 500 each

Nil magic

Deep Dive: Yes

Shared Experience: No

Skills-

Poison Enemy

Parasite Hunt

Plague

Vaccine administration

During combat and surgery, vile rats will retrieve and return any loot from fallen enemies.

I could further click on the skills to learn more. For example, “Vaccine administration” allowed me to give medicine to one of my rats, and then he could find his way to the kaiju to administer it. That was probably a useful skill if one had to apply a lot of vaccines.

But Anatoly wasn’t here to purchase me a trio of rats.

“So you’re basically undead,” Anatoly said. We passed the proprietor of the shop, one of the tree-like dryad characters, who stood quietly behind a table, eying us with black orbs burned into the bark-like skin. We pushed through a curtain into a damp, dark room. The floor turned to dirt. “You’re like a lich mixed with a vampire. Your race is kept alive through resurrection magic. As a result, your flesh imparts no nutrition to those who require flesh to survive. Ah, here we are.”

He stopped in front of a glass case sitting on the dirt. He reached in and pulled out a small, ivory-colored worm, about half an inch long. It looked like a maggot.

“That’s it?” I asked.

Anatoly grinned. “Don’t let this guy’s size fool you. He’ll get bigger if you let him. This here is a gut hook. He’s a nematode-class pet, which means he lives inside of you, and his respawn location is your intestinal tract. So if he ever dies, and he’s going to die a lot, he pops back into existence inside of you. So here’s the brilliant part. This guy needs to feed off his host to survive. But he can’t feed off of you. So a couple times a day, he starves to death and dies. When he dies, you automatically gain the soul power he gives off on death. Rinse and repeat.”

“That’s kind of messed up,” I said, reaching forward to examine the worm’s properties.

Gut Hook - Juvenile

754,000 teeth

Health: 45

Magic: Yes, with certain upgrades

Deep Dive: Yes

Shared Experience: Yes, familiar to player only

Skills-

Sap Energy

Strengthen

I clicked on each of the skills. The Sap Energy skill basically said the worm would drain my life away as it fed on my flesh. That was something I didn’t need to worry about. Strengthen was a spell that temporarily increased my physical power for five minutes. It was something I could do once an hour. That was it.

“Why is it so expensive?” I asked. “Other than the soul-giving properties, it seems pretty lame.”

Anatoly nodded. “The soul-giving part is a big deal to worm surgeons. But if you do let your worm feed and level up, he gets bigger and receives many more skills. When he’s a full-grown adult, he can evolve into one of the most powerful familiars in the game. Plus he has shared experience, which means when he gets experience, you get some too. Only a few familiars have that. Most don’t.”

“What about you?” I asked. “You have a pet? And can we only have one?”

“Yes, you can only have one unless you’re a fae or a dryad and some classes. What did you pick, by the way? I can’t tell.”

“Artisan.”

“I should have figured. That’s a good choice for deftness and charm. The only thing charm is good for is getting a discount at stores and a few side quests. The kaiju and demons don’t give a flying fuck how interesting you are. You have naturally-low charm anyway, thanks to being a worm surgeon. I’m a farmer. It gave me a strength boost and a boost to earth magic.”

“Do you have a pet?” I repeated.

“I don’t,” he said. “Not this season. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road. I’m gonna pay for this, and then you gotta swallow it.”

“Swallow it? Eww,” I said, eyeing the worm.

He grunted. “There are other ways to have it inserted, but they’re not nearly as pleasant.”

Chapter 4

I tried not to gag as I swallowed the squirming bug whole. It tasted like what I imagined a white grub might taste like. I felt the wriggling creature move its way down my throat, like I’d swallowed... Well, like I’d swallowed a worm whole.

You have been infected with a parasite!

You can bond with this parasite! Do you wish to bond?

I clicked yes.

You’ve obtained a familiar!

A new menu is available: Familiars.

You have obtained a male gut hook, level 1, juvenile stage.

What is your familiar’s name?

I thought for a moment. Mary and I had been talking a lot lately about getting a dog. Right now it was impossible because of our living situation, but one of these days... We couldn’t decide between a Labrador or a pug. I wanted the lab, and she wanted the pug. If we ever could afford a place of our own with a yard, we’d probably end up with both. Sometimes at night we’d talk about what we’d name our dogs. We could go back and forth for hours. In the end, I’d always suggest the same name, and she’d always say the same thing.

“I’d probably name him or her after an artist. Like if we get two, we could name one Frida and one Diego.”

“You can’t name dogs after artists,” she’d say.

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“It’s an insult to the dog!”

We’d laugh and laugh.

“Banksy,” I said.

Banksy, level 1 Gut Hook is now your familiar.

I felt a disconcerting rumble in my stomach. I could sense him there, wiggling about. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

“Are we good?” Anatoly asked.

“I think so. Do I need to do anything?”

“Nope,” he said. “You’ll automatically get the soul power. Do you know how to heal yourself? It’s in your spell menu.”

“I didn’t see that spell before. It was only antiparasitic and cauterize or something like that.”

“No, that’s your surgery menu. Those are called talents. You’ll only see that when you select a wound or scan a kaiju or enter an infected chamber in a deep-dive situation. This is the magic menu. It’s different. You should have a few spells.”

“Oh,” I said. “No, I don’t know where that is.”

“It’s in the main folder, but you can set a few gesture macros that’ll pop it up. The default one is this.”

He made an upward karate chop motion with his hand and then crossed it to make an invisible T.

I mimicked the motion, and a short menu popped up.

I only had two spells. Reconstitute and something called Upcycle. Casting Upcycle used up 25% of my soul points, but it wasn’t clear what the spell actually did. Reconstitute appeared to be my healing spell. It was a one-to-one ratio. If I used 50% of my soul points, I’d heal for 50%. I didn’t know if that ratio would remain when I leveled up or not.

The actual descriptions of the spells weren’t accessible to me. I’d click on them, and I’d get a warning that I couldn’t access the Upgrades menu until I hit level 2.

Once the spell menu was open, I could click and select the spells with my mind. I closed it away for reference later.

“What can I do with this gut hook thing?”

He shook his head. “Not much. Normally they get bigger and stronger the more they feed on you. Eventually, they can fight for you and get pretty big. Like I said, they’re one of the most powerful familiars in the game. But they’re weak early on, and yours will never get any bigger because it won’t have any flesh to feed on. They don’t leave your body until level 5 or so, and you have nothing to make it level up inside of you. So it’s useless except to keep you alive.”

My stomach gurgled again, like I had popcorn randomly shooting off in my gut. I felt if the sensation setting were any higher, it’d probably be quite uncomfortable. Just because my “pet” couldn’t get sustenance from eating my flesh didn’t seem to stop it from trying.

“Chill, Banksy,” I said, patting my stomach.

Whap. The damn thing kicked me from the inside.

I followed Anatoly out into the rain. He pointed toward a gazebo-like structure in the middle of the park. A glowing, red diamond floated above the structure. He had to yell to be heard over the downpour, which seemed to be stronger than before. “That’s the center of town. You can teleport in and out from there. Normally if you die or log back in, that’s where you’d regenerate unless you’ve branded yourself to another place.”

“Branded?” I asked.

He grimaced. He turned his neck to the side and yanked down the collar of his leather jerkin, revealing a red brand on his neck. The shape vaguely resembled the lion monster I’d helped clear of parasites in the tutorial.

“I hold the branding iron of Bast. Once I brand you with it, you’ll respawn and log in and out at my home base, which is in Bast.”

I followed him into a stall just outside the abandoned town center. A small, angry-looking goblin sat by a raging fireplace. The green-tinted creature was a few inches taller than my waist and had wide, pointed ears that stuck straight out, a hook nose, and a mouth full of sharp teeth. This was a shade gremlin, if I remembered correctly. The name hovering over the creature read Well Done – Flesh Modder (Level 30).

Anatoly pulled out a small chunk of metal and handed it to the gremlin, whose name was apparently “Well Done.”

“Brand him,” Anatoly said.

The small NPC looked me up and down. He produced a long pole, attached the metal chunk to the end, and dropped it in the fire. “It’ll be your first brand, so it’s free. Where do you want it?”

I started to stick my arm out, but Anatoly pushed my entire body forward.

“He wants it on his neck,” Anatoly said. He looked at me. “Your neck is the best place to put brands like these to make sure they’re permanent. ” He made a chopping motion on my arm. “If you lose a limb, you usually get it back. But not always. If you lose it, you lose the brand. A brand on your neck overwrites the default regeneration spot, which is that gazebo over there.”

“Is this going to hurt?” I asked, eying the branding iron in the fire.

“We’re currently at level two sensation,” Anatoly said, sounding exasperated. “But you will take some damage. Not much, but some.”

“Yes, yes,” Well Done said, lifting the now-glowing brand out of the fire. “I need confirmation from both of you before I do this.”

“I agree,” Anatoly said, nudging me.

Before I could speak, a message popped up.

Warning: Receiving a brand upon your neck will overwrite your inherent regeneration spot. Your current regeneration spot—Medina Town Square—will be lost. This cannot be undone. You will need to obtain a Medina brand if you wish to regain the default regeneration spot.

“Should I get a Medina brand too?”

“I have one right here,” Well Done said, hopefully patting an iron sitting on a table next to his fire. “Second one ain’t free, though.” 

“It’s not necessary,” Anatoly said. “It’ll only complicate things. Trust me.” 

I shrugged. “Okay then,” I said. “Brand away.”

“This is my favorite part,” Well Done said, and the small gremlin lunged forward with the hot iron and pressed it against my neck. The NPC squealed with delight as I cringed back.

Red flashed in my vision, similar to other games when you take damage. I felt the burn, but barely on my neck. It wasn’t painful at all.

Brand received! You have been granted access to Bast – Player Base. Your available regeneration spots are Bast – Player Base.   

Well Done dropped the brand into a bucket of water, and a moment later handed it back to Anatoly, who tucked it away. I gingerly reached up to touch my boney, emaciated neck. I felt the raised bump there. As I touched it, a line of text appeared in my interface, indicating it as a brand of access.

Without another word, I followed Anatoly back out into the rain. He strode toward the gazebo, and I rushed to catch up.

“Nobody is out in town,” he muttered. “That’s good, good.” He made the cross motion, which meant he was calling up his own spell menu. “All right, I’m taking you to my base.”

“Wait a second,” I said, the realization hitting me all at once. “So Bast is that lion monster with the tentacles?”

“That’s right,” Anatoly said.

“And your base…”

“Is in the bowels of Bast.”

“Inside the monster?”

“I should probably warn you about the smell.”

“Wait, what does that mean?” I asked.

He grinned, and the gazebo blinked away.

Chapter 5

Entering Bast – Player Base. Restricted area. Access granted by brand.

Guardian Health: Unknown. Scan recommended.

This base is owned by player Anatoly.

This home base is your current regeneration spot.

For a confused moment, I thought I was back in Anatoly’s apartment. I looked around, bewildered, seeing the familiar couch, familiar bed, kitchen area, and the long, brick wall.

But, but. I shook my head. This was all overlaid with my game HUD. And the ceiling of the warm and humid room… The milky white ceiling appeared to be made of flesh. As I watched in astonishment, the flesh quivered and then undulated, as if something just beyond the surface moved by, something substantial, malevolent, and so, so very close.

I stood upon the same wood floor as Anatoly’s loft apartment, but the ground did not feel steady, as if I was on a ship. A wave of queasiness rushed through me.

I am inside the monster. That giant, weird lion thing. I am inside that creature. 

Then the smell hit me, like a right hook out of nowhere.

“Jesus,” I muttered, putting my hand to my nose. I swallowed hard. It smelled of rotten, fetid death. It smelled of spoiled tuna, of dead skunks, of flesh left to marinate in a pool of antibiotic-laced urine. My mind reeled through the different stenches, one by one. That, combined with the uncertain floor, caused my gorge to rise. I fell to my knees, gasping for air. I was going to throw up.

Anatoly stood next to me, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“I’m working on removing the smell from the bases. Some of the others don’t like the stench, either. Personally, I think it adds an extra touch of realism. You stop noticing it after a while. It won’t bother you after a day or two.”

“I’m going to barf, man,” I said.

“You wouldn’t be the first. Just ride through it.”

“I thought,” I said between heaving gasps, “the lowered sensation setting would block out this smell, too.”

In the top right of my vision, the word Unsteady appeared, flashing in red.

“I set sensation back to 100%. It’s 105% actually. I’ve found it enhances the experience. Everything is a little more saturated, if you know what I mean.”

I didn’t move for several moments, breathing the fetid air. The room was warm. I became aware of odd sounds coming from all around me as well, like water moving through pipes.

I’m okay. I’m not going to puke.

The ground lurched unexpectedly.

I puked.

As far as I was aware, my undead body hadn’t eaten anything since I’d come into existence. In fact, I was pretty sure this body didn’t eat at all. But the game had programmed in the ability to vomit, and by the gods, I puked all over the beautiful, bamboo floor.

I wiped my mouth on the plastic-like skin of my forearm, and I dry-heaved a few more times, my stomach doing somersaults. I sat like that for some time, waiting for the Unsteady notification to clear out.

“Okay, I’m good,” I said after a moment 

“I can’t believe it,” Anatoly said. “I just can’t believe I got you in here so easily.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, coming to stand next to him. Then, what he’d said registered.

I set sensation back to 100%. It’s 105% actually.

“Wait, why did you set the sensation back up?”

He ignored the question. “Okay, Duke. Let me tell you what’s really going on here.”

“What do you mean?” I asked again. My stomach and mind still swirled. Something isn’t right.

He indicated a leather chair by the fireplace. The ground surged again. “You’ll want to sit down for this.”

I didn’t want to sit, but nausea overwhelmed me again. I found myself lurching toward the chair. I sank in. Anatoly clanked over to the wall with the fireplace, leaning against it.

“Most of what I’ve told you so far is true, but I left a few details out. First and foremost, I didn’t hire you to draw a mural on my wall.”

Confusion swirled. “I don’t understand. Why do you need me here?”

“It’s kind of complicated. I have a client, and they requested an artist. They chose you.”

“For what? What do I need to paint? I don’t understand.”

“You’re going to have to ask them. Honestly, I try not to get too involved in what the clients want. That’s between them and the proctors. I’m just the host.”

Jesus Christ, I need to get out of here.

Blink, blink, blink. Hold. Blink, blink, blink.

I didn’t even try with the audible exit. I went straight for the emergency eject.

Nothing happened.

“I’m a wuss. I’m a wuss.”

Nothing.

“You won’t be able to eject,” Anatoly said. “You’re in a penal rig. You’ve already been attached to a feeding tube and waste disposal system.”

My heart ran cold. I looked at my skeletal hands, as if that would show anything.

“What do you mean?” I felt like an idiot. I was saying the same thing over and over. “Why would you do this?” I looked around for an escape. This can’t be happening.

“I am in the very early stages of creating a digital playground. Instead of building it from the ground up, I am taking an existing engine and game that I can easily adjust to test out interest. Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon works well because the anatomical and pain settings are second to none, better than any other existing game.”

I stood, my fists clenching. “You can’t keep me here. I have a wife. My daughter is flying in tomorrow. I’ll be missed.”

He nodded. “You will be missed, but nobody will know where you are. You were alone when I answered your ad. You sent no messages to either your wife or your roommates. You didn’t leave a note, either. We checked.”

I paused. “You’ve been following me?”

“For some time now, Duke.”

I had the urge to stride over to the armored figure and start pounding the crap out of him. If we were out of the game, it’s exactly what I would have done. But I was level 1, and he was, what did he say? Level 53?

“Okay, this is what’s going to happen,” I said, standing anyway and taking a purposeful step toward him. “You’re going to let me out right fucking now. If you do it now, I won’t kick your ass and I won’t sue you for every damn penny you have. This is kidnapping!”

Anatoly smiled sadly. “No, Duke. I’m not going to let you out. You’re going to do what the client says. If you do it well, we will keep you around. If you don’t cooperate, well… you won’t like what happens next.”

I had no idea what this crazy asshole meant by that. “Fuck you. I’m not going to do anything you ask. You’re going to what? Make me live in the body of this stupid zombie thing? For how long?”

“I want to show you something,” Anatoly said. He raised his hand, and a view portal appeared on the wall, floating where the brick wall stood in the real world.

“You’ll have view-only web access during your stay as long as you behave. There are a few channels of interest I want to show. Namely channels one and two.”

He waved his hand, and a familiar view appeared. It was the interior of Mary’s Subaru. It took me a moment to parse what I was seeing. I could clearly hear Mary’s voice as she sang along to a song on her oldie’s station.

With horror, I realized I was watching a POV shot from my wife. It was just about 4 p.m., and she’d be driving from the hospital where she worked in Kent. It was as if I’d been physically slapped. I felt the breath knock out of me.

He’d somehow hacked into the feed from her work implant. He had audio and visual access for her corneal graft.

“Of the two, your wife Mary’s implant was the easiest to hack. The interface from Saint Joes uses a pretty insecure protocol. Most of the doctors have an extra layer of security, but the lower-tier nurses have the cheap stuff installed. As long as your wife isn’t wandering around someplace off the grid, we can track and see her position.”

“What the fuck, man?” I said.

The implants weren’t supposed to be accessible or recording outside of the hospital. They were encrypted and were only supposed to be accessed if an inquiry was made about patient care. Mary hated that she had them, but they were a necessary evil if one wanted to work in the healthcare field.

I watched as Mary slammed the steering wheel in an all-too-familiar motion, swearing at the car in front of her that swerved into her lane. The blue light above the car’s brake lights indicated the vehicle as a selfie. Mary hated sharing traffic with self-driving cars.

“Fucking robots,” she muttered.

Anatoly flicked his wrist, and the view changed.

This channel had no picture, but the distinctive sound of snoring filled the room, indicating the owner of this implant was asleep, and their eyes were closed.

My eyes caught the line of text at the upper left of the screen.

Prisoner 401147B

Hudson, Ruth.

“She sleeps most of the day, since she got out,” Anatoly was saying. “It’s a sign of depression. Her implants were taken offline six months ago when she was released. Getting them powered back up without her knowledge was a bit of a chore, let me tell you. But we got it done. She’s doing well, by the way. The doctor at the center thinks she has a good chance of staying clean this time. The visual quality of her implants is crap, but she has the bloodstream monitors. You’ll know straight away if she falls off the wagon.” 

I stared, flabbergasted at the screen.

My daughter was currently in a halfway house in Phoenix. She’d been released from prison a few months back. She was supposed to graduate in the morning, and she was to board a plane to Seattle, where she would move in with Ruth and me.

I couldn’t breathe. I was having a panic attack. The word Unsteady appeared once again in my vision.

“Why are you doing this?”

“We have done this for two reasons. One is to give you a view of the outside world, so you know your wife and daughter are all right. You have access to television also, though you’ll be rationed to an hour a day. The second is to prove to you that we can get to either of them at a moment’s notice. If you do as we ask, we guarantee they will be left alone. If you excel at what you do, we will further make certain that they will both share in some of the profits of our venture. We’ll not only pay off your back mortgage, we will buy the loan on that shitty apartment of yours outright and tear it right up. If you defy us or refuse to participate, you will be forced to watch as first Mary and then Ruth are captured, then tortured, and then eventually converted into a consumable for our project. We have invested a significant amount of capital into getting you here, Duke. We plan on protecting that investment. Please don’t force us to resort to extreme measures.”

“But why me?” I gasped. “I’m a nobody. I’m not even a good artist. I’m a goddamned hack.”

Anatoly shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You were handpicked by the client.”

Jesus Christ, this had to be a nightmare.

I stepped forward, and I punched Anatoly in the face with all of my strength. 

It felt as if I’d just struck a brick. My vision flashed red. I’m pretty sure I’d broken my hand. Above, my health bar ticked down.

Anatoly laughed.

His hand shot out, crushing my ribs as I was bodily picked up and pressed against the back wall. I could feel the ribs in my undead body creak and crack. An ominous red flashing filled my vision as my health bar nosedived.

In my stomach, I felt Banksy the gut hook thrash.

I couldn’t breathe. My chest caved in. Pain spiraled across my ribcage, like cracking glass.

“Don’t ever think to touch me again,” Anatoly growled. “I do not like being touched.”

He shoved, and my vision went black.

You have died!

Half your experience toward level two lost!

I fell. Down I went, falling and falling as I flailed my arms. I still couldn’t breathe. My chest felt broken open, and air rushed through it as if Anatoly had punched a hole clean through my frail body.

Spinning red lights filled my vision, and it soon became clear I fell within a tight, bottomless tunnel. The red lights were fires. First torches and then the walls themselves were fire, rushing by as I plummeted.

I smashed to a stop, my body slamming into the sudden ground like a meteor crashing from the heavens. I tumbled and crunched, my neck and legs and arms all shattering with the impact, my insides liquefying within me. I could see, I could feel, and the pain did not falter. I’d been taken far beyond the normal realm of pain, past the point where a person in the real world would’ve lost consciousness or fallen into shock. I lay ruined on top of a pile of writhing, screaming, burning bodies. I opened my mouth to scream, but my jaw did not do as I commanded.

The fire consumed me.

This is what hell is.

I blinked.

The pain was gone, just like that. It remained, though, burned into my memory.

Pain does that to a person. It tattoos itself into your memory, deep, bright, and burning, so much so that the remembrance of it is just as bad.

You have died once.

I opened my eyes.

Entering Bast – Player Base. Restricted area. Access granted by brand.

Guardian Health: Unknown. Scan recommended.

This base is owned by player Anatoly.

This home base is your current regeneration spot.

Anatoly stood, grinning down at me.

I looked, stupidly, at the naked corpse with the ruined chest lying on the ground nearby. A timer ticked over the body’s head with a notification Corpse—Duke.

A notification window popped up as I stared at the body. Body will disappear after two minutes unless it is interacted with by another player or NPC, or upon the generation of another corpse.

Anatoly grinned down at me.

“You were probably too in shock to fully appreciate how exquisite that death sequence is. You fell down the burning hole for twenty seconds before you regenerated. The default is 10 seconds. I just adjusted it up to two minutes. Every time you displease me, I will add ten seconds to the sequence.”

“Fuck you,” I said, my voice creaking.

His gauntleted fist smashed at my face. I didn’t even feel the death-causing injury this time.

I did, however, feel the fire.

You have died two times.

I didn’t say anything after waking up the second time. All I could think about was Mary, screaming.

This is too much. This is too much.

Words can brand themselves onto you, too.

“Are you ready to listen now?” Anatoly asked. He sat in the leather chair by the fire, waving his hand. It appeared he’d been doing something on a screen only he could see.

I’d awakened on the floor in the middle of the room, not even on the bed like one usually does when they regenerate at a home base.

“You can’t do this,” I said, sitting up. My stomach rumbled, flashing with pain.

He sighed. “We’ve already established not only can I do this, but I already have. You need to get past the anger and denial stage. Don’t bother with the bargaining stage, either. I don’t remember what the other stages are, but I’m pretty sure the last one is acceptance. The sooner you move to that one, the sooner we can get you comfortable.”

I glared at him, my mind racing. I was absolutely fucked, and we both knew it.

“What’s going to happen next?”

He sighed again, this time pulling himself to his feet. “This is a more acceptable question.” He moved toward the kitchen. He reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out an apple. He took a bite.

“Worm surgeons are one of a few races who don’t sleep in this game. That’s unfortunate for you. Time will move much more slowly. But you also don’t need to eat, which is good. I won’t have to keep you stocked up. I already have a food box for me and another for Clara. I won’t need to invest in one for you. You just need the soul power you can get from your gut hook.”

“Who’s Clara?”

He waved his hand. “You’ll meet her soon enough. She’s out on a field trip right now. When they return in a couple days you’ll get to work. I gotta fly to Boston in the morning, so I’ll leave you to your own devices. You probably won’t see too much of me over the next couple of weeks. They’ll tell you what to do next. It’s in your best interest to do as they say. The client has free reign to control your behavior.”

“A few days?” I asked, a new panic rising. “What about me? I’ll starve to death!”

“I already told you, worm surgeons don’t need to eat.” He paused then laughed. “Oh, you mean you. The meat world you. You’re in a modified Honda Labs penal rig, fully stocked. You don’t need to worry about that. It has six months' worth of sustenance and has some great new technology built in that’ll keep your muscles from atrophying. The first few test subjects had this issue where their meat bodies would go into shock after just a bit of extreme fun. Don’t worry though. These new rigs have squashed that bug pretty good. Here.”

He waved his hands in the air, motioning with his fingers, movement I now recognized as him delving into his developer menus.

“I’ve given you read-only access to the state of your rig, so you’ll know how Duke prime is doing. You’ll also have access to some web channels, so you can keep tabs on the outside world. And of course, you have the Mary channel and the Ruth channel. But like I said, you only get an hour a day.”

“I’m going to get out of this, and I am going to rip you to shreds,” I said, anger rising again. I kept fluctuating between terror, anger, and an incredible, pounding feeling of what? Loss? I’d only felt anywhere close to this once before in my life. That was worse. If you can survive that, you can survive this.

“You’re at two minutes and twenty seconds,” Anatoly said. He said it absently, like he’d already dismissed me. “You’re free to wander around, but if you step outside of my base, you’ll be devoured alive in minutes. You’re a level one in an end-game zone. You don’t get experience for anything but killing things and performing surgery, and that’s not going to happen. So you’re going to remain level one for the remainder of your stay. I’ll be back in a week, maybe two, to check on you.”

And just like that, he was gone. He disappeared, leaving an outline of his large form floating in the air. The words Anatoly – Offline appeared over the outline, and together they faded away over the next few seconds.

That falling sensation, the one that occurred upon death, it was a part of me now.

“Fuck,” I said, to the empty room.

Chapter 6

The first thing I did was figure out how to work the view screen. I spent the next hour, not moving, just flipping back and forth between my wife and daughter. Ruth remained asleep, so I focused on my wife. Mary was now home, sitting on the couch in the living room, playing a game on her phone while two of our roommates argued in the background over whose turn it was to change the cat litter. I watched as she sent me a text asking where I was. She wouldn’t think it was anything out of the ordinary. Not yet.

The screen flipped off on its own. A 24-hour countdown appeared in the channel changing menu on my display. Shit. I’d used up my daily one-hour allotment already.

I screamed into the empty room. I pounded on the wall. I’d only been here an hour, and I already felt my sanity start to slip.

I spent the next hour exploring every corner and area of the base. Bast—the giant monster I now lived inside of—seemed to be doing nothing but wandering around, occasionally roaring, which shook the whole apartment. I’d become mostly used to the uncertain movements, though my stomach still lurched from time to time. The hideous smell remained, but like Anatoly said I would, I’d already gotten used to it.

The paintings, including the Manet remained on the walls. Upon closer examination, the Manet had an oddly pixelated look to it, but I suspected it was more of a result of the mapping software that had copied Anatoly’s apartment.

The flesh ceiling rippled with movement, a constant reminder I was in this terrible place. It appeared train-sized serpents scuttled about outside. Parasites. I wondered what would happen if I attempted to administer my antiparasitic talent. Something bad, probably. 

The kitchen did not hold any large appliances, unlike the real-world version. Where the refrigerator and oven stood in the real world were just more cabinets. The sink remained, and I tested it. It worked, though it appeared it only gave cold water. The cupboards were all empty save for two, rectangular boxes nestled inside of the larger cabinets where the fridge once stood. I slid open the door on the first, and a message appeared.

This is a level 5 human food box. It is attuned to player Anatoly. The box is not locked, but the food is not compatible with worm surgeons. Do you wish to extract food anyway?

I clicked yes. An orange magically appeared in the empty box, coming into existence like it was being beamed in with a Star Trek transporter. I grasped the orange, examining it. Anatoly had extracted an apple last time. Was it something different every time, or was there a way to pick what you wanted? A message appeared warning me that I couldn’t eat it. A wastebasket sat near the sink, and I tossed the orange in. A grinding noise shook the basket, and it was gone. I spent some more time examining the food box, and I found if I placed my hand on top of the object, sliding my hand into the space between the box and cabinet, I could pull up a second menu with multiple options like Upgrade, Remove, Lock, Options, and Stats. All of the selections were grayed out.

I moved to the second box. I opened it and received a similar message.

This is a level 2 fae food box. It is attuned to player Clara. The box is not locked, but the food is not compatible with worm surgeons. Do you wish to extract food anyway?

A fae? That was an elf-like humanoid. I clicked yes just to see what sort of food they ate.

What appeared to be a rice crispy treat plopped into the box. I picked it up, sniffing it. It smelled delicious. I was pretty sure it was a rice crispy treat. Despite the warning, I took a tentative bite.

Warning! You’ve been poisoned!

Damage taken! Damage taken!

My health bar, which had been gradually ticking down on its own, now started to rocket toward zero.

Damage taken! Damage taken!

I fell to my knees, an incredible pain welling in my chest. Banksy thrashed about inside of me. Holy shit. I was going to die again.

I can self-heal. I had a full bar of soul power. I made the karate chop motion and pulled up the spell menu. I hadn’t spent too much time in this menu yet, and I awkwardly tried to select Reconstitute. My mind accidentally clicked Upcycle, and a message appeared.

You have not selected a valid upgrade. Spell did not cast.

Damnit! Pain washed over me as I tried to click Reconstitute.

You have died!

Half your experience toward level two lost!

Zero points lost.    

Two minutes and twenty seconds of hellfire might as well have been two hours.

I awakened in the middle of the room, sobbing.

Holy shit. It felt as if bugs crawled all over me. Burning, biting, unbearable.

I stayed like that for some time, not moving, not knowing what to do. I needed to avoid dying. I wouldn’t be able to endure that again. I had to get out of here. My nerves continued to scream with phantom pain. 

Are you… are you my daddy?

The voice spoke in my mind. It was the voice of a little boy. I felt the worm in my stomach twitch.

What the hell?

“Hello?” I said. My voice echoed in the chamber.

When you die, I also die if I am inside of you. It hurts to die. Also, I’m hungry, daddy. I am eating, but I’m not getting full.

“Uh, Banksy?” I said.

Is that my name? Banksy? I like it. I need food, daddy. I am eating you, but it’s not working. What do I do?

Shit. Anatoly hadn’t told me the gut hook would talk.

“I’m a worm surgeon,” I said. “You can’t feed off of me.”

How will I live, then? I need to eat.

“I don’t know,” I said. “But don’t call me that.”

You are my daddy, daddy. What else can I call you?

“I don’t know. Call me Duke.”

I’m not going to do that. You’re my daddy.

My stomach lurched in pain.

Banksy has low health.

I’m so hungry, Banksy said. Daddy, I don’t want to die again. It hurts. It hurts so much. I’m scared.

“You and me both, kid,” I said.

A few minutes later, I hauled myself to my feet and spent some more time exploring. There were three doors in the room. One was the main door to the outside. Anatoly had warned I’d die immediately if I went out there. The next was what I presumed to be the bathroom. When I opened it, it turned out to be a closet filled with clothes, armor, and weapons. When I tried to touch one suit of blue, shimmering armor, my hands moved through it like it wasn’t there. I received a message.

You may not loot owned items in this base.

I spent some time examining the weapons. This was an odd game with a strange array of weapons. There were two standard, one-handed longswords that one would find in any type of sword and sorcery game. One of the swords glowed blue, indicating, I assumed, it was enchanted. A crossbow that appeared to be made of bones hung from a hook on the wall. A spear leaned up against it.

But there were also more modern weapons. A Winchester-like rifle sat next to what resembled an unloaded RPG. And piled up next to those were seven or eight retro-futuristic hand blasters. These were silver and red pistol-like weapons that appeared they’d be home in any space shooter game. Multiple other odds and ends filled the cluttered closet. Quivers, ammo packets, soda can-like devices that looked like they might be grenades and so forth. The system wouldn’t even tell me what they were. I couldn’t pick up or wield any of them.

The weapons made me think of my inventory, and I wondered how it worked. All games like this dealt with inventory in different ways. In some games, your personal inventory was limited to what you could actually carry. It was realistic, but also a pain. In others, there was an inventory menu, and you had to pull it up, and the item magically appeared in your hand. A third option was the bigger-on-the-inside storage pack.

This game utilized a hybrid of the second and third options. I had a small pack looped over my shoulder, no bigger than a fanny pack. I hadn’t even noticed it until I thought about it and reached over. I had to stick my hand in the pack, and a list popped up. I could select one of the items, and it would appear in my hand. I tried it out with a couple oranges and apples. It also listed my current teeth count, which was a big, fat zero. I wasn’t sure what the true capacity of the pack was, but it appeared to be based on total mass, not the number of items.

I closed the door and moved to the third room. This was a large, sliding door next to the bed. In the real world, Anatoly had indicated he had a server room hidden somewhere past his bedroom, though I hadn’t seen a door. I grasped the door and tried to slide it open and received a message.

You do not have access to this area.

I sighed. I’d explored the entire apartment, base, whatever this was, and there wasn’t much here. I couldn’t even move the furniture around. I could only pick up and use smaller objects like the pillows and the sheets on the bed. If I placed my hand on the very top of any item, from the couch to a glass sitting on the counter by the sink, I could pop up a menu similar to the one on the food boxes, but I couldn’t interact with the menu at all.

All that left me with was the door to outside. The edges and cracks of the large, wooden door were stained red with blood. I placed my hand against the wood. It was warm, and it pulsated with a slow, rhythmic boom. Bast’s heartbeat.

Outside.

Well, not outside. The ground lurched, reminding me where I really was. I pictured the beast. A six-legged lion with tentacles erupting from its back. Anatoly had said we were in the bowels. So if I left, would I be able to get myself outside? And if I got outside, would I somehow be able to get back to town?

Probably not. But what if I could get to town? It was relatively safe there. Maybe in town I’d be able to level up a few times, get more strength and endurance. If I could level up, get some gear, maybe figure out a way to get myself to a place where I could power my way to a level that was suitable for this area…

Then what? I could surpass Anatoly in power here in the game, but what difference did it make? He had me trapped in a damn prison pod. He had access to Mary and Ruth.

Daddy, it hurts.

Banksy has died.

I felt a quick surge as I absorbed his soul power.

That was quick, quicker than I thought it would be. It had been what? Two hours since he’d last died? He starved to death quickly.

Banksy, level 1 Gut Hook has regenerated.

Daddy, what happened? I think I died, but it didn’t hurt as much as when you die. I’m not hungry anymore.

“You did die,” I said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to feed you.”

What are we going to do?

“Can you leave my body?” I asked. “Like, is there a way for you to, uh, crawl out of me so I can feed you?”

I can come out of you, Banksy said. But I am very small, and I can’t leave until I am level 5. You’ll have to kill something for me and feed it to me.

“Uh, where do you come out?” I asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Damnit. I was supposed to just let the familiar starve to death every few hours. If I didn’t, I would be the one who ended up dying. I couldn’t feed it. If I ate anything, I would immediately die. And I had to get the food to my stomach to feed my worm. 

Still, if I just left things as they were, neither of us would ever level up. I wasn’t sure if my situation was truly hopeless or not, but getting more powerful seemed like the best and only chance I had.

I eyed the cabinet with the food boxes. “Can you eat human food? Or fae food?”

I can only eat flesh. Flesh killed by either you or me.

“So no fruit or vegetables? If I give you an orange from the food box, would that at least keep you alive?” I didn’t know where I was going with this. I couldn’t eat the food, and the idea of shoving an apple up my own zombie ass to feed my tapeworm was just… I didn’t want to go there. But there had to be some way to do it.

No, daddy. I only eat what I kill, what you kill, or you. It has to be flesh. I can sometimes eat other stuff, but it has to be meat. I won’t grow if you or I didn’t kill it. Daddy, I lied when I said I was full. I can feel myself getting hungry again.

Shit. Maybe if I leveled up a few times, I’d find a better way or get a new skill. I placed my hand on the door to the outside. 

I pulled it open.

Chapter 7

The door opened slowly, hesitantly. Despite its solid appearance, it had a flimsy, non-rigid quality to it, like I was peeling wet cardboard off a wall. A shower of slime and gore dripped from the jam as the door slurped open. A blast of heat crashed into me.

I stared into dripping, humid darkness. A high-ribbed ceiling throbbed, barely lit by the room behind me. Flowing, splashing rapids of sewage rushed past about four feet below. The river rushed up at me suddenly, as if the room was falling. I clutched onto the entranceway as the world lurched, moving separately from the exit, causing the dark liquid to splash through the entry and onto my feet.

I realized Anatoly’s apartment was on some sort of gyro, so that it stayed relatively level as the beast moved around. It was like looking through the door of a washing machine. Even though Anatoly’s base lurched and lunged like the deck of a ship, the interior of the beast was much more chaotic. What I took as the creature simply walking around now appeared as if it was running or fighting something, only stopping to roar. 

Shit. How could I move through this? I’d be pulverized in seconds if I went out there. Plus, I needed light. I looked back dubiously at the fireplace. I might be able to fashion some sort of torch, but it would probably get wet with the gore and monster shit flowing through the bowels. And what could I use as the torch itself?

A creature the size of a city bus scuttled down the river, rushing past. I stood there at the exit, open-mouthed. The millipede-like creature boasted legs around its entire circumference, like a barrel cactus, and it made a hissing noise. I stared after it, my heart pounding. It just kept coming and coming. It disappeared into the darkness. A message popped up as I stared.

Activate Frame Vision?

What the hell is that? I clicked yes.

The world transformed from darkness to a green-tinted monochrome. I could now see in both directions along the curving bowels. Similar to night vision, but I could also see through the rushing liquid below, like everything was reduced to a wire diagram. Small, crab-like creatures scuttled about in the sewage. I could see the skeletal outlines of the crabs.

A new message popped up, asking me if I wanted to use auto-frame vision, so that it would turn on automatically when I was in low light. I clicked yes. I spent a few moments searching the menus for a description of the x-ray skill, and I found it in a menu under race traits and skills. It had a few things listed there I wasn’t aware of:

Race Traits and Skills:

Soul Siphon

Life Tap

Frame Vision

Famine

Breathless

Additional skills may be unlocked at higher levels.

This was yet another menu different from spells. Soul Siphon was my ability to recharge my soul points from the recently-deceased, and Life Tap was the debuff that made my life gradually tick away. Famine was also a debuff, which I’d already learned about the hard way. Any food I ate immediately turned to poison.

Breathless seemed to imply that I could breathe underwater and that I was immune to toxic gas and certain types of suffocation.

The description for Frame Vision was interesting:

The interstices of life become visible to you, allowing vision where there is no light. Only active during deep dive surgery and exploration.

I assumed “deep dive” meant being inside of the kaiju. This was an extremely useful skill, though I still wasn’t sure it was a suitable trade-off for my life constantly ticking away.

The world outside the door continued to twist and slosh, though it seemed the kaiju—Bast—was settling down. I wondered if it had a regular sleep schedule. If so, I’d have to time my explorations around that.

I eyed the mini crab things again, crawling about in the river. I wondered if I would get experience if I killed them. Each was about the size of my fist, and there were hundreds of them. They seemed to cling directly to the flesh of the bowel, undisturbed by Bast’s movements. Upon closer examination the crabs appeared to be small bird skulls with crab legs and pincers.

I didn’t have a weapon. If I jumped down there, I’d only be able to pull myself back up if Bast wasn’t bouncing around too much. Still, I needed to figure out if this was a doable plan.

I held my breath, and I jumped into the brown river.

Entering Bast. Lower Intestine.

I splashed down, knee-deep in the fetid water. It had the consistency of a thick, warm stew, and multiple chunks flowed past, banging into my legs, threatening to toss me face-first into the muck. Above, the doorway bobbed up and down like a beacon, a yawning mouth of safety. From this angle I could see the apartment was a large, round polyp on the side of the intestine, taking up barely a third of the circumference of the tunnel. 

At my feet, the crabs seemed to sense my presence and scattered away. Their outlines walked sideways, like normal crabs. In the distance, something roared.

Multiple waypoints popped up in my vision. Each waypoint was a purple, blinking cross. Most of the crosses appeared to be moving. I focused on one of them, and more information popped up:

Level 10 Parasite Infestation

112 Meters Away – Sartorius Muscle

Warning: Your Antiparasitic talent is not adequate for this level of infestation.

Warning: Guardian Bast is in dire health.  

I dismissed the warnings for now. I found Windows VR actions worked in the game. If I flicked to the top right of my vision and did the proper head tilt, I could cycle through multiple views. I fiddled with the settings so now the waypoints would only appear if the targets were less than 100 meters away. If I managed to level up enough maybe I could try some low-level healing, but I wasn’t ready for that. For now all the moving purple waypoints were a distraction.

“Okay you little fuckers,” I said. I eyed a single critter, smaller than the others, scuttling along sluggishly. I stomped. The ground had a spongey, uneven feeling to it, like I was stepping on an old mattress, but I still felt a satisfying crunch. I felt the now-familiar whoosh as I siphoned away a small amount of soul power.

Experience earned!

Yes!

I glanced at my experience and figured it’d take three more dead crabs to level up. I turned, searching for more beasties to smash.

“Ahh, shit,” I barely had time to say as the wave of crabs, hundreds of them, reached my ankles, biting and stabbing and slicing as they swept over me, pulling me down into the river. I was down before I could taste the river of kaiju shit fill my lungs.

***

You have died four times.

I gasped as I awakened, once again, on the floor. I clenched my eyes closed. This is too much. This is too much.

I pulled myself into a ball, and I didn’t move for a long, long time.

Chapter 8

I died three more times over the next two days. You would think I’d get used to it, that the constant deaths would build up a tolerance to the pain. The opposite was true. The two minutes and twenty seconds of hellfire after each death was a longer and longer ordeal each time. It made me make mistakes. Each time I died, I lost half of my experience to the next level. I managed to kill two crabs this last time before they overwhelmed me, leaving me at a point where I just needed to kill two more to get to level two.

Bast’s movements were irregular, however, and sometimes I’d open the door to find the outside (inside?) world in turmoil. One time the kaiju rolled over, and the entire world outside the room spun, leaving the door facing the wall of the intestine for a few moments.

Still, I suspected, Bast did have a regular schedule. What seemed irregular and random was a cycle that would repeat. I observed, noting his movements using the virtual scratchpad in my memory. Eventually I found it. He’d move around for two hours, culminating in some sort of tussle where he completely rolled over a few times. Then he’d sleep for two hours, leaving the world outside the base relatively calm. It was during this time that I was able to go outside.

The giant, train-like parasites that moved about Bast were not on any sort of regular schedule that I could see. Fortunately, I had my surgery warnings set so a waypoint popped up when a major infestation appeared within 100 meters of me. As a result, I had a few seconds of warning before one rushed by. The second time I had died out here, I’d been too slow to scramble back into the base as one came rocketing down the intestine. It had paused before me, its massive, round mouth sucking me in like a piece of spaghetti. When I’d regenerated two and half minutes later, it remained right outside the door, still crunching on my dead body.

The crabs were like any other neutral mob in a game. They left me alone unless I attacked or hurt one, and then they swarmed over me in seconds. They were probably nothing more than a minor nuisance to high-level players. I needed to come up with an alternative plan.

I needed a weapon, preferably a gun. Sniping them from the doorway would probably work if I found something that penetrated liquid.

But none of the weapons in Anatoly’s closet were lootable. So that plan was useless.

My next best option would be to try to explore Bast, maybe find something else I could kill. Or better yet find a way out of the monster all together and somehow make my way back to Medina. I was sure if I could get back there I’d be able to level much more easily.

Banksy died just about every two to four hours. It wasn’t consistent. He’d die, and I’d use the soul power to cast Reconstitute on myself. The worm didn’t talk so much anymore, though he did sometimes make a comment as he died. He’d make a sound like a sob in my mind, ask me for food, and then he would shudder and die.

I didn’t have a clock, but I did have the 24-hour countdown in the channel menu for the tv display.

Ruth’s screen was just static with an “out of range” notification that second day. I knew she was supposed to be on an airplane right around then, so I assumed that was the issue.

Mary’s feed was pure heartbreak.

Anatoly had sent her a text, pretending it was me. Fucking hell. I wasn’t sure exactly what it’d said, but it was something along the lines of “I know you’ve been cheating on me. I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back. Don’t try to find me. Fuck you.”

I watched as she dialed my phone over and over, each time getting a message saying the mailbox was full. She would alternate this with call after call to my address book as I listened and watched. She was at the point where she was calling people I went to high school with, those I hadn’t talked to in decades. I felt goddamned helpless at her panic.

I listened to her talk to her mother. She’d called the police earlier, but they wouldn’t do anything, not yet.

His fucking daughter is supposed to move in with us today, and I just can’t take it. I don’t know what to do, she’d said.

She’d logged into my phone account and used the tracking option, but it had been turned off the day before I even visited Anatoly. He’d gotten into my account, erasing all evidence we ever talked. After he sent that last text, he’d nuked the phone.

I am going to kill you. I am going to tear you to shreds.

The next day was worse.

Each day I watched for an hour and then had to wait 24 hours before I could watch again, meaning each day I started watching an hour later than the day before. It was early evening on this third day when I was finally able to log back into the video system.

I sat on the floor constructing the cage as I watched my daughter, Ruth, rush from the house, screaming, dragging her duffel bag. I’d missed whatever set her off. She’d been fighting with Mary. Those two had never gotten along. I’d been worried about how they’d react to each other when I was home and a buffer between the two. With me gone, with their stress levels maxed out, a blowout was inevitable. Ruth wasn’t Mary’s daughter. Mary hadn’t wanted her to move in at all. She’d only agreed because I’d begged, promising it’d be temporary until Ruth found a job.

I don’t think I can even look at her, Duke, Mary had said, when I first broached the subject. She killed my son. She killed our son.

That’s not fair, I’d replied.

I watched Mary throw herself onto her bed, crying. Ruth stormed out onto the street, swearing under her breath. Later, I watched, helpless, as she approached a group of men at a bus stop.

Don’t do it, don’t do it.

“Hey, any of you guys got…”

The feed cut off for the day. I screamed, banging my hands against the wall.

I tried not to think of it as I went back to work on my trap. I tried, but I couldn’t concentrate. Falling into the fire was no worse than this.

Still, I had work to do. I couldn’t use anything in the base for supplies, so I’d climbed out and waded through the river, picking out random bits of bone and long, stringy ropes that I believed to be dead parasites. The earthworm-like husks were fat and stretchy, more like gummy worms than real ones. I had to be careful not to even brush up against the crabs, or they’d swarm. I’d throw the bits up through the open door and pull myself back in when the intestine swayed low enough for me to grab at the entranceway.

My hands shook as I finished the cage, wrapping the sinewy worms around the bone. I was obsessed with that 24-hour countdown, but maybe it would be better if I didn’t watch at all. There was nothing I could do, and watching the pain of my wife and child was just making it worse. Much worse.

I’d found that the crabs loved the food from the food boxes. I’d tossed a pear down into the muck, and they’d eaten it in seconds. With that knowledge, I’d built three crab traps. The first was much too weak, and even though I’d managed to entrap two of the bird skull monsters, they’d ripped their way out in seconds. The second trap was built twice as strong, and they still managed to claw their way out.

This was my third attempt, and if they could break out of this one before I hauled it up, this whole venture was useless. Anything sturdier would be too heavy.

This time the human food box provided a bunch of grapes. I tossed a few of them into the bone trap and dropped the whole thing over the edge of the doorway and into the river of effluent, all connected to a rope of tied-together tapeworm corpses.

The crabs swarmed the trap. I pulled, dragging the makeshift line back up. Crabs cascaded off the box, but as I managed to wrangle it back through the doorway, I had five of the little fuckers trapped within, all desperately attempting to get out.

I hauled the box into the room and popped the top off. I smashed the crabs one by one with my boot as they swarmed out of the cage.

Level Up!

You are now Level 2.

Upgrades Available.

Yes!

I repeated the process multiple times. By the time I was level five, the crabs had stopped giving any noticeable experience at all. They still gave a good jolt of soul power, though. They also became wary of the trap.

In theory, Anatoly couldn’t see my level. I had to use that to my advantage.

I needed to hide the trap, but I didn’t want to just toss it. I jumped back down into the river, giving the crabs a wide berth. Luckily their aggro wasn’t activated. The underside of the base was pocked and pitted, like the slimy walls of a tidal cave. I found a good nook and shoved the cage in as far as it could go. Something screamed in the distance, sounding surprisingly-human, making me work faster. I didn’t know if it would stay when Bast was in one of his more active moods, but it was the best I could do.

Shivering and dripping with monster shit, I scrambled back into the apartment. I needed to pick my upgrades.

Chapter 9

Upon level-up, I could finally access the Upgrades tab. I spent some time poring over the menu. I had multiple options, and I needed to make an informed decision.

Each time I leveled up, I received a single point I could add to my base stats, and I received three skill tree points I could add to my spells or skills. I had four base points and twelve skill tree points to spend. The base points were straightforward. I had five different base stats: Strength, Acumen, Durability, Deftness, and Charm. 

As a worm surgeon, I started off with a base of twelve for acumen, ten for strength and deftness, an eight for durability, and a five for charm. As an artist, I received a three-point boost to charm and a one-point boost to deftness. Apparently there were some other benefits as well, but they were skill-based, and I currently didn’t have any of the appropriate skills.

As a result, my current stats were as follows:

Strength: 10

Acumen: 12

Durability: 8

Deftness: 11

Charm: 8

My initial instinct was to pile the points into durability, which had a direct effect on my ability to consume damage before I died. The more durable I was, the better my chances of making it out of Bast. On the other hand, if I raised my acumen, I could store more soul points. As long as I was quick with my healing, point-for-point, it was probably a more efficient use of my stats. Charm was useless for now.

Deftness, this game’s version of agility, was a bit of a wildcard. If I ever managed to get a gun or a ranged weapon, this was probably an important stat. Plus my ability to sneak around unseen required a high deftness.

Something else was nagging at me. Anatoly had really wanted me to stay away from strength-based skills and players. Strength only really mattered once I started dealing in melee combat, but why didn’t he want me to have it? In other, well-established games, it was easy to make decisions because I could read up extensively on what skill did what. Here, it was all guesswork. Once you spent a point, you couldn’t take it back.

I decided to look through the spells and skills before I made a decision. 

I started with spells. The descriptions in this menu were more extensive than in the main spell menu, which I thought was odd. This whole game had the feeling of someone who cared more about the aesthetics of the world than the under-the-hood stuff required to make a good game great. It still felt beta, unfinished and unrefined, like the actual game stuff was a burden on the system. While I thought the streamlined HUD was great, I didn’t like the inefficiency of the way the menus stacked.

I also noticed that spell cost was always a percentage, not numbers. If I adjusted my Acumen up, those percentages went down as my total soul points went up. But if I leveled-up a spell, the percentages would go up. It was kind of an odd way to do it. It made it so you didn’t have to think so hard when you were casting spells off the cuff, but it also was confusing to me in terms of power and levels. I preferred hard numbers.

I currently had two spells: Reconstitute—which was my heal spell and Upcycle. The Upcycle spell had been unclear to me. I read the description three times before I realized what it was saying:

Allows for the caster to swap out body parts, which may have an effect on certain stats, skills, and magic abilities. Warning: a durability of 15, the Scalpel spell, and the Wicked Meat skill are recommended before attempting an Upcycle. Successful Upcycles are permanent changes to your body and will persist even upon death. Spell unlocks at level 40. 

If the spell unlocked at level 40, why did I have it now? Weird. Did that mean I wouldn’t be able to use it? It seemed like I could. I’d tried it before, and it had triggered, but it gave me a warning that I didn’t have all the necessary materials.

More importantly, it seemed like the spell allowed me to physically upgrade myself. But how did I get the replacement parts?

I couldn't choose the Wicked Meat skill, whatever that did, but I did have the ability to pick Scalpel. It cost five skill points. I read the description.

Transforms dominant hand into an adjustable, physical cutting or fighting tool. Total damage is based on Acumen, spell level, and Strength. Costs 7.3% of soul points per minute Scalpel is active. Spell upgrades increase sharpness, damage, and blade durability. Warning: breaking of the Scalpel results in amputation.

Not to be confused with the Incision surgical talent, which is a guided cutting process

An offensive spell! I had multiple other spells I could choose, and I read through them all. I didn’t have any ranged attack spells. Not yet. Each time I leveled up, a few additional spells appeared, but the names of the level 6 and above couldn’t be drilled down to the descriptions. I saw once I hit level 10, the floodgates would be opened, giving me access to a hundred different spells. Most of the ones now seemed to be movement and survival-based. There were a few tracking spells and a fast travel spell. There was a spell to start a fire. There were also a few defensive spells. One that hardened the skin, one that apparently made you so ugly, human-based opponents were scared of you. There was a spell that removed the skin off a defeated creature, which was gross but not so uncommon. This game seemed to have a small crafting element.

At first, I was interested in the fast travel spell, but it looked like it could only take me back to my respawn. So it was useless. The real movement spell was Teleport, and I couldn’t get that until I was level 12.

I definitely wanted the Scalpel spell, but I moved over to the skills menu. The main difference between skills and spells was that skills were either passive—meaning they were always active—or they didn’t require any soul points to utilize.

Like with the spells, the skills were mostly survival, hunting, and movement-based. It seemed worm surgeons had several tracking-themed quests early in the game. One skill in particular, however, caught my eye.

Gross Anatomy. Adds the minimap and full-screen map to your menu during deep dive surgery in guardians other than the Shrill. Higher levels increase map detail.

A map would be extremely useful. It cost five skill points.

Another skill caught my eye. It had unlocked at level five and also cost five skill points.

Grappling Hook. Especially useful in deep-dive situations. Transforms non-dominant hand into a retractable grappling hook. Higher levels increase distance and the ability to grasp with more efficiency. This is a bionic upgrade. Bionic upgrades require a visit to a Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades location. 

I wanted that grappling hook, but it looked like I wouldn’t be able to get it while I was stuck in here.

I’d learned long ago that sometimes it was best not to blow your skill points as soon as you got them, but I decided to spend ten of my twelve right now. I gave myself the Scalpel spell and the Gross Anatomy skill.

The moment I chose the mapping skill, a 3D, cube-shaped map appeared in my upper right vision. If I focused on it, I could either increase its size or twist it around. I spun the map around a few times, zooming in and out. It was low in detail, showing tunnels and passageways. It labeled some, but not all, of the body parts. It also showed the location of the giant train parasites and other internal issues with Bast, which I would need to know if I wanted to heal the kaiju. Also, if I zoomed all the way out, I could see the current shape of the monster and what it was doing. Bast was curled up like a cat, sleeping. Its tentacles waved above its bulk, each reaching dozens of meters into the air.

Before I moved back to the base stats menu, I took a quick peek at my surgery menu. This was the third menu of skills, spells, whatever they were, though it appeared you gained these abilities whether you wanted them or not. There seemed to be a leveling system for them also, but it was separate from the regular leveling. My antiparasitic and cauterize talents had leveled on their own even though I hadn’t used them. Before I only had two surgical talents: Antiparasitic and Cauterize. Now I had two more:

Antiparasitic: level 2

Cauterize: level 2

Incision: level 1

Lance: level 1

I would explore those later. I was pretty sure I could only use them on designated parts of the kaiju.

I went back to base stats. Unlike skill points, it was usually wise to use your stat points as soon as possible—as long as you had a solid long-term upgrade plan. There was no point in hoarding them, and I needed to decide what to do.

I wanted access to that Upcycle spell, which meant I needed to up my durability. But I also had this gut feeling about strength, that it would be useful. It went against my usually well-thought-out upgrade plans, but this early on in a game a few points thrown in the wrong direction usually weren’t that big of a deal. I didn’t think I was wrong though.

“Tank build it is,” I muttered. I added three points to durability and one to strength. I didn’t feel any stronger after, but my life bar grew. So at the end of my upgrades, I looked like this:

Strength: 11

Acumen: 12

Durability: 11

Deftness: 11

Charm: 8

The first thing I did was cast Scalpel. My right hand transformed itself into a short, gleaming blade. If I focused on the blade I could make it thinner and longer. It felt fragile in this configuration, though, and I remembered the warning about my hand amputating if it broke. I moved it back to the short, solid, and sharp configuration, like a hand-sized Xacto knife. The sensation was odd, like I suddenly lost all feeling in my palm and fingers. It would be awkward fighting with this thing, but it was better than using my feet to smash down on the crabs.

I switched it off before I lost any more soul points.

I needed to get back out there. I planned to explore further out now I had a map and a better weapon.

As I prepared to leave, I was interrupted by the loud crack of someone teleporting into the center of the room.

With a puff of smoke, three figures entered the base.

Chapter 10

Two players and the largest snake I had ever seen appeared before me.

The two humanoids stared back at me as if they were just as surprised as I was. A man and a woman. Both were players. Real, actual people. The man was huge, and the woman was diminutive.

The massive, hulking man was one of the ogres. A nerve agent. He stood almost seven feet tall, reminiscent of the half-ogre characters from Dominion of Blades, though these guys had a blue tinge to their skin and saggy, mottled jowls. His arms were each as thick as the legs of an elephant. He wore extensive, complicated leather armor that was all buckles and studs, a maze of belts and straps and the occasional tassel. My first thought was overenthusiastic BDSM gear. The note over his head read SmashSouth – Player (Level X).

The ogre had a yellow boa constrictor coiled near his legs. The snake hissed and uncurled from the nerve agent, slithering toward the fireplace. The thing was huge, about twelve feet long, as wide around as a manhole cover. Over the snake was Familiar – Player SmashSouth.

The woman was a fae. Her skin was ivory white, and she stood just about five feet tall, her body unnaturally thin. She wore simple, black pants, a gray, short-sleeved shirt and heavy, military-style boots. Her jet-black hair cascaded down her back. She had straight bangs that ended just above her eyes, and elf ears poked out either side of her head. She looked like a Vulcan from Star Trek going through a vampire goth stage. Clara – Player (Level X).

“Ah yes, the artist,” SmashSouth said. He had a deep voice, but not as gravely as I would expect. “When was the last time you saw Anatoly?”

“Please,” I said, looking between the two. Clara ignored me and rushed toward the cabinet where her food cabinet was. “You have to help me.”

“Shut the fuck up and answer my question,” SmashSouth said.

I stood straighter. This guy wasn’t going to help me. This was “the client.” His boa constrictor curled itself into a pile in front of the fireplace. Clara rustled about the food cabinet, not talking.

“Which is it?” I said. “You want me to answer the question or do you want me to shut the fuck up?”

Clara laughed, turning from her spot in the kitchen. She had what appeared to be a candy apple in her hand. She took a bite. “This one has got some sass,” she said with a mouth full of caramel and apple.

SmashSouth growled and turned toward the wall, waving his hand. The view screen appeared but fizzled out. There were still twenty hours left before the timer reset. He growled again and started typing in the air.

“He gave us administrator abilities, but I am locked out of almost everything,” he muttered. “Still, I think I… yes. I’m gonna have to reset it. Here it is.”

The view screen snapped on. It was still on Ruth’s channel, and I caught a glimpse of the glow of a meth pipe for just a second before the screen erupted in static. Signal Lost appeared in ominous letters. SmashSouth changed the channel a few times, landing on Fox News.

Goddamnit. Fuck. She’d been working so hard. She’d gone through withdrawal in prison and went straight to the halfway house. It’d been a year and a half since she’d used. I’d been hopeful, so damn hopeful.

What a waste. When I got out of here, I wasn’t going to go to the police. I was going to hunt these fuckers down, every last one of them.

I’d been so focused on my daughter that I wasn’t paying attention to what was playing on the vid. Both Clara and SmashSouth watched, riveted. I turned my attention to the screen.

The screen showed a small, brick house, covered in snow. Men in FBI jackets and about a hundred cops milled about. Flashing lights and yellow police tape set the scene. The caption on the news screen read: Fitchburg, Massachusetts. House of Horrors.

“…Police arrested two men in conjunction with the murders. A spokesperson for the FBI stated the arrests were part of a much larger investigation and that multiple arrests around the United States have been made with more imminent…”

The scene changed to a backhoe ripping through the snow and dirt. It switched to two men carrying a stretcher with a sealed black bag on top.

“…It is unclear how these arrests are connected with last night’s arrests in Fitchburg. However, the police have been able to confirm that one of the two men arrested is indeed the prime suspect for the spate of killings that terrorized central Massachusetts for the past several years. The killer, dubbed ‘Frankenstein’s Monster’ is reportedly responsible for the kidnapping and dismemberment of at least two dozen teenaged boys. The killings had stopped for over a year until last week when police discovered the body of 15-year-old Sean Walford, who’d disappeared from home earlier this year.”

A picture of a smiling, red-haired boy holding a basketball filled the screen.

“Walford’s body had been dismembered and then sewn back together using parts from at least three different people. Police are still seeking information on the identity of the other victims.”

“It’s not three, it’s five, dumbasses,” Clara called at the screen. She had a smear of caramel around her face. “It’s always five different people. All boys except the heart.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “Mommy issues.”

SmashSouth paced back and forth, chewing on his fingernail. He had a sleek, black assault rifle slung over his shoulder. It glowed in intervals with blue light. It was the same type of rifle Anatoly carried. “That dumbass,” he muttered. “Anatoly, Frank, Sal, and Princess. All locked up because he couldn’t keep it in-game. Fuck.”

“Wait,” I said, looking sharply up at the television. I’m going to Boston, he’d said. “Anatoly has been arrested?”

Hope swelled in my chest. If Anatoly was locked up, that meant they’d eventually search his apartment, and when they did, they’d find me trapped there. I was saved!

“Don’t look so excited,” SmashSouth said. “Nobody knows where the servers are located. Even if the cops manage to log in, which I doubt, they ain’t finding his lair. That means you’re just gonna rot.” He looked up at Clara. “Both of you are gonna rot.”

Clara laughed. She continued to munch on her candied apple.

“It looks like Anatoly topped up my rig when he snagged mister crypt keeper here. I have a good six months of sustenance keeping my pretty little body alive.” She finished the apple and threw it, stick and core, right at my head. I ducked, bewildered.

“How about you?” She asked. “You probably got six months left, too. Am I right?”

“Uh…” I began. Was this Clara woman a prisoner like I was, or was she one of Anatoly’s cronies?

“I know you have access,” she said. “He always gives them access. Go into your menu and look at ‘rig status.’ It should tell you the condition of your real body. Tell me what your sustenance number is.”

I had already seen this menu. I pulled it up now:

Rig

Active, no issues.

Waste Disposal: Active, no issues.

Sustenance: Active. 179.

Cap: 100% (Battery life 99.5% of peak efficiency)

Con: SCL Connected.

Subject

BPM: 67

BP: 125/82

“Uh, it says 179,” I said.

She nodded. “That means you have 179 feedings left. You get fed once a day.”

The ogre character continued to pace back and forth, his hands on his head. “We are so fucked,” he said. “Damn you, Frank. Fuck.”

Clara turned back to SmashSouth. “You know, for a sociopath, you sure are high strung.”

“I’m not a sociopath,” SmashSouth muttered, eyes glued to the television. He flipped channels, stopping on Sky News. They were also talking about the arrests. “Fucking Frank,” he repeated.

“You know, it’s kind of ironic,” Clara said. I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me or SmashSouth. “They call him ‘Frankenstein’s Monster.’ Usually they called that green monster dude ‘Frankenstein,’ when the real Frankenstein is the doctor guy who created the monster. You’re supposed to call that monster ‘Frankenstein’s Monster,’ but they never do. They always just call it Frankenstein.” She jabbed her thumb at the television screen. “But now, they’re calling Frank ‘Frankenstein’s Monster.’ But he’s really the one putting the bodies together. So he’s really the doctor in this scenario. He should just be called ‘Frankenstein.’ You know what I mean? So they got it backward. Again.” She laughed. “The news media is so fucked up.”

“He called himself that,” I said, turning my attention back to the news. “He did in his first note.” I knew the story. I spoke, numb, my mind finally starting to catch up to everything that was going on around me. The serial killer from Massachusetts had been arrested. I remembered them finding the body of that missing kid. All the parts had been cut out and then sewn back together. Frankenstein’s Monster was one of Anatoly’s clients, I realized with horror. These two knew exactly who the serial killer was. Anatoly had also been arrested, along with a few other people.

“No shit?” Clara asked. She laughed again. “He called himself that? I didn’t know that. What a fucking idiot.”  

“I need to get out of here,” SmashSouth announced. He pulled up an invisible menu and started typing furiously. “Jesus. They could be closing in right now. They’re probably trying to log in right now.”

“Quit being such a fucking pussy,” Clara said. “Christ, you’re whining worse than that poet woman Anatoly brought us.”

“Us?” SmashSouth said, his voice going up an octave. He continued to type in the air. “There’s gotta be a way to erase… There is no us.”

Clara leaped over the kitchen counter, catlike, moving faster than I thought possible. She came toe to toe with SmashSouth.

“You will not leave me here,” she said, growling the words. “If you leave me, I’ll tell them who you really are.”

The nerve agent paused, looking down at the diminutive figure next to him.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

She made an exasperated noise. “I know you’re from Omaha, Nebraska. I know you’re rich. I know you’re married to a real estate broker. I know you have a daughter. I know you have a Pomeranian named Missy Peapanties. I know you have a fetish for cutting holes in women and then with your itty, bitty…”

With a shrug, SmashSouth pulled the pulse rifle up over his shoulder, brought it to bear, and blasted Clara point-blank in the face. The rifle made a phoom noise, high and loud. The fae flew backward, her head just gone, her body spiraling blood like a goddamned pinwheel. Her tiny body crunched against the kitchen counter she’d just leaped over, crumpling to the floor. All of her clothes were gone. All that remained was a naked, anatomically-correct corpse. I blinked at that, surprised, shocked at the sudden nudity. My own corpse was always naked, but I hadn’t thought about it until now. In most games, your body was stripped of all its gear and clothes, but a simple, underwear-clad version remained.

I doubted the original version of the game was like this. It had to be something Anatoly added.

The smell of fire and smoke filled the room.

The snake looked up from the fire, then slithered toward the body.

I remained there, unmoving, unsure of what to do. The nerve agent and I both stood still for several moments.

“That’s the first time I’ve ever actually fired this gun,” SmashSouth finally said, breathing heavily, looking down at the body. “I hate video games.” 

It was such an odd thing to say, I didn’t have a response. The snake opened its mouth wide, taking Clara’s corpse into its mouth, head first. The countdown timer above her head flickered away the moment the snake touched her body.

“I’ve only accidentally killed her a few times,” SmashSouth continued. He whispered the words, as if he was in a trance. He dropped the gun, and it clattered to the ground. “That’s why I was here. Anatoly promised me it was the most accurate simulation in the world. I could refine my skills on real people. Real, actual people. I know how close to the edge I can take them, but I get too excited sometimes. I could practice here, take them to that edge, the twilight area, the beautiful place. Anatoly said he could use me. I’d be a proctor. I don’t want them to die. I want that look in their eyes. Anatoly promised we’d all be human in the next version. It’s why I never quit. In the real world, I’m not this big.” He indicated the half-swallowed body on the ground. “And they’re usually not that small.” He was silent for a long time, and the room was filled with the guttural sound of the snake swallowing the body. “But I think I got a taste for it now, for the smaller ones.” He looked up at me, eyes going wide, as if he was surprised he wasn’t talking to an empty room. “That’s Anatoly’s fault. He said we’d all be humans in the next version. I was fine with the regular ladies. I don’t even want to play the game. After a while, I just wanted her.”

I still said nothing, my mind racing.

SmashSouth continued. “She’s been here longer than me. She likes it. It’s like a dream come true. I want them to like it. She wanted you here. She said she was a fan of your art.”

“She’ll be back in a minute,” I said, unsure of what else to say. She was a fan of your art. “I don’t know if this is her regen spot.”

“It is,” he said. “It’s not mine, but it’s hers. She’s the one with the brand.” He went back to typing. “I didn’t even want to play this stupid game,” he repeated. “I couldn’t even get up to the level 7 Anatoly wanted us to. I can’t even leave my home base.”

I didn’t think about what I did next. His words entered my mind, and I reacted on an instinctual level. I cast Scalpel, and I leaped at the ogre-like creature. I formed the blade into a long, thin, puncturing weapon. I punched right at his exposed neck, and I felt the satisfying give as the knife pierced flesh. I pulled my hand back and punched again and again. The nerve agent’s eyes went wide with surprise and pain.

He dropped like a sack of rocks as notifications popped up in my feed.

Level Up!  

You are now level 6!

Upgrades available.

I barely had time to register what I’d done. Chaos erupted the moment he hit the floor. The snake, in the middle of swallowing the body of Clara, began to buck wildly, throwing itself up and down, trying to bring itself to bear on me. It wanted to attack, but it couldn’t, not with its mouth full of the dead fae.

At the same time, Clara reappeared in the middle of the room. She arched her back, eyes rolling in an expression that I would assume to be pleasure if I didn’t know what she’d just gone through. A moment passed, then she unleashed an ear-shattering scream that never seemed to end.

The snake had what appeared to be a 140-second countdown timer over its head. I didn’t know what that was about, but I hoped it meant it would disappear. I didn’t wait. I leaped forward, slashing at the snake with my right hand. The blade bounced right off the tough scales, and the large snake hissed in outrage.

Oh fuck. It swung its head at me, the legs of Clara’s corpse still dangling from its mouth. I jumped back as it charged. It lifted its head up and down, like it was trying to swallow as rapidly as possible.

Clara pulled herself to her feet, brushing herself off. She looked down at the corpse of SmashSouth, eyes wide.

“Did you do that?” she asked as I fled the snake.

“He was less than level 7,” I gasped. I jumped over the couch, and the snake barreled over it, whipping at me. “I didn’t think about it. I just struck.”

“Well now you’re meat,” she said. “He might not be high level, but Ginger is. She’s gonna fuck you up.”

The snake—Ginger—smashed its own head against the wall, trying to dislodge the corpse stuck in its gullet.

“I didn’t think his pet would be harder to kill than him,” I said.

Clara grunted. “SmashSouth might not have played the game or trained himself up, but he let Ginger roam about Warble freely. Look how damn big she is, you moron. How do you think we teleported around? She’s a dimensional boa! She’s at least level 30.” 

In other games I’d played, your pet couldn’t be a higher level than you. That apparently wasn’t the case here.

I jumped and slid over the counter in the kitchen, jabbing again with my hand blade. It scratched at the side of Ginger’s enormous head but did no damage. Most of the Clara corpse was now gone. Just a pair of bare feet hung out its mouth. In a moment, it—her?—would be able to freely open and close her mouth.

The counter on her head was down to 30.

“What does the counter mean?” I shouted, jumping backward over the couch. We ran in circles around the apartment, but Ginger was faster than me. She would catch me at any moment.

“How the hell should I know?” Clara asked.

I leaped over SmashSouth’s corpse, and as I landed, my left hand hit solid metal. With surprise, I realized this was the ogre’s pulse rifle. I had erroneously assumed it was an owned item, something I wouldn’t be able to pick up. I deactivated my Scalpel spell and snatched it up, pulling it to my chest.

A few notifications scrolled by, but I didn’t have time to read them. A new gauge appeared in my interface underneath health and soul points, indicating energy level. It was all the way to the top. The large, sleek rifle vibrated in my hands. My finger found the trigger as I turned to face the giant constrictor barreling toward me.

I screamed as I pulled the trigger. The weapon thwumped in my hands as a blue bolt crashed into the snake’s head.

…and promptly bounced right off. Clara yelped as the energy pulse ripped over her head. It smashed into the wall, blowing the Manet into pieces.

Huh, I thought idly, as the snake clamped onto my chest. You can destroy things in the apartment if you have a powerful enough weapon. 

Chapter 11

The snake, thankfully, was gone when I regenerated. So was SmashSouth’s corpse.

Clara remained in the room. She had righted one of the chairs by the fireplace and sat upon it, cross-legged. She looked up at the vidscreen, which had been changed from a news station to what appeared to be a Korean soap opera.

I still had the rifle. I felt it slung over my shoulder, and the energy bar remained in the upper corner of my view.

I took a deep breath, trying not to scream. This is too much, this is too much.

I examined the rifle’s properties.

The Epiviper, Limited Edition. Number 4 of 7.

The finest pulse rifle manufactured by Epsilon Holdings. This small batch of limited edition rifles was commissioned by player Anatoly.

Highly upgradeable and endlessly versatile, the Epiviper is the most powerful, most efficient pulse rifle available to non-technology-based players.

Damage is based on player level and an attribute of the original owner’s choice.

Original owner: Player SmashSouth. Chosen attribute: Strength.  

No wonder I hadn’t managed to scratch SmashSouth’s pet snake. This seemed like a great gun, but it was only as good as your current level and strength. Still, it was rare to find a weapon that would grow with you. It appeared these guns were something that Anatoly had made for his friends in the game. I remembered SmashSouth had dropped it to the ground after he shot Clara. The act of letting go of the weapon outside of your own base must have made it fair game for everybody else.

Clara munched on a popsicle. “So apparently that countdown timer meant Ginger was about to disappear. She probably went back to SmashSouth’s base inside of Warble. She only had about four seconds left after she ripped you in half. You should’ve just kept running. How did you manage to kill SmashSouth anyway? I’ve tried stabbing him a couple times, and it didn’t work.”

I pulled myself up. Phantom flames licked at my nerves. Banksy thrashed about inside of me.

“Who are you?” I asked. “Anatoly said you were like me, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“I am what’s called a consumable,” the fairy said. “Like a toner cartridge for a printer. But I’m still ticking away. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I stabbed him in the neck using a spell,” I said. “I didn’t think it would work, either.”

“You must have lucked out and criticaled him. You probably gained a couple levels too. Did you get to level three?”

I didn’t want her to know I was level six. “I only went up one level,” I said, which was technically true.

She shrugged. “It probably won’t do you any good. This season has been dragging on for a year and a half, and I haven’t managed to go up a single level. Anyway, SmashSouth is probably not coming back any time soon. Anatoly had told him to teleport here to pick you up, but he can’t get in the base without my brand. He probably bugged out during that extended death sequence anyway. So now we’re stuck here. Assuming Anatoly doesn’t get out of prison in the next six months or one of those other crazy assholes doesn’t come in here looking for us—which they won’t—we’re probably dead. Like, really dead. At least we got cable.” She looked me up and down. “By the way, I’m not going to fuck you. Ever. Maybe if you had picked a less disgusting race. But this?” She waved up and down, indicating my body. “Nope. Not gonna happen, so don’t even ask.”

I had so many questions. So much didn’t make sense. “I was in his apartment,” I said. I indicated the room. “It looked just like this. Surely it’s not going to remain empty for the next six months. Someone has got to go in there and find us.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But I doubt it. The dude has like twenty identities. I’m pretty sure the version you met is not even close to the real deal. SmashSouth once said he thinks the real version is Dutch.”

“This is crazy,” I said, remembering the nervous man I’d met in Starbucks. He’d acted like he’d never been there before.

“Daddy’s boy in Seattle, right? He has the top floor, and they’re renovating the bottom into a coffee bar? That’s where Clara prime got snagged also. Yeah, he told me the same thing when he captured me all those months ago. Anyway, the building is likely owned by a shell company of a shell company of a shell company. All the day-to-day operations, including paying the power bill, are controlled by AI. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of time to think about this stuff. If the FBI ever tracks all that down, it’s gonna be months. Maybe years.”

“Besides,” she added. “Your body and my body are not in that apartment. Not anymore. A while back, I woke up in my rig suddenly. We weren’t in the apartment. It was a warehouse with high ceilings. I asked him about it, and he told me we get moved to another facility the moment we’re captured. The way he explained it, it sounded like it was far away, maybe even another country. I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.”

“But…” I said, my mind racing. “What about the others? Surely someone will talk. Tell them about the game, about us trapped here.”

“Pssh,” Clara said, throwing up her hands in disgust. On the television screen, a Korean woman was sneaking into a bedroom while two people slept. She put her hand on the man’s mouth, waking him up. “You’re one of those optimistic types, aren’t you? It’s gonna be a long six months if you’re gonna spend the whole time being hopeful and whatnot. If they find out about the game, and if they somehow manage to get an agent in here, then what? Think about it. We are literally shoved up the ass of a giant lion. Nobody can even see we’re online. We’re not getting out of this base. And even if we could, nobody is coming. Let’s say they find us, and we tell them who we are. This isn’t the old days where they could figure out where the server is hosted. Sure, you can tell them the address of Anatoly’s apartment. But if they can’t find the server, they can’t shut the game down. And if they can’t find the rigs we’re in, nobody is coming to rescue us.”

“Jesus,” I said. “So in 179 days, our rigs are going to run out of food for us?”

“Shush,” she said suddenly, waving at me to be quiet, watching the screen intently. The woman was now kissing the man while his partner slept in the bed next to them. “I haven’t been able to watch in a week. Ji-yoo! You’re such a slut!”

“Are you kidding me?” I said, pulling up the television menu. The countdown timer had been suspended. I snapped the screen off.

Clara whirled on me, her face a mask of sudden rage.

“Yes, all right? We both have 179 days before we stop getting food. I don’t know how long before we actually starve to death, but it’s probably a bit after that. And there is not a goddamned thing either of us can do about it. At least we’re here, in Anatoly’s base which has a television and a food box and furniture, unlike any of the others I’ve seen. Also, there won’t be anyone else here to torture us every day. And when we do starve to death, we won’t even feel it. We’ll just be gone, and you know what? I’m marking that as a win.”

I shook my head. “There’s gotta be a way to get out of this game.”

She sighed. “Jesus. You’re insufferable.” The television flipped back on, and she turned back to the screen. The scene had changed. The woman who’d been kissing the man in the bed was now kissing a different man. Clara gasped.

“Wait,” I said. “That time you’d woken up. You said you were in a warehouse? Do you know why you left the game?”

She nodded. She didn’t turn away from the screen. “It was the end of the last season. They’d used up all the available characters, and the only way to reset it all was to finish the game and restart. He and the Canadian and Frank, they had this big battle with their kaiju, and the game ended, a bunch of credits showed up on the screen, and I woke up in my rig. He was right there though, and I got thrown back into the game. I refused to reroll my character for a long time, but he did something so I just popped back in as a fae again. Almost everyone was the same, though SmashSouth went from one of those fish guys to the nerve agent, and the Canadian went from one of those gremlins to one of those wolf people. All the other clients who were staying on remained the same. Now be quiet…”

“So if we beat the game, we get out?” I asked. “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But Anatoly said in co-op mode it’s almost impossible with three players. That means it is impossible with two. And by yourself, well. You wouldn’t even be able to get into the rift with just one player. Anatoly had leveled himself up to the high fifties. So had Frank and the Canadian. All three of them were really into the game. Guys like SmashSouth, Princess, and that Mexican dude weren’t into it at all. They just wanted to do their thing.”

“Beat the game,” I repeated, not listening to her anymore.

I thought of Ruth, of Mary. I had six months. I was going to die. A lot. There was no way around that. I could do this.

In my stomach, Banksy rumbled. Daddy, he said. I can help you. But I gotta eat first.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I have an idea to get you food.”

I pulled the gun off my shoulder, and I blew Clara’s head clean off.

Chapter 12

I threw my attribute point into durability as I butchered Clara’s body. I had to stop and breathe in and out to keep my gorge down. This was the most disgusting thing I had ever done. I only got a tiny amount of experience from killing her, which indicated she was indeed only level 1 like she claimed. The countdown timer over her corpse disappeared the moment I took my hand scalpel to her flesh.

I was going to need that extra durability point. I wouldn’t be able to eat her flesh. This game probably had some sort of antidote potion that cured poison, but I didn’t have access to it. I might be able to cure myself over and over until the poisoning ran out, but I didn’t know if poison did run out. Some games it did, some didn’t. If it didn’t run out, then I needed to avoid feeding Banksy via my own mouth.

Something odd happened as I cut Clara’s left arm off her body. A menu popped up over the severed arm.

Upcycle Compatible left arm?

+3 Charm

-2 Strength

-3 Deftness

+Charm Parasite

It took several moments for me to realize what that meant. I could switch my left arm with her left arm. None of the other parts seemed to be compatible. I didn’t know if it was a random drop or what, but either way it was a terrible trade-off. Also, her arm was less than half the size of my current arm.

Clara zapped back into the room, screaming. She pulled herself into a ball on the floor and started whimpering.

I’d moved her corpse to the kitchen counter, and I looked up from my work.

“So, when you were dead. When SmashSouth had killed you, I mean. He said you picked me. Not him. You were a fan of my art.”

She made a growling noise. “You could’ve fucking asked me. Christ, dude.” She paused, panting. I knew the feeling. A minute later she continued. “He thought it would be funny to make me choose. He threw a bunch of photos in front of me and told me to pick my favorite. I picked one. It turned out to be yours.”

“Was it the mural on the side of the haunted house? The one with the revenant?”

“No,” she said. “It was the tire tracks going across the heart made out of glass.” 

My heart skipped at that. It felt as if I’d been punched. But she couldn’t possibly know what that mural meant, not to me.

“I’m sorry,” I said after a few moments. I couldn’t decide if I really was sorry or not. I needed her meat. I could only feed Banksy with food I’d killed myself. I didn’t know how much food it took to get him up to level 5, but I would keep doing it until he could go out on his own.

Her eyes widened as she finally noticed I was butchering her own corpse.

“What the fuck?” she said. “What is wrong with you?”

“I need to level my worm up. He levels from eating, not killing, but it has to be food I’ve killed myself. SmashSouth disappeared before I could get some meat off him.”

“For fuck’s sake, asshole,” she said. She grumbled something under her breath. She was putting on an air of anger, but her entire body trembled. She looked at me with eyes that betrayed fear. “I should have known he’d have given you a worm. Well guess what, moron? You’re not going to be able to feed it. Your kind can’t eat. You’ll die of poisoning before the food even hits the stomach.”

I sighed. I’d taken the meatiest part of her body, her ass cheek muscle, and I sliced long, thin strips. I had to unsummon my scalpel before I lost more soul points, and my bar was worryingly low. I needed to find a real knife, one that didn’t use my magic. I was going to need the points.

“I know,” I said. “Stay close. I’m going to need your help with this next part.”

***

I waited until Banksy died one more time. Thankfully, the meat didn’t suffer any sort of rot or degradation. Clara sat, curled up in a huff, grumbling to herself. Her Korean soap opera ended and another one started, and she watched it with impassive eyes. Eventually she turned away, but left it on.

I didn’t want her to see, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. I pulled up the interface and changed the channel, moving to my wife’s channel to see what Mary was up to.

Signal Lost.

I switched to my daughter’s channel.

Signal Lost.

A simultaneous joy and wave of utter loss crashed onto me. SmashSouth had done it. He’d broken the connection when he’d fiddled with it.

I was free. I was horrified that I felt that way, but I was. My wife and my daughter were both my hope and my crutch. I desperately wanted to check in on them, but this bizarre feeling of happiness settled. It was almost as if they were trapped in here with me, but now they had been broken out.

Or maybe you’re just a coward, and it’s easier to deal with this without having to think about your responsibilities.

“Two channels,” Clara muttered from her position on the couch. “Let me guess. Your perfect wife and your perfect kid. They usually only spring for one. You should be glad it’s all gone to shit. Usually they bring them in here, too. Especially if you misbehave.”

“What? What do you know about all this?” I asked, but she refused to talk more about it.

Banksy eventually groaned and died, and I re-upped my soul points with his death. I used a few of them to top up my health. Banksy regenerated, whimpering in my mind. 

“Okay,” I said. “It’s time.”

I sat in the recliner by the fireplace.

Clara sighed and got up from the couch, coming to kneel before me. “This isn’t going to work,” she said. I’d laid out long strips of the meat for her to grab.

“Maybe not,” I said as I pulled my ragged shirt off. “If it doesn’t, then I’ll just have to poison myself and try to sustain my health long enough for him to eat.”

I summoned my hand scalpel.

“Banksy,” I said. “You remember the plan?”

Yes, Daddy. I’m scared.

“Don’t worry. Just stay as far back as you can until I tell you.”

“You are crazy,” Clara said.

With my left hand, I grasped a handful of my gray, mottled skin around my stomach. I plunged my scalpel into the flesh. I sliced long and hurriedly across my own midriff.

Pain. Ripping, tearing, overwhelming pain.

I screamed, fighting the urge to double over. My life force plummeted as I arched my back instead. I felt my insides open, yawning like a mouth. I cast Reconstitute, offering only a few points into the healing. Too much, and my stomach would close on its own. It did not ease the lightning agony.

“Do it,” I growled. “Banksy, come get it.”

“Oh my god,” Clara panted as she grasped a handful of her own corpse meat and shoved it into my open belly. I screamed with a new wave of pain.

You cut too low, Banksy said. It’s really far. Maybe you can do it again but higher this time.

“I don’t think anything is happening,” Clara said.

“Get the fuck down there,” I growled, healing myself again. I was fighting a losing battle as my health bobbed down. In just a few more seconds, I wouldn’t be able to heal the wound enough to keep it from killing me. 

Okay, Daddy. I’m scared to go in the tube though. Hang on.

A terrible five seconds passed. Clara clenched her eyes closed, wrist deep in my stomach. Then, her eyes snapped open.

“I can feel it,” she said. “I can feel it eating.”

This lady is delicious, Daddy. This is fairy meat. I get a bonus. I feel like I am getting stronger.

Banksy, Gut Hook is now level 2

Your familiar is full.

I can’t eat anymore, Daddy. Not for at least an hour.

“Okay, pull out, pull out,” I said.

Clara looked up at me, suddenly grinning. The look startled me, even through the pain. It was like a switch had been flipped, and she was a different person.

“Turnabout is fair play,” she said. “If you get to level up, so do I.”

With a push that I felt deep, deep inside me, she lunged forward, sinking to her elbow in my guts. Suddenly her feet were pressed against the chair, and she grunted as she pulled everything she could out of me. My insides shifted, slopping out of my body and onto the floor like a clog sucked out of a drain.

I died screaming.

***

I shouldn’t have been mad. She was a level 1, and I was a level 6 who’d already killed her once. It was only fair. Still, I was mad. I was pissed. I couldn’t trust her, and she couldn’t trust me. I’d deserved it. But I still found myself screaming expletives at her as I regenerated, the pain of the death sequence dwarfing anything she could’ve done to me. This was my ninth death.

“I went up to level 3,” she said, ignoring my insults. She sat cross-legged on the counter next to the butchered remains of her corpse from earlier. The slabs of meat I’d cut off her body remained piled on the counter, but her bones and guts were gone. Her skin and the arm I could swap out remained, piled neatly next to the meat. “I’m almost to four. That means you’re probably really level six or seven if my math is correct. Did your pet level up? Did it work?”

I groaned, rolling over onto my side. Banksy thrashed about within me. I didn’t need to examine his properties to know he’d gotten bigger.

“It worked,” I said finally. “But we gotta do it again. He only went up one level. I need him at level 5 so he can leave my body.”

She sighed, leaping off the counter. The diminutive woman started to pace back and forth.

“Okay, then,” she said. “I was afraid of that. You’re right, we do need to do it again, but there’s a problem.” She thumbed at the pile over her shoulder. “That’s level 1 meat, so it won’t be as effective. So you gotta let me kill you again. I’ll go up another level, maybe two. Then you kill me and take my meat, and then we’ll try it again. This time though, I promise I won’t kill you. When you’re ready, we’ll stuff your cavities with as much Clara spam as we can. We’ll cut you open, stuff you like a turkey, and sew you back up. Then mister pet worm can eat whenever he’s hungry, and it should be enough food to level him up to five. After that we can start exploring.

“But we have to be smart about it,” she continued as I just stared at her dumbly. “This is how the endgame works. You gotta get a key to the rift. There are literally hundreds of different ways to get one. And how you get it has a major effect on what happens. Supposedly there are thousands of different endings. But before you can even worry about the key, you need to be able to control your guardian. When Anatoly finished the game before, they had three guardians waiting at the rift and had somehow enticed most of the others to the area, too. Pretty much all the demons in the game attack at this point, including all the demon princes and barons and kings and queens. It’s pure chaos. The other kaiju held them off while Anatoly and the other two went into the rift. I didn’t go in with them, so I don’t know what happens in there. But it took about two days. They eventually won, and the game reset. Anatoly told me it was next to impossible with three kaiju. They couldn’t do it, so he’d had to employ some sort of cheat. It was meant to be done with five or six.”    

I just continued to stare at her. It was odd how her personality changed. One moment she was the meek fairy girl trapped with me, utterly devoid of motivation or hope. With SmashSouth she was the firm sidekick, confident but vicious. He’d seemed to imply that she actually enjoyed it here. And now she’d changed again, into whatever this was. What, I wondered, was the real Clara? 

“So you’ve changed your mind about helping me? What’s different?”

“That was before I saw what you were willing to go through to get there. We got six months. Let’s win this game.”

Part 2 – The Hinterland

Chapter 13

Feedings Left: 160

It took two and a half weeks to get Banksy to level 5 using Clara’s plan. He’d hit level 4 easily, but it took much longer than expected to get up to 5. The problem was the worm also lost half of his progress to the next level when he died.

Instead of letting Clara kill me, I introduced her to my method of crab fishing. That garnered a cavalcade of insults once she realized I could’ve used crabs instead of her as my method of feeding Banksy. They gave so little experience, however, and she eventually allowed me to go back to the original plan of using her for meat.

We tried cutting off her arm instead of killing her outright. It did not work. While she regenerated quickly, she did not have a heal spell. The act of cutting off her arm and cauterizing the wound still killed her anyway. I could cast my Reconstitute on her, but it didn’t actually heal her. I wasn’t sure why. I suspected it had something to do with her being a wind and celestial magic-user. Or maybe because I was some sort of pseudo undead creature.

She managed to get to the cusp of level five with the crabs before they stopped giving her experience. I reluctantly allowed her to kill me one more time to put her over the edge.

I killed her twice, and my experience only budged up a moderate amount. Her plan to “stuff me like a turkey” didn’t work as intended, and the fairy meat dissolved the moment I cast Reconstitute on myself.

Upon level-up, Clara gave herself a wind magic spell called Nipple. I had no idea why the spell was called that, but she could cast it on either me or herself. It had the effect of negating the Unsteady debuff one sometimes obtained when they took a lot of damage. But it also had the effect of greatly dulling pain, and it made the process of feeding Banksy somewhat more bearable. Somewhat.

It didn’t help during the death sequence. I learned that the hard way.

I’d lost access to Mary and Ruth, but we now had full-time access to the television. The story of the serial killer and the international conspiracy surrounding him dominated the headlines for a few more days before it started to sink into the background of all the other horrible news of the world. The media seemed to believe that Hamish Yeltsin, aka Frankenstein’s Monster, was the ringleader. Clara laughed long and hard at that.

“The fact it took them this long to catch that idiot is proof they don’t know what the hell they’re talking about,” she said.

The news didn’t mention Anatoly at all other than some vague references to the co-conspirators. They didn’t seem to have any sort of handle on the nature of the conspiracy itself. A few additional arrests had been made, however, including one in Omaha, Nebraska.

It appeared SmashSouth was right to be afraid. I held out hope that he’d eventually cave and tell the investigators about us. Clara seemed skeptical.

“They all have dead-man switches,” she explained. “They press a button, and their entire rigs fry themselves. Guys like SmashSouth, they know enough to keep their activities online. Nobody even knows we exist.”

I growled at the thought. “Why use us at all? The AI NPCs they use for Dominion of Blades just got an upgrade. It’s getting hard to tell the difference between them and real players. Surely it’s a lot easier and safer for them to use an AI for whatever sick shit they do in here. That way, it’s not even illegal.”

Clara shrugged. “I think that might’ve been the original plan. But you can still tell when they’re NPCs. And the clients, the whole allure of this arrangement is that they’re fucking over a real person. They don’t just get access to a ‘consumable.’ They know their real name, get access to the feed of their family freaking out. One of these guys. The Mexican cannibal. Paulo was his real name. He played a groundling last season.” A groundling was a dwarf-like creature with no neck. Not as squat as a mole man. I could’ve picked that race when I signed up.

“He had a thing for teenage boys. He loved fucking them, impaling them on a giant spit, cooking them, and then eating them. His consumable was his neighbor’s kid. Anatoly’s team swept the kid away, took him out of Tucson where they lived. Paulo used his own house in the real world as the headquarters for the search party. The kid had to watch his mom go into Paulo’s house every day. It was some fucked up shit. The boy played a brownie. Paulo didn’t like that so much. Most of these guys want their consumables to play as humans. Anatoly kept insisting the next update would allow multiples of the same species to play, but it never happened. Paulo ended up quitting because of it. When they reset the game, he refused to roll a new character. They gave the boy to the Canadian after that.” She shuddered. “They never last long when he gets a hold of them.”

“Who is this Canadian guy you keep mentioning?” I asked.

“You don’t want to know. Hopefully, he’s been arrested or is lying low.” She shuddered again and wrapped her arms around herself. “He’s the only one that…”

She didn’t finish her thought, and no prodding would get it out of her. Clara was like that. Chatty one moment, not willing to talk the next. She never talked about herself or her past. I gathered she could speak Korean, but I didn’t get the impression that she was Korean. I had no idea how old she was.

I did, however, come to suspect that she was insane. That she had an actual, certifiable psychotic disorder that twisted her sense of reality, and that she also had multiple mood disorders that played havoc on her personal emotions. She had a sense about her, that of a grenade, ready to explode at any moment. When we fed Banksy, I was in constant fear that she’d crack and would rip my guts out again.

She never did, though. She went about the feeding process with grim determination.

That last time we fed Banksy, everything changed. I cut myself open, and Clara shoved the meat into my gut. Banksy gobbled it up, and I prepared my Reconstitute spell.

Banksy, Gut Hook, is now level 5.

Dad. I feel funny.

Dad? He’d always called me “daddy” until this point. He sounded older now, too. I prepared to heal myself, but the menu disappeared before I could cast. It was replaced with a new window.

Your Gut Hook is evolving!

You must choose between the following:

Cerebral Maggot

Blood Squirmer

Hook Slayer

Warning: Your choice is final.

Warning: You have 60 seconds to make a decision! If you do not choose, a random selection will be made.

What the hell was this? I had no idea this was going to happen. Banksy hadn’t warned me. All he’d said was he could leave my body once he hit level 5.

My health continued to plummet, but I couldn’t cast it until I made a choice. Damnit. I’d never have time to read all of these.

Hastily, I clicked on Cerebral Maggot.

Your worm ceases to physically grow, and it permanently remains within your body. After attaching itself to your brain stem, you gain access to one additional school of magic of your choosing. In addition, your acumen is granted a permanent +5 and your charm a permanent +3.

However, your familiar is even more ravenous than before. Its sustenance requirements are doubled.

That sounded great, but the whole point of this was to get Banksy big enough to live outside of my body.

My health was almost out. I didn’t have time to read the next two choices. I didn’t know which one to pick. I was afraid if I died, it’d pick the first one for me.

I slammed down on the choice that sounded the most like a physical build.

You have chosen Hook Slayer.

The menu disappeared, and I quickly cast Reconstitute. I relaxed as my health bar slowly started to climb back up.

Dad. I don’t feel so good.

I felt my chest explode.

***

You have died 11 times.

I rolled on my side, the now-familiar sensation of fire still licking at me. I held back a sob. Christ. It was no wonder Clara had gone crazy. I was going crazy, too. I had to be.

Warning! Your familiar does not appear to fit within its current regeneration spot. Keeping this spot may result in injury to either yourself or your familiar. Please review your available familiar regeneration options:

Keep current regeneration spot: The digestive tract of Player Duke.

Mirror your own regeneration: (Unavailable. Requires permission and brand from Player Anatoly for this location.)

Create a new regeneration spot with a brand: (Unavailable until both player and familiar reach level 10.)

Regenerate in pet carrier: (Unavailable. Requires pet carrier.)

Regenerate within the Shrill. (Unavailable until your first deep dive within the Shrill.)

Upon regeneration of either yourself or your familiar, your pet will attempt to home in on your location. If it can not reach you due to distance or other factors, it will wander freely unless you obtain a pet carrier. If a pet carrier is equipped, it will teleport to your location after a countdown based on the quality and level of the pet carrier. Some pet carriers may be used as their own regeneration spots.

I read the notification three times. Shit. I was screwed until we both hit level 10 and I found a brand. Or until I found a pet carrier. My only choice was to keep Banksy’s current regeneration spot, which meant every time he died, my chest would explode.

Two steps forward, one step back. Jesus.

“Have you ever seen the movie Alien?” Clara asked after I sat up. She made a chest-bursting motion with her hands. “I’m not gonna lie. That was pretty awesome.”

I barely heard her. I stared at the creature coiled up at her feet.

Banksy. He’d been tiny when I first swallowed him. Half an inch. The size of a fingernail. The level 5 hook slayer was now about as long and as thick as my arm. He was the color of pale flesh, though as I watched, he rippled with a flash of rose, as if he had his own parasites within. He lifted his head at my arrival.

If he had eyes, I didn’t see any. Still, he turned toward me with purpose, and I had no doubt he could see me.

Hi Dad, he said, still in my mind. The outside world is very big and cold.

The words Familiar – Player Duke appeared over his head.

His cone-shaped head opened up, revealing four triangular flaps and several circular rows of sharp teeth. It was like a flower bud opening and closing. It reminded me of those sandworms from the Dune movies they’d made a few years back.

“This isn’t the outside world,” I said.

I tried to eat your body after you died, but it was still gross. You taste of rotted flesh. I won’t ever be able to eat you. I’m already feeling hungry. Let us hunt.

I turned my gaze toward the chair where I usually sat for our feedings. My corpse remained there, my ruin of a chest gaping open like a baked potato. It looked as if a grenade had exploded out of me. My foot was chewed off where Banksy had tried to eat me.

That’s going to happen every time he dies.

“He’s pretty cute,” Clara said. She cocked her head. “Are you talking to him telepathically?” She looked down at the parasite. “What’s the matter? Can’t you talk?”

Banksy’s triangle head looked back and forth between Clara and me. The four mouth flaps opened and closed a few times with a wet sound. Gooey tendrils of… worm saliva? Something, stringed out between the mouth openings.

He made a coughing sound.

“I think I can talk,” he said.

Clara clapped her hands with delight. She patted him on the head. “Good boy! Good boy! I like you better than Ginger already. That stupid boa constrictor could talk, but she never did. Stuck up bitch.”

Banksy looked up at her with something akin to adoration, and to my astonishment, a long tongue snaked out of his mouth and hung loosely to the side, slobber now flowing freely. He started to pant like he was a damn golden retriever.

I pulled up my familiar menu and examined Banksy’s new attributes.

Banksy. Level 5 Hook Slayer. Pre-Mature Stage. 

Upon evolution to hook slayer, your worm loses all of his previous abilities, (Sap Energy, Strengthen). Although they are bereft of surgical talents, Hook Slayers grow exponentially in size and strength upon level-up, making them some of the most fearsome melee fighters available. They are voracious eaters, and they must feed multiple times a day. They gain mount status at level 13. They gain the ability to burrow at level 15. They reach full maturity upon level 25. Upon level 25, the formidable Hook Slayer must evolve again. Either way, the resulting familiar will be so physically massive it can only use an open field or a guardian as a regeneration spot. As a result, you may choose your associated guardian—the Shrill—as your familiar’s regeneration spot without a brand after your familiar’s first deep dive within the kaiju.

I wondered what the definition of “physically massive” was.  

“Can we go kill something now?” Banksy asked. He waved his head back and forth. “Daaaad. Come on. I’m bored!”

Clara looked at me, eyebrow raised. “You’ve created a monster.”

Chapter 14

We had no choice. We had to leave, and we did so an hour later. The number of crabs crawling around the base was getting thinner and thinner, and it quickly became clear that they weren’t proper sustenance for Banksy anyway. We waited until one of Bast’s calm phases, and I peeled open the door. Banksy rushed out, practically bowling me over as he leaped off the platform and dove straight into the river of kaiju crap. He thrashed about, killing the handful of remaining crabs. They attempted to swarm, but Banksy was lightning quick, snapping back and forth, crunching them delightedly like a fox set upon a chicken coop.

I received a token amount of experience each time he killed something. I’d have to sit down and figure it out, but I guessed it was about 10% the experience I’d receive if I killed them myself. Actually, it was every time he ate something. There was a difference. He didn’t gain experience by killing. Only by eating. Luckily, I still pulled souls whether he ate them or not, as long as they were dead. I topped up my points from the dead crabs.

Healing him was going to be a problem. Neither Clara nor I currently had a spell that would work on him. It wasn’t until I hit level 20 would I have access to a spell entitled Heal Familiar. Level 20 seemed so, so far away. He slowly regenerated health on his own, but that didn’t help us amid a battle. Apparently fae like Clara had a skill that would allow her to heal him once he obtained mount status, but that wouldn’t happen for several levels.

Banksy popped up out of the river looking up at us. “Come on!” he called.

I called up my map of the body, keeping a wary eye on the train-sized parasites ripping their way through Bast.

“So what’s the plan, boss?” Clara asked.

“We try to get out. If he follows his usual schedule, we have about an hour before Bast wakes up, and we don’t want to be sloshing around in here when he does.”

“When she does,” Clara said. “Bast is a girl.”

“That lion has a mane like a boy lion.”

Clara shrugged. “Maybe she’s confused. But she’s definitely a she. Her insides are all girl.”

I glanced again at the map. “Huh. I guess you’re right.”

Sure enough, the distinctive pattern of the female reproductive system was discernable now that I knew what I was looking at.

“Anyway, our best bet is to go this way.” I pointed roughly west, which was normally the direction down when she was awake. According to my map, Bast currently lay on her side, and the shortest path out of the monster was directly through the intestine wall, through the abdominal muscles, a thin layer of fat, and then her pelt, emerging right through her belly. The total distance was maybe 150 meters, though I didn’t know how difficult it would be to get through the muscle. The larger parasites seemed to avoid that area. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not.

I widened my radar sweep of items in need of healing, and the way looked clear. The entire exterior of Bast glowed red. I didn’t know what that meant, but it couldn’t be good. Also, every time I pulled up the map I received a warning about Bast being in dire health. What would happen if the guardian died? Could they die?

I asked Clara, and she shrugged. “SmashSouth’s guardian died all the time. We sat in the base, and everything jostled around for a bit, and then it’d wake back up like ten minutes later. I don’t think it’s a big deal. I know it didn’t heal it back up all the way, though. It might move the kaiju to its own respawn location, but I’m not sure. I was always getting warnings about it being in poor health whenever we stepped outside. The parasites were much worse in that thing than in here. I just knew we weren’t supposed to go out of the base while it was dead.”

I returned to planning our escape. If this path didn’t work, our next best bet was to travel the twisty intestinal river and climb right out of the kaiju’s butthole. That was a much longer path, and it was a direction I wanted to avoid. A thick parasitic infestation glowed near that area.

We dropped into the muck. Banksy swirled about my feet as we trudged our way to the wall. Clara clung onto my arm. She was up to her chest in the kaiju crap.

“I can’t see shit in here,” she said. “No pun intended. Do you have a light?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I can see in the dark.”

We reached the wall. I called up my surgery menu to see if it’d let me use Incision.

I clicked on the skill.

Draw a line.

With my hand, I made a somewhat-straight, horizontal line above the waterline.

The skin glowed red and separated, peeling open with a slurping sound.

The world around me rumbled. The whole area suddenly glowed red.

She was waking up.

“I have a numbing skill in my surgery menu,” Clara said. “We should probably use that next time.” Her hand glowed, and the red eased.

“Good idea,” I grumbled.

She still refused to tell me much about what she could and couldn’t do, and I wasn’t certain why. She refused to offer almost any information, even helpful information such as this, unless I asked directly. And even then sometimes she refused.

“Okay,” I said, pulling myself through the open wound. “You two get in here. I’m going to seal it, and you’re going to numb the area again if it doesn’t take too much magic.”

I slipped through the wound, the sensation oddly like trying to slip under the covers of a tightly-made bed, only the sheets were made of thick slices of wet roast beef. 

Surgical talents used soul points just like regular magic. I was tempted to not seal the wound to preserve my points, but I didn’t want her waking up. Cauterize took 5% of my points, and Incision was based on the length of the cut. The short slit appeared to have taken another 5%. Unless Banksy or I could kill something, it was going to be tight.

We were pressed between the pulsating intestinal wall and the sinewy abdominal muscles. We had to slide ourselves along, heading back toward the stomach and liver area. Too far in the other direction, and we’d have to cut ourselves through the bladder, and I’d have to repair the kidney as well. There was only a small area where we could go without the danger of cutting through a major organ or artery.

The veins and arteries that snaked around the muscles and the outside of the intestine glowed with a subtle luminescence, bright enough that my Frame Vision was randomly turning itself on and off. Clara’s large eyes glowed in the darkness, and I knew she could see.

Clara opened her bag and popped a piece of candy into her mouth.  

“That’s how you refill your magic, isn’t it?” I asked as we slid along. “Eating.” She’d been hoarding food since she’d arrived. Her food box had a countdown timer of fifteen minutes or so, and she’d completely filled her storage with all the food she could get. Everything that came out of it was some sort of candy or treat, given seemingly at random. She’d tossed away or simply eaten most of the bigger items like the candy apples and the rice crispy treats. The smaller wrapped candies that came out more rarely went straight into her bag.

She glared at me, and I thought she wasn’t going to answer. Finally, she sighed.

“Sort of,” she said. “I’m a fae, which means I can pull from two different schools of magic. Wind and celestial. You only have one meter, your soul power or whatever it’s called. I have two. With the surgical talents, I can choose which magic it gets drawn from. For the real spells, it’s different. But for healing the kaiju, I get to pick. The wind power drains on its own, but it refills on its own too depending on where I am. It’s pretty much useless down here. It does refill, but randomly, and I’m honestly not sure why. I only drain it when I have to, mostly to cast that Nipple spell to numb pain. I’ve been using my celestial power for the surgery stuff. I can refill it only by consuming the blood of a god.”

“And that’s what that candy is?”

“It’s congealed blood nuggets from the chained gods. They’re actually angels. There’s this whole storyline there. It has to do with radiants, and I don’t know all the details. The city of Medina is built around the temple. Celestial power normally takes a long time to run out and is expensive to refill. Unless you have a food box.”

I nodded. “It makes sense. Sort of. The whole magic system seems cumbersome and overwrought.”

“You’re telling me,” she grumbled. “At least I’m not a brownie who uses only wind power. Or worse, a radiant. They only use celestial power. That’d be just as bad.”

Radiants were bird-like humanoids. They had falcon heads and reminded me of Horus, the Egyptian, falcon-headed god. They did not fly, at least I didn’t think they did, but their associated kaiju was one of the few who did.

“Here,” I said, finally. We’d moved further up than I’d realized, and the wall behind us was actually now the stomach, not the intestine. No matter. The wall looming to our left was the liver. Any further and we’d have to cut through. Several purple waypoints—indicating a deep parasitic infestation—glowed within. We had to stay far away from there.

I indicated the line of the wall, a groove that was between the abdominal and the oblique. “I’m going to cut a hole deep enough for us to crawl through, but it’s going to be a long cut. You numb as much as you can as we go through. I won’t have time to heal her, and hopefully my soul power won’t run out before we get there.” I shuddered at the thought of suffocating to death inside a tight sleeve of muscle. “After the muscle is a thin layer of fat and then the skin.”

“Make it as narrow as you can,” Clara said. “Just enough to get your shoulders through. We can rip a little if we have to. Man, I wish I had that Incision talent.”

I swallowed hard. Don’t think about what you’re doing. Just do it.

I called up the surgery menu, picked Incision, and the menu helpfully popped up a diagram of the surrounding area. It allowed me to plan the depth of the cut before I committed. I had to plan the cut around the tendons, which appeared to be hard as steel. To get through the muscle took almost all the rest of my soul power.

I cut, and before Clara could cast her Numb talent, Bast woke up.

Chapter 15

Banksy, Clara, and I squirmed our way through the muscle as Bast roared and twisted. The muscle contracted, threatening to squeeze the life out of me. It seemed she was also scratching at herself from the outside with one of her paws, and the entire muscle buckled and rippled.

“Gah,” I cried in pain as my left shoulder cracked. It dislocated with a mighty crunch that shook my entire body. The bones grated against each other within me, a feeling of rocks scraping against one another, of muscle-pulling pain.

I couldn’t heal myself. If I did, I wouldn’t have enough soul power to dig out from the skin.

I pulled myself forward with my right arm. Banksy pushed up against me from behind, constantly getting tangled in my legs.

We emerged from the muscle, enveloped in a tight polyp between the thick muscle and the gelatinous fat. The world bounced and heaved as Bast roared. Banksy slithered out of the muscle and hauled himself onto my shoulder, which ached. Clara emerged a moment later. All three of us were soaked red in blood.

The fat layer was comparatively thin, about two meters wide. But, to my despair, I realized it was thicker than I thought it would be, and it took the same amount of soul power to cut through as the muscle, despite the thinner consistency. I had enough soul power to cut a small, arm-width hole all the way through. Alternatively, I could make a bigger hole just enough to get about halfway through. Either way, I didn’t have enough to get through the hide, which appeared to be about another meter in thickness.

Shit. What am I going to do?

I couldn’t cast Incision or Scalpel after I made a hole, and I didn’t have any weapons other than my rifle.

“Banksy,” I said. “Can you chew through this thing’s skin?”

“No,” Banksy said. “Not yet.”

“What about you?” I asked Clara. “What else you got in that surgery menu? Or any other spells”

“Nothing that’ll work here. I have something called Lance and something called Detoxify. I don’t have any sort of attack spells. I have some skill points to spend, but I’m not sure anything will work.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m going to use the rest of my soul power to get us mostly through the fat layer, and then we’re going to brute force our way through the skin. I want you to ease the pain as much as you can. Bast is on her feet now, so there might be a fall. If we can, let’s cling to her stomach once we get outside and hide against her fur.”

“What do you mean by ‘brute force?’” Clara asked.

I didn’t answer. “My shoulder is dislocated. Can you ease the pain?”

She nodded, casting Nipple. It didn’t heal, but the warm, soothing numbness enveloped me. The pain didn’t completely go away, and it still flared when I moved my shoulder, but it was much better. She popped another candy into her mouth.

“Thank you,” I said. “Get ready to numb her pain.” I eased my back against the edge of the muscle, used the last of my soul points on Incision, and I slowly raised my gun. My left shoulder screamed. Banksy tightened.

Clara appeared alarmed. “Jesus, Duke. I don’t know if that’s going to…”

I fired, the rifle pulsing blue plasma into the gore.

The temperature skyrocketed, and Banksy tightened against my hurt shoulder, whimpering as blood, fire, and bits of fat rained on us. The world buckled as Bast roared. The power level of the gun plummeted, and I stopped firing. The gun refilled on its own, but it was a slow process. We abruptly fell onto our sides and then rolled onto our backs as Bast fell to the ground. The way down was suddenly the way up. The world smelled of charred meat and burnt, bubbling fat.

“Shit,” I muttered as Bast struggled back to her feet. I peered at the burnt remnants of the wound as the world bounced. I’d blown the rest of the way through the yellow fat, and I’d gouged a deep hole in the back side of the dermis, revealing rope-like nerves and the ruptured remains of small, white glands. The round, bulb-like ends of fur spread about like tree roots. But it didn’t look like I’d made it all the way through. I’d been hoping maybe the follicles or the pores—did lions have pores? I didn’t know—would be wide enough for us to crawl through. But I couldn’t see any way to….

Your healing efforts have failed. Guardian Bast has succumbed to her wounds. Regeneration in twenty minutes. 

The world crashed down again, harder this time, and if our backs weren’t against a layer of fat, we’d all have been splattered. I stared up dumbly, registering what the notification meant as the world stopped spinning. The kaiju lay on her back, stomach facing the sky, making the way out straight up.

Bast was dead. Had I done that? It seemed unlikely a single blast from a rifle to the belly could do any real damage. But if she was already in dire health, maybe I had finished her off.

My body surged as I filled with the guardian’s soul power. It just came and came, overwhelming me, crashing against me over and over like a tidal wave. My soul power meter surged to the top, then changed color to a golden hue. I instinctively called up Reconstitute and healed myself. I gasped as my soul power refilled itself. It just kept coming and coming. 

Clara groaned next to me. Banksy slithered away and turned to peer at my face.

“Are you dead, dad?”

I grunted and pulled up the surgery menu, but it was blacked out. I cast Scalpel instead, turning my hand into a serrated knife.

“Come on,” I gasped. It was like trying to talk while inside of a hurricane. The soul power continued to whoosh into me. “Climb.”

“Are you okay?” Clara asked. “Why are you glowing?”

I dragged myself up the jagged hole of skin. I grasped with one hand onto a rope-like nerve and plunged the knife into the leathery flesh, climbing upward toward the outside world. The whooshing eased. My soul points remained topped up, despite the drain from my Scalpel. I felt the others climbing up behind me. I stabbed upward. The skin ripped easily, like I was cutting through wrapping paper.

Muted sunlight streamed into the hole.

“Come on,” I said. “We’re free.”

I dragged myself out of the hole and onto a forest of tawny, matted fur, so thick I couldn’t see in any direction. The temperature was much cooler out here than it was inside the body, and a steady, howling wind caused the fur to wave all around us. It wasn’t raining like it was earlier, but the overcast sky threatened another storm soon. The air felt electrified, like lightning could crash down at any moment.

Entering the Hinterland

I turned off my Scalpel and reached into the hole and pulled Clara out. Banksy clung to her legs and hit the skin of Bast’s corpse, swarming around us, sniffing at the ground like a dog.

I called up my Gross Anatomy mapping skill, but like I suspected, it didn’t work outside of the body. I had a minimap, but it was rudimentary, and it showed me nothing. The entirety of the screen as far as I could zoom it out was blinking red, presumably indicating the dead body of Bast.

My soul points remained topped up, but the yellow shade to the normally-red gauge started to fade.

“Okay,” I said. “We’re free. We need to figure where the hell we are. We need to get out of here before she wakes up.”

Clara pointed in a random direction. “The city is that way. Due north. About ten or twelve miles.”

“How do you know?”

“World map. It’s a skill. It only costs two points. It needs to be upgraded a few times before it gives decent details, but it’s good enough to point us to the city. Past level 3, the upgrades are cybernetic, so I need to go to Medina if I want to really level it up.”

I quickly popped up my menu. I still had five skill points banked. The world map skill was there, but I couldn’t choose it until I was level seven.

“Okay, let’s move,” I said, pushing away from the hole, heading roughly north.

Thirty seconds later, it became clear we were trouble. Walking on the furry belly of the dead, overturned kaiju was like walking on a waterbed, and pushing our way through the matted fur was worse than pushing our way through a thick jungle.

“This isn’t going to work,” Clara said. “She’s going to respawn before we’re out of here.”

“I smell others,” Banksy said a moment later. He issued a low growl.

Great. I needed to make a path, and I needed to do it quickly. I pulled my gun up. The power had refilled, and it hummed with potential energy. I aimed forward and blasted.

The fur burned away, melting and curling in black tendrils, revealing a scorched path to the edge of the massive beast between the back and middle legs, which stuck straight in the air like obelisks.

The dog-sized bug swooped out of nowhere, humming like a buzzsaw as it nosedived at me. Pincers the size of industrial garden shears aimed at my throat.

Years of games had honed my reflexes. I ducked, aimed, and fired, blasting it out of the sky.

The monster hit the ground, rolling to a stop, a smoking husk. Its yellow and black fuzzy body looked almost wasp-like, but not quite. Banksy surged forward, devouring it.

I’d received a decent amount of experience for that single kill, putting me onto the edge of level seven.

“This is not pleasant tasting,” Banksy said, chewing. “It is burnt. Do not shoot so hard next time.”

Clara pointed at a dark cloud in the sky. “That was a scout. There’s more of them. Let’s get out of here.”

“Come on, Banksy,” I said.

“I’m still eating,” he said.

“Come on!”

We scurried away, Banksy complaining. I kept a wary eye for more of the bugs.

We reached Bast’s flank, and I reluctantly shouldered my rifle as we scaled our way down to the ground. Banksy wrapped himself around my shoulder as we descended. The kaiju’s entire body quivered. When I’d done the character creation sequence, thousands of ant-like demon parasites had exploded out of the kaiju’s body. Would that happen here?

Similar to that first scene, Bast lay upon a massive field of grass. But the lush, green grass was yellowed and dying. Smoldering craters appeared in every direction.

To the east, the smoking remains of an ancient city stood. To the west, a thick, jungle-like forest appeared to be just as impassible as Bast’s fur. Low hills and more scattered trees blocked our way north toward our destination, Medina.

“There are twenty-four regions outside the city,” Clara said as we hit the ground and started jogging north toward the hills and trees, which were about a mile and a half away. The grass here was about knee deep and dry, despite the recent rains. “Each kaiju normally sticks to its own area except in the endgame, which is where we are now. So now they’re mostly crowded in this area, which is where the breach is. The demons will congregate around the breach and the kaiju, so the further away we get from them, the safer we’ll be. The problem is they like to hang out near Medina, too, so we’ll have to figure out a way to sneak past them.”

I looked around warily for more of the massive beasts, but I didn’t see anything. All I could see were hundreds of moving, black dots in the skies above, swooping and screeching. They seemed to be ignoring us for now.

“I don’t see any of the guardians at all,” I said.

She pointed over her shoulder, pointing back the way we’d come. “Most of them are by the breach, just a couple miles over that hill back there. I can see their icons on the map. Some of the others aren’t though. Your Shrill is in the old city.” She pointed east toward the smoking remains of the abandoned city. “If we want to beat this game, we’re eventually going to have to get inside of him and heal him to full health.”

I glanced toward the city. I felt, something, inside of me, drawing me in that direction. Was that real or inside my head? 

“What about your guardian?” I asked. We crested a small hill. In the distance a herd of turkey-sized, dinosaur-like demons rushed through the underbrush, away from our position. They moved like a flock of birds, raptor-like on two legs, impossibly fast. Their black skin undulated with red lights just under the surface, like they were made of lava. They seemed to be angling their way toward the fallen Bast. We curved away to give them a wide berth.

Clara continued, breathless as we ran. I outpaced her easily, and I had to slow for her to keep up. Banksy slithered along between us, and I suspected he could move much faster than me. “The fae guardian normally lives just ahead in that woodsy region. His name is Avvinik, the panther god. He is related to Bast, but he is smaller. He’s one of the first kaiju you learn to heal in the game. He’s not there now. He’s south by the breach with the others.”

The ground rumbled, and a deep roar filled the world.

“Bast has woken up,” Clara said a moment later. “She teleported when she respawned, but she didn’t go far at all. This area must be her regular stomping grounds.”

We crested another hill, revealing the staggered line of trees about 100 meters ahead. Something moved along the upper branches. The movement caught my eyes, and I crashed to a stop.

“Wait,” I said, raising my hand. I crouched in the tall grass. Banksy slithered up my body and to my shoulder to get a better look. He did it easily and rapidly, peeking up like a periscope.

“I see them,” Clara said.

“What are they?” I asked.

Dozens of small, humanoid creatures swung about the tops of the trees. From this distance I could discern what appeared to be huts woven amongst the branches. Their peach-colored skin and round, bald heads made them look oddly like babies. They had fleshy, monkey-like tails and some—but not all—had fairy-like, pointed ears. A couple of them had long, bamboo-like sticks slung over their shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Clara said. “I haven’t spent too much time outside. I only know what little I do know because Anatoly never shut up about this stupid game.”

“I have no way of knowing if the monsters are hostile or not. Or if they’re above my ability to fight,” I said.

“I can take them,” Banksy said. He tracked their movement. Every time one swung from one tree branch to the next, he tensed, like a dog anticipating the toss of a tennis ball. His entire length was taut with excitement. I still didn’t know how he actually saw anything. 

On the ground near the trees, a group of the baby monkey things tussled about. A pair of them fell over each other as they wrestled, one chasing the other as they ventured away from the trees and roughly in our direction. High-pitched shrieks emanated from the trees as some of the others hollered down at them. Even their cries were infant-like, like the amplified wails of human babies. The two ignored the call of the others.

“I think it’s a safe bet most everything out here can kick our asses,” Clara said. “No matter what anything looks like.”

In other games, they usually made it obvious if a creature was aggressive or not. And in some games, if the mob was too dangerous, there was some sort of indicator warning you off. But here there was nothing. It was more realistic, but it was incredibly frustrating. This was a game where you probably died a whole lot, but the respawn locations seemed to be far away from one another. After a couple deaths, I’d have probably quit, no matter how pretty the game was. There had to be something I was missing.

“I have a zoology skill I can add, but I don’t have enough points for it,” Clara said. “Maybe you have something like it. It lets me examine creatures.”

The two fighting children were now about halfway between us and the line of trees. Each of the monkey things was about as tall as my knee. At this distance, I realized something was off with their movements. Their tails were doing most of the movement. While their heads and arms and legs did move, the movements seemed sluggish, ragdoll-like. The wrestling was more a match between the appendages and the rest of the bodies were just along for the ride.  

“Most my available skills are tracking-based,” I said as I watched, fascinated. “It all opens up when I hit level ten. I have something at level eight called Risk Assessment that’s only one point. But I can’t read the description yet.”

“We can fall back and snipe one and see what happens,” Clara suggested. “If we take out these two here, maybe the others won’t notice.”

That’s what I would’ve done under normal circumstances, but if I died now, I’d end up back in Bast’s large intestine. I did not want to go back there.

“No. Not until we have a better respawn location. We need to be as safe as possible.” I pointed east. “We’ll go that way and see if there’s a way around. This village can’t be that huge.”  

“Huh,” Clara said. “One of those things looks like a fae baby and the other looks human. And some of those bigger ones by the trees, they look like nerve agent babies. Look that one is a bug-headed alienist. And that goat one is a viceroy.”

“That’s weird,” I said, examining the babies more closely. She was right. While I didn’t see any worm surgeon babies, several of the other 22 races were represented in the trees. Like Clara had said, the two fighting babies were a fae and a human.

The tail of the fae baby wrapped around the neck of the human baby, and with a quick, efficient squeeze, the human baby’s head ripped right off. Blood spurted from the wound, and the body fell over as the head flew through the air, landing between Clara and me.

Banksy snatched the human baby head up and shook it back and forth, like a dog trying to break the neck of its prey. Then he spit it out, a disgusted look on his face.

“It’s rotten. I can’t eat it.”

“Holy fuck,” Clara said.

I stared, aghast at the baby head. Banksy drool oozed off it.

“Look,” Clara said.

The two creatures continued to fight. Rather, the tails of the two creatures continued to fight. The limp, headless baby bounded along, oblivious to the fact it had been decapitated.

That’s when I realized what was happening.

The tails were the creatures. They were worms, not unlike Banksy. Shorter than he was, but they seemed much more nimble. They wore dead babies on them like snails wore shells.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said, skulking back. I did not want to fight a bunch of worms that were going to throw baby heads at me.

“I think I know what they are,” Clara said as we ran parallel with the edge of the forest. “They call them ‘Night Thieves’ in Medina. There’s a quest to stop them. I think. They steal the babies of the citizens at night, and you’re supposed to go into their lair and free the babies. You gotta choose between saving the babies or getting some sort of powerful upgrade.”

“This game is fucked up,” I said as we huffed along. I couldn’t imagine anyone finding anything like that fun. If I had to make a choice like that, I was certain I’d pick saving the babies. “Okay, I think we’re good.” We turned and angled back into the forest.

“They’re probably not dangerous as long as they have a baby attached to them,” Clara said, looking back. “Maybe we should kill a few to experience up.”

“Maybe,” I said, not meaning it at all. “But first we need to get into the city. Plus, we probably can’t jump into quests midstream. If you do, you usually don’t get all the benefits of it. We need to find whoever is handing out the quest first.”

“Okay,” she said after a moment.

We jogged through the woods, avoiding every creature we saw. Clara had a good sense of when we were near some sort of wildlife.

Soon, a driving rain started to needle its way out of the sky, stinging as it fell.

Small, round bugs zipped their way through the air around us, and Banksy snapped at them, sometimes catching one. I felt the small puff of soul power with each kill. Each individual bug was barely a blip, but after several mouthfuls, I was confident it was enough to keep me topped up if I needed it. To be certain, I cast Reconstitute to replenish the small amount of life that had drained away since we’d fled Bast, and sure enough, about forty bugs later, my soul power bar had replenished significantly. We did not receive any experience for the bugs, however.

Eventually we reached the end of the forest, leading to a small plain that surrounded the sprawling city of Medina, which backed up against an endless ocean of mist.

The giant city was surrounded by a stone wall that glowed blue, indicating an enchantment. On the east and northernmost side of the city, massive buildings rose into the sky, but the tips of the towers all seemed to be cut off at a uniform height, as if the protection of the city ended at a specific altitude.

A flock of black, screeching demons filled the air above the city, swooping down and crying into the wet sky. Most carried flaming weapons such as swords and whips. A constant stream of rocks fell onto the city from above, but even from this distance, I could tell the projectiles were disintegrating against the magic shield that surrounded Medina.

And on the ground, an army stood between us and the city.

“Well, shit,” Clara said.

Chapter 16

“What are we going to do now?” I said, eying the ranks of demons camped out on the plains. Despite the driving rain, hundreds of cookfires trailed smoke into the darkening sky. Nightfall would be on us in an hour.

From our vantage, I could make out at least four different styles of demons. The vast majority were the ant-like humanoids, the same monsters that had burst out of Bast during the character creation process. The four-armed creatures sat huddled in circles, humming in unison, an ominous song that cut through the roar of the rain.

The flying demons were the second largest group. These were smaller and thinner, similar to Clara but with functional wings. Their sleek, black bodies were all sharp angles and spikes. Most of them wore curved swords over their backs, and they also had curved, scorpion tails. Clara couldn’t remember what they were called, but they looked similar to the pazuzu monsters from Dominion of Blades.

The third group was called “dreadnoughts” according to Clara. Each stood about ten feet tall and had two heads. The gray, snarling monsters were all muscle and anger. These were armed with massive guns that looked like iron cannons from old-school warships. Each of the two heads wore armored helms that appeared to be attached to one another with a short length of chain for some odd reason. Most of these guys were congregated in groups at the front of the battalions, closest to the tall walls of Medina.

The fourth group of demons had wings like the pazuzu, but none of them appeared to be in the air. These were hulking, vulture-like creatures, all at least fifteen feet tall. They stomped their way through the camp on the barbed ends of their leathery wings. Black tendrils of oily smoke trailed off them as they patrolled through the camps. There were only about twenty of these demons, but they easily held my attention the most. The air around them seemed to shift and crackle, as if their very skin was boiling.

“Those are called ‘Blood Wyverns,’” Clara said. “They only appear near the end of the game and are some of the most powerful monsters this side of the rift.”

“So we stay away from them. Got it.”

She nodded.

We had more than a quarter-mile of land between us and the city walls.

“What are we going to do?” I asked again. “We can’t just stroll through the camp to get there.”

“I don’t know,” she said, looking back and forth over the army, wide-eyed. “I hadn’t realized they’d be here. Last time I was here, this plain was open and filled with NPCs.”

“What about the ocean?” I asked, pointing at the wide expanse behind Medina. “Can we maybe go around and swim or float in?”

She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure you can’t go in the water at all. It’s the edge of the map.”

“So how do we get in?”

“We can’t,” she said finally. “The only way will be to teleport or burrow.”

The Teleport spell appeared in my menu, but it was only available at level 12. Banksy’s burrowing ability started at level 15. I didn’t know if I could teleport more than myself at the basic level, and I didn’t know if Banksy could burrow any sort of distance at his basic level.

“What level can you do Teleport?” I asked.

Her eyes went glossy for a moment, which I recognized as her searching her menus. “Level 12,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, backing back into the cover of the trees. “We only really have one play here, then. We both gotta level up.” I looked down at Banksy. “You up for this buddy? We gotta be safe. But we gotta kill stuff, too.”

The worm’s whole body vibrated, like he was wagging his entire length. His tongue lolled out. “I’m gonna kill stuff,” he said. “I’m gonna kill it good.” 

***

“Can you see any smaller towns or settlements near the city?” I asked.

“I think so,” Clara said. “There’s a bunch of different smaller towns not too far away. The map doesn’t say anything about them, but most of them have race icons over them. The closest has the wolf face of the Lycan people. There’s one with the Dagon fish, and there’s one that has the skull icon of your people, the worm surgeons.”

“Let’s try that one. Maybe we’ll get more help if it’s my people. Where is it?”

“It’s on the outskirts of the big, abandoned city where your kaiju lives. Wait… yes. I put a waypoint on the map, and now I have an arrow.”

“Okay,” I said, “Let’s see if we can get there.”

We started to trudge our way carefully through the woods as the world continued to darken.

The woods were full of creatures, and we had to tread carefully. A few times something growled or howled in the underbrush, and we had to backtrack. Clara’s minimap gave her a rough indication of where the threat was. My minimap held no features whatsoever and was less than useless.

Banksy growled and hissed back at anything that moved. Being stealthy with him was going to be impossible. He did manage to snap up and eat a few mice-like creatures. They gave no real experience, but they did give a small boost to my soul power, keeping me topped up.

I heard the flapping of the wings before I saw them.

One moment we were alone, the next a flurry of noise and activity surrounded us. Wings, screeching, flapping, wind whipping, all around us in a flood. Clara clutched onto my arm, crying out. Banksy growled and snapped, but there was nothing to hit, no target. A blood-red glow surrounded us. Nothing touched us, but the dervish constricted around us like a snake, keeping us in place.

The world settled as we stood frozen. Leaves continued to swirl in the air. 

I could finally see them now. Owls. Hundreds, thousands, of demonic owls with eyes like embers sat in the trees around us, unmoving. The trees sagged with their presence, malevolent, terrible. They were coiled, ready to pounce.

And then he was there. Another owl, but with comically-long legs stood upon the ground before us, eyeing us quizzically. Floating over his name in red, burning letters was Prince Stolas followed by a flaming crown.

Shit, I thought. This was some sort of boss creature. A demon prince. We’d walked blindly into something we weren’t even close to being ready for.

We stood there for several moments, staring at each other, neither of us moving. Clara and I exchanged a look.

“Welcome, children,” the owl said finally. Unlike his hundreds of minions, this owl had huge, luminous eyes. They reflected the red, burning light in the clearing.

“Uh, how’s it going?” I asked.

The owl looked up into the sky, blinking. “The heavens are unsettled on this night. This stalemate wears heavy on them.” He looked at me expectantly.

“That’s cool,” I said.

The owl sighed, obviously disappointed with my answer. He turned, as if to fly away, but then paused, looking thoughtful. “I dare ask. Are you familiar with my brother, Prince Andras?”

“Can’t say that I am,” I said. I looked at Clara, who shrugged.

“I was wondering if you could do something for me,” he said.

I relaxed. This was looking more like a quest-giving than a boss fight.

“Sure,” I said. “What do you need?”

“You must find him, and you must kill him. And when you kill him, stuff this in his chest.”

An owl flapped down from the tree and dropped a black flower into my hand. Another flew down and gave a similar flower to Clara.

Quest item. Black Sprout.

My inventory icon flashed, and I mentally clicked on it, pulling up the properties of the flower. The information line didn’t give much additional information.

Plant this in the fallen corpse of demon royalty. Effect unknown. It cannot be sold or dropped.

“Why would we do this for you?” Clara asked, staring at the flower. I examined my flower. It was similar to a chrysanthemum, though it had an odd heft to it. The stem was short, about two inches long with several, hair-like feelers at the end, waving as if they were searching. Holding it gave me an unsettling feeling, like I was holding a body part. I put it in my pack, happy to get it out of my hands.

The owl turned to regard the fairy.

“Do you know why fairies exist, young one?” the demon prince asked.

“Uh,” Clara said. “No.”

“Fairies such as yourself are food for my kind,” he said. He gestured with a wing at the trees, which bristled with activity. “My children have found scant food in this place. At this moment you are more valuable to me than to them. Cease to be of use to me, and that will change.”

Clara edged closer to my side. “So where can we find this Andras guy?” she asked.

“He is here, in this blasted non-world. He may be hunted, or he may be evoked.”

“What’s the best way to kill him?” I asked.

The owl cocked his head to the side. “Do not let him speak, lest he tempt you with lies. He dies like all demons die. If you want absolute certainty, I suggest the removal of the head. Do not forget to plant the flower within him.”

“And what shall we do when we’re done with him?”

“Return to this place, and you shall be rewarded greatly.”

“All righty, then,” I said. “We’ll do this.”

In the upper left of my vision, a small notification appeared. Hell Quest – Kill Andras for Stolas. The quest disappeared into a folder.

“I look forward to your return,” the demon said. “In the meantime, here is something to aid your quest. If you find this useful, you may return for more, but at a price.”

Two more owls flew down and dropped a pair of vials in front of both of us, two for me, two for Clara. I picked them up.

Extract of Colo Colo Menses (Quantity: 2)

I pulled up the description.

This potion has a 50% chance of rendering the user Blind for ten minutes, a 25% chance of giving the user Invulnerability for two minutes, a 24% chance of moving the user immediately to the next player level, and a 1% chance of imbuing all three options. In addition, there’s a 25% chance of immediately teleporting the user to the womb of Guardian Colo Colo. This is a limited potion, and the player may only consume five of these potions in their lifetime. Consumed: 0/5.

“Uh, which one is Colo Colo?” I asked Clara.

“She’s the guardian of the shade gremlins, I think,” Clara said. “Giant rat-slug thing with three flaming tails. She’s so fat, she can’t walk on her own, so she floats around with the aid of giant balloons made by the gremlins. Her whole body is covered with gremlin-made armor. She is constantly giving birth to walrus-sized rat monsters.”

“Would you like to purchase more potions?” Stolas asked.

“More of these?” I asked, stashing the potions. Potions that put you to the next level were great and useful, especially at higher levels, but not if there was also a chance you’d end up in the birth canal of a kaiju. They had to be crazy expensive.

“Oh no, I have dozens of potions available for purchase,” Stolas said.

A menu appeared floating in the air, and several pages scrolled by. The cheapest thing on the list was a “Full Healing” potion for 1,000 teeth. I saw I could purchase more of the Colo Colo potions for 250,000 teeth each. I didn’t have any teeth. On the last page there were multiple potions whose price were listed as “Bounty or Quest.”

Most of these potions were random quest items or large stat boosts. Some gave one access to certain game areas and others gave large boosts to base stats. To get them, one had to find and kill certain high-level monsters. This was something we could explore later, but not yet.

“No thank you,” I said. “But we will be back.”

“Very well,” Stolas said. “You may find me here, but only at night.” And with a flap of the wings, he burst into the air. A flurry of screeching wind, and the owls were all gone.

The Lair of Stolas Rare and Exotic Potions added to the minimap. The World Map skill is required before you may use external waypoints.

“That was lucky,” I muttered, watching the branches of the trees shiver. Leaves rained down.

Clara shrugged. “I remember hearing there’s like 71 of these demon lords and princes and dukes or whatever roaming around. Some you have to fight, some give you quests and try to sell you stuff like this guy. So you want to try these potions?”

“No,” I said. “There’s only a small chance we’ll level up, and these things cost 250K each. I’m thinking if we get to the city, maybe we can sell them.”

“Okay, whatever,” she said. “Let’s keep moving.”

It didn’t take much longer for us to trudge out of the woods and back into an area of low hills, opposite from where we were before with the baby parasite things. Banksy had managed to kill a few more small mammals, but we’d avoided most of the larger creatures so far.

A light drizzle now fell, though the clouds seemed to be mostly dispersing. The bottoms of the remaining clouds reflected a deep magenta light, giving them an ominous weight in the sky. There was no moon and no stars, yet a low light filled the night, like the source was a dirt-covered lens just over the horizon.

“There it is,” Clara said, pointing at the glow of a small village nestled at the top of a hill about a quarter-mile away. Electric lights flickered off and on, and sparks occasionally burst into the air from fallen electrical lines, lighting the night like staccato fireworks. A rusted, six-foot fence topped with concertina wire surrounded the outer perimeter, lit by a sickly, yellow light. Guard towers stood sentry every couple hundred yards, though only about half of them appeared occupied. Empty and blackened gun emplacements stood behind sandbags in random spots in the clear area in front of the town. I could see movement in the streets, but the town looked as if it had recently been steamrollered. Some of the towers had been toppled. Just past the village, the skeletons of larger buildings stood, melding into the darkness, implying a massive city lay abandoned and dormant just beyond.

An odd sense of hopeless defeat tugged at me as we observed this place. The area looked like the cross between a prison and a military base after it had been overrun and abandoned by the enemy.

As we watched, shouting rose from the north side of the village. Tracer fire cut into the air from one of the towers, adding a dotted, flame-red line across the ghastly sky. An unholy screech ripped the night. A massive shape plummeted from the sky and hit the ground like a meteor. I could feel the thump as it hit the ground.

“This place seems pleasant,” I said.

Chapter 17

“Do you think we can just walk in, or do you think they’ll shoot us on sight?” I asked.

“I think we should wait until morning and then walk in with our arms raised,” Clara said.

I nodded. Most games had built-in friend-or-foe profiling by NPCs, but I wasn’t certain how it worked here. Besides, we weren’t positive these guys were friendly. The one thing I had learned from Stolas the owl demon was that these bad guys didn’t necessarily get along with one another. For all we knew, this village was now occupied by a rogue group of demons.

It would take about four or five hours for the sun to rise. Clara, Banksy, and I sat huddled at the edge of the forest, waiting. Large, flying demons seemed to probe the village’s defenses about once every hour. I caught a glimpse of random flocks of other monsters flying now and then, and I sensed much more than I could see. Large beasts also patrolled these woods, but nothing came close enough to be a problem. I had a sense that early in the game these woods were considered a safe, low-level area. They weren’t safe now, but they were certainly safer than out in the open.

Dozens of inconsequential tiny bugs and mammals lived in the underbrush here, and Banksy gobbled up everything that came close. None of these gave any experience except a small shrew-like creature that had gotten a bite in before Banksy could snap him in half. He still remained at level five.

We didn’t talk. We didn’t sleep. I suggested Clara get an hour in, but she said the game wouldn’t let her sleep out here.

“Where are you from?” I asked finally, breaking the silence. Clara rarely said anything about herself, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try again. I had to get the quiet out of my head. It was in those moments they came to me, thoughts of Mary and Ruth. And of Chris. Especially thoughts of Chris and of that day.

This is too much. This is too much.

I didn’t think she would answer, but then: “Seattle, like you,” she said, maybe five minutes later.

“Oh?” I asked, though it wasn’t really a question. I didn’t know how to react. “Did they have someone on the screen, someone for you to watch? Someone that they threatened?”

She turned to me then, her impossibly-large eyes luminous in the night. She nodded. “I had someone. But she was more than threatened. She was ripped away from me.” 

I wanted to ask more, but Banksy raised his head from the ground and growled. “We are approached. We are stalked. We must fight or run.”

I jumped to my feet, pulling my gun to the ready. “What? Where?”

I wished my Frame Vision skill worked outside of deep dive. I scanned the woods. I saw nothing but shadows of trees.

Banksy growled.

“I really need a gun,” Clara whispered.

One of the trees moved. It was a slow, languid movement at first, easy to miss. Nothing more than a trunk swaying in the wind. 

I followed the trunk up into the branches, and there I saw it. The white shock of bone. Antlers. Teeth. Lots of teeth, floating in the foliage, grinning down at us.

They’re in the trees. Massive, floating stag skulls with sharp teeth like those of a great white shark. But, no that wasn’t right. These trees weren’t swaying. They were moving. The whole damn tree. The tree was the monster. Monsters. I blinked, and it all came together as I stared, dumbfounded. There were at least five of them, probably more. Bark and moss-covered, camouflaged to look like gnarled, old trees, these hunched beasts stood about fifteen feet tall, but were probably bigger if they stood straight. Each had the head of a colossal stag skull with a wide rack of antlers that had to be ten feet across, like massive claws raised in worship of the night.

Wendigo, my mind thought. The name of the monster coming to me unbidden. I didn’t know if that was exactly what these things were called, but that’s what they were based on. The legendary North American creature of the forest. 

“Okay, guys,” I said, taking a step back, toward the village. “We’re not going to get a chance to wait until morning. We run on the count of three.”

“I don’t see anything,” Clara said, following my eyes into the tops of the trees. She gasped sharply.

“One,” I whispered, clutching my gun. My arms trembled. I remembered shooting Ginger the snake in the face. It didn’t do any damage because the thing was too high of a level.

“Two…”

A deafening, high-pitched shriek filled the woods as the monsters—there were more than five of them. A lot more—surged forward, impossibly fast.

“Run!” I cried as I blasted the lead wendigo in the face. It grunted and stopped, shaking his head before falling to all fours, a skeletal stag on stilts. I barely had time to register this as I turned and fled.

We burst into the field, rushing as swiftly as we could toward the village. Clara ran at my side, and Banksy slithered ahead of us, faster than us both, disappearing into the dark, knee-high grass. 

Entering Charnel Outskirts.

“Help!” Clara shouted at the village, waving her hands.

I guess we’re going to find out if they’re friendly.

I added my voice to hers. “Help!” I hazarded a look over my shoulder. The herd of wendigo beasts thundered into the clearing. The ground shook. There had to be a hundred of them. All of them loped on long, stilt-like legs. They screeched and grunted. They’d have us in seconds.

A blazing spotlight zeroed in at us, impossibly bright. Then another, then another. The light came from the towers. Shouting rose in the distance. I could no longer see anything, and I just continued to run.

The sound of automatic weapons fire filled the night. Fire flashed, somehow even brighter than the spotlights. Flashes of red and orange punctuated the deafening whiteout. The familiar whoosh of soul power flowed into me as the monsters died under the onslaught.

“Oof,” I ran headlong into a sandbag emplacement, and I flipped, heels over head into the ditch behind, falling further than I anticipated. I landed in a muddy heap, Clara landing right on top of me.

The weapons continued to vomit fire over our heads. The sky was alight with red tracer fire.

A single wendigo appeared over us, its entire body aflame. The white stag skull burned, and one of the antlers was gone. It roared, looking down on us, smoke pouring from the eyeholes on its skull.

This was the same one I’d shot before. I pulled my gun up and fired again. And again.

Banksy was suddenly there, latched onto the creature just under the chest, his body whipping back and forth. The wendigo opened its massive jaw as machine-gun fire poured into its flank from the village. I kept thinking don’t hit my worm. Don’t hit Banksy. I aimed into its mouth and continued to fire. Teeth blasted away, shooting in all directions like shards of glass.

It roared and fell forward, its skull breaking into pieces as it tumbled into the hole with us, on us. The wind knocked out of me all over again as the heavy corpse poured into the foxhole.

Level Up!

You are now Level 7.

You are now Level 8.

Upgrades Available.

The fire continued for a few more minutes, growing more and more staccato while we cowered in the hole, hiding underneath the corpse of the wendigo. Banksy was gone, but I could feel the corpse shudder. I assumed he was inside the beast, munching happily away.

This thing had to be a really high level, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t really killed it myself. Banksy or I may have given it the final blow, but they’d poured a hell of a lot of firepower into that thing before it went down.

Clara sat next to me in the dirt. She’d managed to avoid being pinned down by the monster. She sat huddled in a ball in the corner, rocking back and forth.

“Are you okay?” I asked, grunting as I tried to pull myself out from underneath the thing.

She nodded but didn’t say anything. Her entire body shook. She’s like a different person every five minutes.

I now had two attribute points and 11 skill points to spend. I stopped to rest, spending the moment to delve into my menus. I put both of the attribute points into strength, taking me up to 13. Then I spent two skill points on the World Map skill. My minimap glowed, populating with lines and villages. After reading the description on the skill, I added two more points, leveling the skill up to 3, the highest I could bring it without hitting a Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades center.

The glowing purple dots of corpses dotted the map. I’d now be able to see the movements of nearby NPCs and enemies. I could now add waypoints, and I could zoom the map out to get a world overview. All the towns and their names populated the map. The one nearby was called Charnel. It glowed with a green outline, indicating—I assumed—that it wasn’t yet overrun with demons.

I could also see where the guardians were, though after skimming across the icons, it was clear it wasn’t all of them. I wasn’t sure why.

I was left with seven skill points, and there were several directions I could go with them. I needed to think on it. First I had to get out of this damn hole.

Banksy Hook Slayer is now Level 6.

Banksy Hook Slayer is now Level 7.

Your familiar is full.

“It’s like a tree on the outside, but it’s very juicy on the inside,” Banksy announced after emerging from the beast’s side, covered in mud-like gore. The liquified interior of the dead wendigo showered on us, still steaming hot. Banksy had gotten noticeably larger. “I won’t be able to eat any more of it, though.”

He looked at me. “I can make opponents Unsteady now. I can do it once an hour.”

“Do you think it’s safe?” I asked, finally worming my way out from underneath the dead monster. The extra strength had helped. It’d gone silent above. I poked my head above the foxhole. A heavy layer of dust and smoke filled the night. Despite the rain, dozens of fires lit the clearing in front of Charnel. On my minimap, the blue dots of about ten NPCs exited the city and made their way toward us.

“They’re coming. I think they’re good guys,” I said to Clara, who nodded, brushing herself off.

“Are you okay?” she asked me, coming to stand next to me in the hole.

“I went up two levels,” I said. “So did Banksy.”

She nodded. “I need a gun,” she repeated.

“Who goes there?” a voice demanded. It was the voice of a middle-aged man, filled with grit and authority.

I could see the glow of the names over the NPCs before they emerged. 

The speaker held the title Renault – Captain of the Guard (Level 35). The other nine had various names, but were all between level 15 and 20 with the title “Village Guard.”

All ten of them were worm surgeons like me.

“Let me do the talking,” I said to Clara before standing fully erect, my hands up. Banksy, still dripping with gore, wormed his way up my body, twisting around my torso and settling his head on my shoulder. He’d gained at least five pounds.

I called out, “I’m here.”

The guard captain lowered his weapon, a black metal machine gun at the sight of me.

“Brother,” he said, coming to a stop. The others all lowered their guns. “That was quite the entrance.”

I relaxed and felt myself grin. “We didn’t plan it that way. They kinda sneaked up on us.”

Renault nodded. This was my first time really seeing a worm surgeon since my cousin, and their emaciated, ghoulish faces were hard to look at. I felt a twinge of sympathy for Clara, for having to deal with my face all day. “They’ll do that. Very well. Do you vouch for your companion?”

I looked at Clara. “Her?” I said. “She’s harmless.”

Renault grunted. “I know the fae is harmless. I’m speaking of the hook slayer. They can be destructive, even when they’re this small.”

Banksy’s tongue lolled out, trailing slime down my shoulder.

“He’ll behave himself. Won’t you, Banksy?” I reached back and scratched him on the head.

“I’m a good boy,” Banksy said.

“Very well,” Renault said. “Let’s get you inside.” 

Chapter 18

Feedings left: 149

“Above you! Two of them,” Renault cried.

Clara and I both raised our mounted guns. The rusted, ancient weapon screeched with protest as I struggled to pull the barrel up. The guns were called “abyss lancers” and could only be mounted into guard towers. They shot fiery, hand-sized bullets that fed into the weapon from a hatch in the floor. The cumbersome guns had unlimited ammo, for which I was grateful, and they cut through anything that approached the city like a damn buzzsaw. But they were a bitch to aim. I searched the sky for the threat.

There. The massive gargoyle angled down at us, screaming into the night. The demons were similar to their larger counterparts, the blood wyverns, but supposedly much easier to kill. I squeezed the trigger. The rusted gun vibrated and bucked, reminding me of a weedwhacker as it unleashed hell on the attacking demon. I’d aimed low, and I walked the tracer fire right into the path of the dive-bombing demon. Next to me, Clara found her target and screamed as she fired.

Seconds later, twin flaming corpses plummeted from the sky. Banksy uncoiled from my feet and slithered down the tower and toward the fallen demon. I watched the massive worm thread his way down the guard tower’s metal supports. He was about ten feet long now and as wide around as a stop sign. His pale body undulated with rose bursts of lights. I knew now the amount of red in his body indicated his fullness level. He’d had little trouble finding food since we’d taken up guard duty. 

“I only got a couple experience for that one,” Clara said.

I nodded. “Me too. It’s not working anymore.”

The red, blinking exclamation point over the demon’s head—thanks to my newly-chosen Risk Assessment skill—indicated it had been a much higher level than I was, but it seemed the game only gave me a fraction of the experience when I used a mounted weapon.

There was no way I could face down one of these things in a fair fight.

I sighed, watching Banksy slither toward the demon. He reached the still-flaming monster. He could only eat the one I’d shot and killed. He took a tentative bite, then he pounced, devouring the entire car-sized corpse in seconds. I called up my familiar menu, watching the experience bar. It barely nudged.

It was time to go.

We’d spent the last ten days in the village of Charnel, gathering strength, performing a few minor quests, and using the constant demon attacks as a way to level ourselves up. Clara and I were now both level 11. Banksy had managed to get himself to 12. One more level, and he’d be reclassified as a mount.

The town itself held nothing of interest. There’d once been a guild—a mausoleum they called it—for worm surgeons here, but it had been destroyed along with the bionic upgrades center. There were no shops, no inns, nothing. The only thing left was an armory, which was manned by an elderly shade gremlin and a gnarled old midwife—one of the Medusa-like snake people; multiple bombed-out hovels where the worm surgeons lived; and a whole lot of mud.

Early in the game, people playing worm surgeon characters had to travel to this village to complete some worm surgeon-specific quests, and it was a place to buy certain rare items. But now the whole town existed solely as an endgame quest. From what I gathered, it was a side quest for all of the races except worm surgeons. For my race, this was something I’d have to do to complete the game.  

The quest was simple. We needed to evacuate the village. We had to get the 150 inhabitants safely inside the main town of Medina, where it was “safe.” 

To do that, we had to repair the teleport gazebo in the center of town. Then we had to cast Teleport to get them free.

There were two problems with that. The first was neither Clara nor I could cast Teleport yet. I received access to it at level 12. It only cost a single point. But I suspected I needed it at a higher level to move whole groups of people around.

The second problem was in order to repair the gazebo, we had to find and retrieve the town’s quantum mechanic. She was an elderly worm surgeon named Bernadette. It also turned out, because of game logic, she was my long-lost aunt.

Bernadette lived inside of the Shrill.

We’d broken out of one kaiju only to find ourselves having to hunt down and break inside of another. But this time, I suspected I’d have to fully heal the thing first, and we weren’t anywhere close to being ready for that.

Luckily with my map I could see where all the kaiju were, and the Shrill was usually about five to seven kilometers away, deep inside the bombed-out city. Sometimes at night we heard a distant high-pitched wail, terrible and heart wrenching, carrying on the wind. The worm surgeons would all look up at the sound and make a motion with their hands, similar to the Christian sign of the cross.

The sound of the Shrill made my skin crawl. Bast was terrifying. The Shrill was different. Just the sound of the creature filled me with dread. I didn’t even know what it looked like. I remembered the shadowy outline of the creature from the character creation process, but that was it. It was massive, bigger than Bast, a slathering pile of body parts and eyeballs on stalks and tentacles and mouths. A creature from a nightmare. The description had said it was a former king of hell, a turncoat. The humans who had been tasked with giving it battlefield care had evolved into the worm surgeons, something not quite dead but no longer alive. I shuddered when I thought of it.

Before we even attempted approaching the thing, we needed to level up more. And I needed to reset our regeneration spots. We needed to find a flesh modder. Charnel didn’t have one. I remembered the gremlin guy in Medina had offered to brand me with the Medina brand for a fee.

And just as importantly, I had to get Banksy branded. His respawn was still my stomach. I had to find him something, and fast. I needed to get a pet carrier, so he’d always teleport to my location if we got separated. But it quickly became clear that using the carrier itself as a regeneration spot wasn’t going to work. I suspected he’d soon be as big as the train-sized parasites inside of Bast. Once he hit level 25, his only available respawn would be the Shrill or some open area outside.

“You need to find the groundling village,” a withered, old female worm surgeon told me as we sat by the fire that first night after we’d arrived. Her name was Fiona, and she was the mayor of the small town. We’d spent the day talking to all the NPCs of the village, gathering up information and a few small quests. All the NPCs had their names and levels floating over their heads in black letters. Only a few of the NPCs had occupations also listed. Generally that meant I could talk to these about a wider range of things.  

“You will need this,” Fiona said, handing me a round chunk of metal. “As a worm surgeon, one of these is your birthright.” She glared at Clara. “If she wants one, she’ll have to earn it.”

I immediately recognized what the fist-sized hunk of metal was, even before the description popped up.

Branding Iron

Village of Charnel

“Be warned, however,” Mayor Fiona said. “When the other races voted to allow our people back into Medina, groundlings were one of the races who voted ‘no.’ They are not our blood enemies like the radiants, but they do not like our kind.”

I nodded. I knew a little of the story. Worm surgeons were a banished race, not allowed to live amongst the others until just before the game began. “Who else voted against us?”

She smiled sadly. “It was the radiants, of course. The groundlings, the night barbers, the caduceus.” She turned to look at Clara. “And the fae.”

“All the users of celestial magic,” Clara said, unfazed by the mayor’s dark stare.

Fiona nodded. “The adherents of the chained gods fear those who can wield the resurrection magics. Our only true ally of the adherents are the viceroys, who worship both resurrection and celestial powers.”

“What about humans?” I asked. “How do they stand?”

Clara answered. “Human players can use magic from any of the schools, but the spells are always weaker. They usually aren’t associated too closely with any of the magic groups. They’re mostly non-entities in the game’s storylines. Anatoly said that’s part of the reason why it’s so hard for him to alter the game to make all players human.”   

I looked at the branding iron in my hand. Once we found a flesh modder, I could use it on all three of us, and we’d have a new regeneration option.

The groundling settlement was an underground village about twenty miles away, on the other side of the forest that surrounded Medina. The town was called Kinnegad. These distances were never meant to be traveled by foot. I’d hoped to level Banksy up one more level, making him a mount before we left, but it looked like it wasn’t going to happen. Apparently we needed to find some shop or stables or something so he could get outfitted before we could ride him anyway.

This game had multiple fast-travel options from mounts to ground vehicles to airships, none of which we could currently use. The village had what appeared to be a small, derelict tank parked just inside the gate. The tracked vehicle was the size of a short school bus and was covered with multiple gun turrets and antennas. But Renault said the ancient vehicle no longer ran. Maybe my aunt Bernadette could fix it once we brought her back from inside the Shrill. 

I was confident as long as we stuck mostly to the woods, we’d get to the groundling village okay, even on foot. The only issue was the last couple of miles required travel over flat, open lands.

In the middle of those open lands, halfway between the edge of the woods and our destination of Kinnegad was another village called Bibic, though it appeared as if it had been destroyed by the demons. It once was associated with the lycans—the werewolf-like players. Their associated kaiju was a two-headed monstrosity called Orthrus, and this kaiju currently stalked that area between the groundlings and us.

Just the mention of Orthrus sent Clara into a strange funk. Over the past few days, she’d been mostly quiet, only talking to discuss tactics. Her changing demeanors had settled on one of serious determination. The joke-cracking, sarcastic manner she first displayed was mostly gone. During the day she often sat, staring into nowhere, sometimes curling up with Banksy to take a nap. The game allowed her to sleep for up to three hours at a time. Being unable to sleep at all, I was jealous of her ability to escape from the game, even if it was just for a moment.

Once I suggested we make the journey to the groundling village, and we saw we had to skirt our way past the two-headed kaiju, Clara changed once again. She withdrew further into herself, disappearing for hours at a time into one of the bombed-out hovels of the village. I found her once curled into a ball, her arms hugging her legs, making herself as small as possible, muttering to herself, rocking back and forth.

She oddly reminded me of my own mother when she did that. I had a quick memory, of coming into my mom’s room when I was a kid, asking her if she was going to make dinner tonight. It was something that happened a lot, especially in those last few years before she died when I was 11. I’d find her cuddled up, wrapped into herself on top of her perfectly-made bed, rocking back and forth, muttering to herself just like this. She usually wouldn’t answer me, unless I stood there for a long time, still, like a statue. I used to imagine it was like entering the lair of a monster, my mom’s room. And only if I stood perfectly straight, perfectly still would I be safe.

I tried it with Clara, not moving, just standing there, waiting.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, she spoke.

“He could still be in there. He’ll know I’m nearby. He’ll get me. He’ll get you.”

“Who?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Jenk.” She whispered the word, as if she spoke the name of a god.

“Jenk?” I asked. “Who the hell is that?”

“The Canadian. He’s a lycan. He lives inside of Guardian Orthrus. That’s where his base is.” 

I shook my head. “We’re the only ones here. All the other players are gone. They’ve all been arrested or they’ve run for the hills. We would’ve seen something by now if people were still here.”

“No,” she said. “Not him. He’s too smart to get caught. He’s different than the others.”

I put my hand on her shoulder. She remained huddled in a tight ball. Banksy sat piled up next to her, a giant coil of rope. He raised his head, looking at her. Clara trembled.

“Even if he is there,” I said. “We’re giving that thing a wide berth. We’re not going inside of it. He won’t even know we’re there. We have to do this.”

She didn’t answer. I left her there.

I’d received three attribute points since we’d sought shelter in Charnel. I put all three into durability, raising it to 15. I also had 16 skill points, and once we’d passed level 10, I had dozens of new skills to choose from.

I spent one on the Risk Assessment skill, which ranked mobs with a green, yellow, or red marker over their heads, comparing their level to mine. Higher levels of the skill gave more detailed information, but for now that was all I needed. Every mob I’d seen since I added the skill had the red mark of danger floating over it.

I also added Wicked Meat for three points. I’d gone back and forth for a while about whether or not to spend precious points on the skill, but it was recommended in order to properly utilize my Upcycle spell. The description was nebulous:

Wicked Meat is a multi-faceted skill with multiple uses and is either a requirement or a strong recommendation for several high-tier spells and skills. Allows the user to assess the compatibility of an enemy’s flesh with other associated spells and skills. In addition, it marks compatible flesh for already-obtained skills and spells such as Upcycle and Golem, allowing a user to both identify targets and avoid dealing damage to areas of interest. Also warns against false positives and incompatibilities that might not otherwise be apparent.

So basically the skill told me when a mob had a body part that I could swap out with one of my own using the Upcycle spell. 

After I obtained the skill, a menu popped up when I focused on Clara, letting me know she had a 50% chance of dropping a compatible left arm if I killed her. But it also warned there was a 70% chance my body would reject the arm after attachment.

Christ. I’m glad I didn’t try doing the Upcycle earlier. I didn’t know if I’d be able to put my old arm back on after something was “rejected.” I didn’t really want to find out.

Every worm surgeon in town had the same notification, though with them, I could swap out every part of their body from individual fingers, to hands, to whole arms, to pretty much everything else on their bodies, all with a 0% chance of rejection. I could even swap out facial features, from my eyes to my ears and even parts of my brain.

Doing so would have a major effect on my attributes and skills, mostly negative. Some of the higher-level worm surgeons, like Renault, did give a big boost to my strength and durability if I switched out major body parts. But I’d have to kill them first, which I didn’t want to do.

The entire town turned into a mess of floating notification boxes wherever I looked.

Thankfully, I found a tick box in the menu which allowed me to switch off the skill. I did so, and everything turned back to normal.

Clara added a wind spell called Cone of Silence, which would allow us to walk without making noise. She added a second wind spell called Well-Fed that reset her hunger counter. It would keep her from starving to death, but it wouldn’t refill her mana meter for her celestial power. She also gave herself a skill called Friend, which had a calming effect on some non-demon mobs.

Banksy added a few skills of his own. One was called Disorient, which caused an enemy to lose half his acumen and one called Concentration-Loss, which made it so a magic caster’s next spell would fail. Both of them he could utilize once an hour.

For my surgical talents, in addition to four I already had, I received Numb—the same one Clara already had—and something called Detoxify. I also received something called Reroute. My Cauterize and Incision skills both went up to level 3, and my Antiparasitic went up to 5.

As far as equipment went, the armory was only a little useful. The gear was free to those who helped defend the village, but there wasn’t too much available. They’d given me a simple, reinforced breast tunic designed especially for worm surgeons. It dampened a small amount of damage, but only to my chest area. The gray, sleeveless jerkin was a similar material to banded leather, but much lighter. It did increase the storage capacity for my pack by almost 50%. I also received a simple curved dagger, which I clipped to my belt.

They had a few guns, but none were nearly as good as my Epiviper. None of the armor fit Clara, but she did take a dagger and a gun. The medusa-like midwife creature who helped run the armory refused to help the fae, hissing at her every time she saw her. Thankfully the other attendant, an elderly shade gremlin, was happy to assist. Clara had to choose between a handgun and a laser blaster. The large handgun was the more powerful of the two, but it used ammo. The blaster had better accuracy and range, but it had about half the stopping power of the gun. However, it never needed to be reloaded. They wouldn’t let her take both, so she picked the blaster.

I watched Banksy return from the field where he’d just devoured the fallen gargoyle. The one Clara had killed remained where it’d fallen. It’d turn to bones then disappear over the next several minutes.

“There are teeth in the field,” Banksy said. His voice had gotten deeper with the most recent level up. “Lots of teeth. You should probably pick some of it up before the guards collect it all tonight.”

Clara and I looked at each other. Money hadn’t yet been an issue, but it would be soon. I hadn’t realized the gargoyles were dropping anything. It hadn’t even occurred to me. They didn’t carry weapons or any sort of armor. So all that dropped was themselves, and I hadn’t seen any indication yet that their bodies held any sort of useful material.

There was a skill that automatically highlighted dropped treasure, called All that Glitters, but I hadn’t thought it necessary. It was only a level 6 skill, and it cost two points. I added it on a whim.    

The moment I did, the field before me started to glitter in dozens of spots. Some spots were brighter than others. Oh wow. It would take a half-hour for me to pick it all up.

“I don’t suppose you could pick it up for me?” I asked Banksy.

Banksy looked at me like I’d just asked him to lick the bottom of my boots. “Do I look like a packrat or one of those anteater familiars?”

I took that as a no. I sighed, stowing the mounted gun and descending the ladder. The next attack would come in about an hour, and our shift was just about done anyway. Renault waved us goodbye.

Clara joined me as we trekked through the field. Sure enough, teeth were everywhere. In most spots, they were single or doubles. The teeth looked just like regular, human teeth, bleached white. Luckily I just had to touch them with my hand, and they’d disappear and magically teleport to my pack. A minute later I learned I just had to step on them, and they’d come to my pack. My tooth counter started to slowly tick up, though there were only a couple hundred in the field. Brighter piles held at least five teeth, and in one instance, I found a single gold tooth, which was worth 25 teeth. In the end I picked up 244 teeth, and Clara had found about 40.

“You might want to grab this skill, too,” I said to Clara as we walked back to the entrance. It would be dark soon, and we’d decided that we’d say our goodbyes to Charnel at first light.

“I don’t have any skill points left,” she said.

I stopped dead. “Wait, what? I thought you had 12 left.”

Clara had been less circumspect with her skills and spells since we’d set out, but the last she’d said, she’d been saving them all for the bionic upgrades once we found an upgrade center. She could add a pair of mechanical fairy wings that would allow her to fly for five skill points and probably a boatload of teeth. I knew her surgery menu was similar to mine and that she’d added a healing spell and that food spell, plus the silence spell and the Friend skill to keep the wildlife off our backs.

“What else did you add?”

She paused, and for a moment I didn’t think she was going to answer. Her look hardened. “If we have to travel past Orthrus, I need to make sure there’s no way he’ll be able to get to me. So I bought Recall, and I got an invisibility spell. Plus I bought an attack spell called Holy Flare.”

I sighed. Recall was a five-point, fast-travel spell that brought you back to your regen spot. It was a waste of skill points because the Teleport skill, which you gained access to a few levels later, did almost the same thing, but with the added benefit of allowing you to transfer to any other working fast travel node in the game. And Teleport only cost a single point.

The only real difference was that you could cast Recall from anywhere and Teleport required a travel node. I suspected Teleport did the same thing at a higher level, but I wasn’t sure.

It was a stupid, panic-induced waste of points. And as unpredictable as Clara was, I knew she wasn’t stupid. Not normally.

When Clara was with SmashSouth, the ogre had cut holes into her flesh. He’d done it over and over, abusing Clara’s almost-human body just to the edge of death, as close as he could. He’d spent hours cutting, teaching himself how deep, how wide. That was his thing.

She’d been with SmashSouth for months.

Yet, Clara wasn’t afraid of SmashSouth. She talked of him almost casually. It couldn’t possibly be true, but she seemed to regard the previous few months as boring, uneventful.

But before that, she’d been with the Canadian, this Jenk.

From what I’d gathered, she’d only been with him for a few days. He’d “borrowed” her while Anatoly procured him a new consumable. Only a few days. What the hell could that man have done, what possible horrors could someone impose that were worse than what SmashSouth did? 

I shuddered. I couldn’t even begin to fathom what it could be.

Long ago I’d learned that when someone was afraid, you needed to listen to them. It didn’t matter if their fear was real or imagined. If they perceived something as a threat, then the reality was irrelevant. The most predictable of people behaved in wildly nonsensical or erratic ways when they were afraid. Only in understanding that fear could one begin to understand how they might act.

“Grief is a kind of fear,” Dr. Metcalf had said to us after the accident. Mary never bought into that, but I always did. Anger. Anger was a type of fear also. I believed that with all of my heart. It was only when I could alleviate the fear in Mary would she even allow the idea of Ruth moving back in with us. It was only in alleviating the fear within myself could I think of my daughter and not have anything but hate within me.

This is too much. This is too much.

“He won’t know we’re there,” I said. “If by some odd chance this guy is logged into the game, he’ll be in his base. He’ll be inside of his kaiju. We’ll sneak right past. Do you remember what time of day he was usually logged in?”

Clara looked at me, then. She really looked at me for the first time in days. “He was usually only around at night time in the game. His nighttime. He was from the Toronto area, and the sunsets are synced up to the Seattle area. It’s two or three hours ahead, I think.”

I nodded. “Okay, so we’ll try to get past Orthrus around noon. So an extra layer of protection. Okay?”

She visibly relaxed at the suggestion.

“Okay,” she said. “We sneak past Orthrus, get to the groundlings, and we’ll get our respawn sorted out.” She looked at me, her wide eyes open, betraying a wild kind of fear, that of a cornered animal. This is her, I thought. This is the real Clara, laid bare, open and exposed.

“He can’t find us. He can’t find me. Not again.”

“He won’t,” I said. “I promise.”

Chapter 19

We left the safety of Charnel about a half-hour before sunrise. We waited until the gargoyle attack, and the moment it was put down, we cautiously set forth, hurrying our way to the forest as the purple and orange light of a new day filtered through the smoke and clouds.

Renault had promised that the most dangerous denizens of the forest—the wendigo monsters—only came out at night. There was plenty to fear, even in this place, but with Clara’s ability to move silently and to pacify the wildlife, we were relatively safe. It wasn’t nearly as deadly as the abandoned city, he added. We just needed to be wary of the demon invaders, who could show up anywhere at any time.

Also, another kaiju had appeared out of nowhere during the night, hovering on the far edge of the forest, near where we’d encountered the night thieves, the parasites who took babies as their shells. This was on the south side facing the rift, about eight kilometers away. We would make our way through the center of the forest, taking the same path we had earlier, not getting too close to Medina and the army parked just outside.

This kaiju was called Bubilas. Clara couldn’t remember what race was associated with this one, and the map gave precious little details. This far away, we couldn’t even get a take on its size. Just that it moved fast, faster than most of the others. I hoped we didn’t get to find out.

“In the early days of the season, the sky outside isn’t nearly as smoky,” Clara said as we walked. “If you’re high enough, you can look out in any direction and see two or three kaiju roaming around. Now you can’t see them unless you’re right on top of them. The sound doesn’t travel as well, either.”

“At least I have my map now,” I said. We pushed our way into the forest, the same place we’d been ambushed by the wendigo. Banksy slithered between us, a much larger presence than when we’d first arrived. He’d lost some of the eagerness he’d had when he’d first come out, but he was more voracious than ever. The small bugs and rats he’d devoured on our way in weren’t going to cut it anymore. We would have to find and kill creatures whether we wanted to or not. Hopefully there were mid-level creatures about we could handle without attracting the attention of anything too large.

It only took about five minutes for us to come across the first hostile creature. A dog-sized, wolverine thing appeared on the trail about twenty paces ahead. The brown and tan beast bristled with coarse hair. It seemed solid, nothing but muscle and teeth. It had been devouring something small and furry with a manic ferocity, shaking, tearing, and digging at the corpse all while making angry grunting noises. In a matter of seconds, the beast’s prey went from something vaguely resembling a small rabbit to nothing but a lump of red-soaked fur.

The thing looked up at our approach and growled, blood and spittle cascading off its six-inch fangs.

The indicator over its head blinked yellow, signifying it as a creature up to five levels higher than myself.

I took a knee, pulled my rifle and aimed. Next to me, Banksy tensed. Clara took a position on the other side of the hook slayer. The wolverine hissed and growled at us, clawing the ground.

“Don’t you have that Friend skill?” I asked, whispering.

“I do,” Clara said. “But it’s only level 1. This guy looks a little too angry for it to work on him.”

I sighed. “Okay, Banksy,” I whispered. “Just like we talked about. Clara and I will hit it with our guns. If it charges, stand your ground while we pour fire into it. If it runs, we’ll each fire one more time, and you take it down. Got it?”

If Banksy had eyes, I could tell he’d be rolling them. “We have discussed this already, father. Shoot it already.”

The creature took a tentative step toward us. Its growling intensified. It was going to charge at any moment.

“Okay,” I whispered. “On three, two, one.”

Thwump. My bolt traveled noticeably faster than Clara’s, hitting and spinning the creature about ten feet back. It yelped like a dog. Clara’s bolt went high. Her blaster fired round, fist-sized balls of plasma that sizzled when they hit.

The monster shook its head, standing up slowly. I shot it again, right in the head. It flipped onto its back. A second bolt from Clara’s gun hit it square in the chest. It squeaked again, then stopped moving. I felt the rush of soul power. Banksy was on it, moving even faster than I realized he could go, shaking the creature while devouring it.  

My experience went up a small but satisfying amount.

I stood, looking at Clara. “That was easy.”

Another wolverine creature emerged out of the woods. It appeared from the brush, a mere three meters from where Banksy crunched his prey. Its red dot appeared on the map, astonishingly close.

Oh shit.

This one was the size of a horse, easily five times bigger than the one we’d just killed. It roared in anger. A blinking red indicator pulsed over its head.

“So there’s his mom,” Clara said. She raised her blaster.

We wouldn’t be able to run. I took a knee and started pouring fire into its head.

“Banksy,” I cried as I fired. “Watch out!”

The monster slashed at Banksy, who twisted out of the way.

Clara’s gun sounded like the crack of a thick branch when it fired. Crack. Crack crack. The blue and white balls of energy exploded off the monster. It roared in pain. Both of our weapons were hurting it, hurting it bad, but not enough for it to stop its attack on Banksy.

Banksy twisted away again, this time skirting under the creature’s legs. A red light pulsed in the right corner of my vision as the wolverine scored a glancing slash across Banksy’s flank.

Banksy has low health pulsed in my notifications.

Shit. Just from one hit?

The worm twisted his way up the howling monster’s thick leg, lightning quick. And then the hook slayer was wrapped around the monster. Banksy pulsed.

Banksy has used Unsteady.

Banksy pulsed again.

Banksy has used Disorient.

The wolverine fell over onto its side, screaming while Banksy constricted. The worm’s jaws clamped onto the thing’s neck, tearing viciously, ripping back and forth. The intertwined monsters rolled through the underbrush.

I no longer had a safe shot. I rushed forward, slinging my rifle. I cast Scalpel, but I paused about ten feet away, skidding to a stop. The wolverine’s forward legs continued to scrabble as it tried to get to Banksy. One more hit, and my pet would be dead. But it was a rolling, spinning tornado of claws and teeth, and I couldn’t get close. This is a bad idea.

A yellow lance of light pulsed down from the sky. The light forked, turning into a double-prong as it screamed directly into the eyes of the wolverine.

Its head exploded, popping like a tomato hit with a grenade launcher.

I staggered with the hit of soul power. Level notifications scrolled by.

I looked at Clara, who had fallen to her knees. She pulled at her pack, grasping for one of her candies. She looked almost dead. She glowed as she healed herself. She fell onto her back, panting.

“What the hell was that?” I asked.

“It was my Holy Flare spell,” she said, still gasping. “It brings my health and magic down to 1%, but it does massive damage. I didn’t know it was going to hurt to cast. That was worse than childbirth. I wasn’t expecting that. Holy crap.”

“I went up two levels,” I said. “Banksy went up one.”

“I went up two also,” she said.

All three of us were now level 13. I put my two attribute points into strength, bringing it to 15.

Banksy emerged from the gore of the wolverine mother. The familiar moved slowly, painfully.

“Father, I need healing.”

“Banksy, come here,” Clara said, pulling herself up. She put her hand against the hook slayer. He glowed for a moment.

She grinned. “He’s level 13, which means he’s now a mount. Fae can cure mounts. Actually, it might be because of my class.”

“What is your class?” I asked after I realized I had no idea what it was. The class system in this game was weak and only seemed to matter in the very beginning. It was odd since it was so important in other games. My class as an artisan had given me a couple attribute points, but that was it.

“I’m a stable hand,” she said.

I nodded. It made sense. It also explained why my worm had taken to her right away. Banksy had gotten a little longer and thicker upon level-up, but not significantly so. I could attach a cart or saddle to him now once we found one of those mount upgrade centers. I doubted we’d find one of those in the underground village of Kinnegad.

The creature dropped a mouthful of teeth. Between Clara and myself, we now had about 325 teeth. I suspected that wasn’t very much.

We moved more cautiously after that. My promise to Clara that we’d only pass by the kaiju around noon meant we’d have to move rapidly. Despite my efforts, it was now looking like it’d be mid-afternoon by the time we emerged on the other side of the forest and trekked our way through the field toward the entrance to Kinnegad.

Banksy continued to snatch up small mammals. He now left a deep tread in the dirt as we passed, something he hadn’t done before.

Clara’s Friend skill did seem to work on medium-sized creatures. A foxlike animal, colored a deep blue jumped out onto the path once, growling. But then it put its ears against its head and slinked away. It had a green difficulty meter over its head anyway. Banksy wanted to run it down, but I told him to hold back for now.

I guessed it was around two o’clock when we emerged out of the forest.

Entering Bibic Outskirts.

The fallen town of Bibic lay just west of the edge of the forest. It was a burned-out copse of trees with a few smoldering towers. Unlike Charnel, there was no activity. It had a red border on my map.

In the middle of the field, less than a kilometer away, Guardian Orthrus slept peacefully.

Unlike the grasslands surrounding the rift, the area here was mostly flat. The sky was overcast, and smoke gave everything a dirty haze. A slight breeze whipped across the clearing, and the world smelled of a distant garbage fire burning out of control.

Despite the haze, the giant, black guardian was clearly visible, a mountain unto itself, an electric presence.

Clara tensed.

“He’s too close,” she hissed. “We have to go around.”

There was no going around, not really. If we skirted the forest too far north, we’d run into the army surrounding Medina. Too far south, we’d run into the village of the baby-stealing night thieves, which now had a kaiju of their own hanging about.

“We can’t,” I said. “We can go a little north, but not too much.”

“Then we have to wait here for him to move away.”

“If we wait any longer, we’ll have to spend the night in the forest again.”

“I don’t care,” said Clara.

“No. He’s asleep. And do the kaiju even care if we walk near them anyway? I thought they only attacked demons. Cast your Cone of Silence, and we’ll hurry past. We’ll be past him in five minutes. He’s still a good ways away, and neither of the heads are facing us.”

I examined the two-headed, wolf kaiju. He was huge, about the same size of Bast, maybe even a little larger. Earlier, I had compared Bast to the size of an aircraft carrier. That was even more evident here. The kaiju in this game were much bigger than even the ones in the Godzilla movies and games. The wolf slept longwise, two legs splayed forward, two back. Where the lion-like Bast gave the impression of brute strength, Orthrus was sleek and fast, almost cunning in appearance. From this angle, we could only see the side of his left head. It was wolfish, with an incisor the length of three people jutting up like a stalagmite from the mouth. His long, shaggy tail curled into the air and back onto his flank like the Gateway Arch in Saint Louis. A flock of birds flew through the curved tail as I watched.

The two-headed guardian breathed, up and down, up and down as he slept.

His long, black fur shone with a purple opalescence, waving in the breeze. The wolf’s coat looked slick, smooth, well-cared for.

Healthy.

This kaiju is not sick, I thought. The realization sent a chill through me. There is someone still here in the game, maintaining this kaiju. 

I looked at Clara, who stood still as a board. I didn’t dare tell her my suspicion.

“Come on,” I said. “It’s the middle of the day. You said he was never around at this time. Let’s go.”

She nodded.

We moved a few hundred meters north and emerged from the forest’s edge onto the field. The grass here was much shorter than the knee-high grass on the other side of the woods.

“Stay close,” Clara whispered. “Banksy, you too.”

I felt a whoosh as Clara’s Cone of Silence enveloped us. The ground around us rippled.

All sound instantly cut out. I looked at Clara and tried to say something, but I couldn’t draw the words. Well this spell sucks. I can’t hear or say anything, either? I used a similar spell all the time in Dominion of Blades, and I could hear everything just fine. In that game it was like being inside of your own, hidden room.  

I motioned forward, and we rushed through the field, keeping the kaiju’s back to us. Banksy snaked through the grass between us. His length was longer than the cone-shape of the spell. He was very quiet either way, so I prayed it wouldn’t be an issue.

About halfway through the field, Clara clutched onto my arm and pointed.

I swirled. It was there in the grass, not moving, staring directly at us.

My heart leaped. The beast was an antlered, pig-sized frog. It sat, its head about as tall as my waist. The antlers brought its height almost to my shoulders, but taller than Clara. Like a pig, the thing was wide and solid, and I guessed it had to weigh at least 500 pounds. The jade-colored frog was covered in odd, tumor-like growths across his back and face. The tumors pulsated with something just under the skin. Each of the three toes on each foot was a gleaming, curved talon. The stag-like antlers appeared to be made of razor-sharp steel.

But most terrifying was the frog’s tag:

Familiar – Player Jenk (Offline)

Fuck.

Clara appeared to be screaming with terror.

“Come on,” I mouthed, pulling her forward. We’d be away in a matter of minutes.

The frog did not move from his spot in the grass. He sat there stoic, staring, scary as hell. Then, a moment later, he disappeared with a blink. He’d teleported away, an action even more terrifying than him just sitting there. Clara turned and bolted.

Damnit. I had to speed up to remain in the area of the spell’s effect, though I didn’t know if it really mattered anymore.

“It says he’s offline,” I called after her. I didn’t know if she had seen or cared about that part. My voice had returned, which meant I’d left the spell’s area.

Several minutes later we crested over a small hill, hitting the rocky outcroppings that indicated the outskirts of Kinnegad, I ventured a look back at Guardian Orthrus, who remained asleep in the distance.

I had a terrible feeling we were being watched.

Chapter 20

The grass gave way to low, rocky ground. This was the area that led to the western edge of the world map, a tall, impassible mountain range that was called the Spit. Boulders and crevices dotted the barren landscape. Just to the south of here was a desert area, and to the north was a lake, the area of the dagon water-breathers.

Creatures that appeared to be cat-sized crosses between armadillos and scorpions scattered as we approached. Most had green indicators over them, though some of the bigger ones were yellow. They did not approach or attack us thanks to Clara’s Friend skill. Banksy snatched a few up here and there, and they each gave a small amount of experience and soul power.

“Stop,” I called. Her silence spell had fizzled out a minute earlier, but she kept running. Jesus. She’s lost it. “Stop. It’s not safe here!” 

The sky, which had been clear of demons while we were near Orthrus was becoming populated by distant—for now—swooping and screeching demons. Even at this distance I could discern the red warning markers over their heads. If we were spotted out in the open like this, that Canadian dude would be the least of our worries.

The entrance to the groundling village was still a good mile away. Sparse vegetation dotted the rocky ground. The scattered trees were gnarled and stooped, barely enough cover. 

“Stop,” I called a third time.

She did finally, stopping dead out in the open, breathing heavily.

“Banksy, come on,” I called as I grabbed Clara by the arm and dragged her to the closest tree.

“I do not like this ground. It is not good for burrowing,” Banksy muttered. I pulled Clara down to the rough dirt at the base of the small tree. The bark pulsated, as if the tree was alive. I hoped not, remembering the wendigo monsters.     

“That was Olga. The frog. She’s always near her master. So if Olga saw us, then Jenk will know we’re here.” She wheezed out the words. “He’s going to find us. This world isn’t that big. We should never have left Bast. It’s not worth it. It’s not.”

“It said he’s offline. For all you know he’s been offline for weeks. He’s probably in jail right now.”

“No, no, no. He’s not in jail. I can feel it.”

Even though I didn’t understand why she felt that way about the man, I respected it. The panic in her words was terrible, familiar.

This is too much. This is too much.

“Okay,” I said. “We gotta keep moving. We’ll move from tree to tree, and only when the sky is clear.”

Clara had said earlier the man wasn’t like SmashSouth. This guy played the game. He leveled up. He’d even beat the game once before. He knew what he was doing. So on the off chance he still was here, we had to stay away from him at all costs.

Looking at my map, I wondered if he’d be able to discern where we were going. There weren’t too many active towns and villages outside of Medina, but there were enough that searching each of them would be a pain. There were a couple other villages we could be headed toward, along with a few quest locations and points of interest. Our destination of Kinnegad was only obvious if one knew what our plan was. I hoped.   

It was pushing midnight by the time we arrived at the entrance to the underground village of the groundlings. We’d jumped from tree to tree, only moving when a demon flock wasn’t near.

Large, rhinoceros-sized monsters patrolled the area, all with blazing, red warning markers over their heads. These demons roared and moved slowly, picking their way across the rocky ground. I watched one launch a beachball-sized fireball from its maw at an unseen creature 100 meters away. The ground exploded at the point of impact, showering rocks and dust.

We had to keep low to avoid them. It was easier to move once it became dark. The gnarled trees unfurled and swayed in the darkness, becoming much bigger. The tops glowed red, giving the night a blood hue. I was afraid the trees would attack or thrash at us with their limbs, but they didn’t.

The entrance to the village was easy to find with the map. We passed around the corner of a nondescript outcropping, revealing a large cave. We took two steps in, and the notification came.

Entering Kinnegad.

This was a low, wet cave that angled downward. The passage was about ten feet wide, but I had to stoop to make it through. The temperature dropped a few degrees every hundred feet we traveled. Rough-hewn stairs appeared on the floor. A sickly green light filled the cave. The illumination came from clumps of lichen-like growths that gathered in the corners of the ceiling and the walls. The result was something akin to starlight on the night of a new moon. It was very dark, but I could still see the walls and floor enough that I wouldn’t trip. I hoped the village itself wasn’t this dark.

“Do you hear anything?” I asked. “How far down is the village?”

Banksy growled before Clara could answer.

A rough, female voice shouted “Who goes there! Show yerself or you get the sticker!”

I raised one hand and put another down on Banksy’s head to calm him. “It’s okay. We’re friends.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, mate,” came the woman. It was an odd accent, not quite cockney British, not quite Boston brogue, but a bastardization of the two. It echoed with reverb, and I had the sense it was coming through a speaker somewhere. 

A yellow spotlight cut through the darkness from above. I looked up, startled at the defensive nest nestled against the high wall. Just a few feet back, the ceiling had been right over my head. I hadn’t realized we’d entered into a larger room. I stood to my full height.

“My name is Duke, and my friends are Clara and Banksy. We’re seeking the temporary refuge of Kinnegad,” I called.

A second spotlight shone down from another defensive nest on the high wall. I shielded my eyes and looked about, getting a better sense of my surroundings. The tight cave we’d been in had opened up into a large chamber. The wide stairs continued downward with no railing on either side, spanning over a deep drop. A slip, and we’d fall into the unseen depths. The downward bridge of stairs crossed about 100 meters before it entered another cave further below.

On the walls all around us were defensive pockets. There were about a dozen of them at various heights. Unlike the village of Charnel, the defenses here appeared to be fully manned. Large, hand-cranked guns trained on us from some of the bubbles. Groundlings with bulky crossbows and blunderbuss-like guns with flared muzzles filled the other nests. They glared down upon us with black, beady eyes.

A large set of clockwork gears filled the far wall. It had been sitting silent or dormant. With a burst of steam, they started ticking, a loud click, click, click. More light flickered on, filling the chamber.

The mayor of Charnel had said groundlings used celestial magic, but I knew they also had to have a second magic school. “I take it these guys use steam magic,” I said.

Clara nodded. “Yes. But don’t let all these gears and engines fool you. They favor the celestial way more than the steam. They’re crazy religious. They worship their kaiju like a god.”

Great, I thought. Paladin dwarves.

The ticking was suddenly overpowered by a metallic clanking and hissing, like an old-school steam engine train spinning itself up. We stepped back as a brass, robotic arm appeared, coming from underneath the stairway bridge. A rush of steam appeared, blasting sideways. A second robotic arm appeared, and then a something emerged from under the walkway.

The steampunk mech pulled itself onto the stairwell. It wasn’t huge by mech standards, but the round, brass robot stood about eight feet tall, just a bit larger than SmashSouth the nerve agent. It consisted of two, squat legs that appeared as if they could alternate between walking and rolling on treads and two, orangutan-like arms that lowered to the ground. The body was perfectly round, a clockwork gyro of spinning gears. A pair of brass tanks were attached to the back of the mechanism, each spewing random bursts of steam.

Centered in the gyro, strapped in with a mess of tubes and leather bands was a groundling. Floating over her head was her title:

Madame Throb – Mechanized Sentry Leader of the Protectorate Templar (Level 26)

The woman—Madame Throb—glared at us angrily. I’d only seen a groundling in passing before. These creatures weren’t quite like the dwarves of lore, but it was the closest description. Mole men were much more like the squat, bulky creatures of fantasy. Groundlings had human-sized torsos, only a bit wider. It was their short legs that gave them their squat appearance. They didn’t have visible necks at all, just large, moon-faced heads planted right on their torsos, giving them an oddly stupid appearance. While the women wore their hair long, the men all had friar-like bowl cuts, which didn’t help them look any more intelligent. It seemed their arms mirrored that of the mech, extra long. They seemed chimpanzee-like, and I wondered if they could swing through trees.

The mech raised its arm, pointing it at me. With a shing, a long, white spike appeared out of the brass finger of the mech. Sharp and thin, like a pale kebab skewer, it grew until it stopped right at my neck. I raised my hands, standing perfectly still.

“How’d you find this place?” Madame Throb asked. 

I didn’t hesitate. “I have a magic map.”

She nodded. The motion was odd, given her lack of an outward neck. The whole mech shuddered with the motion, and the skewer at my throat came perilously close to scratching its way up and down my flesh.

“I would expect you ghouls to have unholy tricks like that,” she said.

“Peel it,” another voice called from above. “Don’t let it in our village.” Followed by a chorus of agreement.

“The only thing less trustworthy than a ghoul is a gremlin,” Throb said. She pushed the spike harder against my throat. It thrummed against my skin, like it was attached to an engine. I took a step back. She walked with me, each step a metallic hiss. Banksy pressed against my leg, shuddering.

Father, I do not like this metallic thing. But say the word and I will devour it, Banksy said in my mind. All living things are wet on the inside.

“Calm, Banksy,” I whispered.

My charm was only an 8, and until this moment I hadn’t really thought much about the stat. It’d never seemed necessary. I was now regretting neglecting it. I had no idea what Clara’s charm was, but it had to be higher than mine. I gave Clara a pleading look. 

She sighed, blinked, and the look on her face completely changed. She went from a scared girl to a self-assured, person in charge. Just like that. The new look on her exasperated face said, for chrissakes do I have to do everything?

“I would guess that the demons are the least trustworthy,” Clara said. “They’re the ones killing everybody, invading our world.”

“Kill them!” someone called from above. “They are unclean! They threaten us and our souls.”

“Amplify the ghoul!” someone else cried.

“We are trying to save Medina from the demon threat,” Clara said. She boldly stepped forward and raised her voice, addressing everyone in the cavern. She swatted at the skewer at my throat. It thrummed like a bell when she hit it. It did not move. “That’s who you need to fear. Fae, groundlings, worm surgeons. We all share the same ancestors. It’s the demons who are trying to kill us. Duke here is a worm surgeon, tasked with healing the Shrill. Once the guardian is fixed up, the kaiju can attack the threat head-on, finally aiding in the defense of the realm. We are here for a reason, damnit, and if you stop us, you are effectively killing us all.”

Throb indicated to me with the mech’s free hand. “This is a ghoul. He is one step above a demon himself. He serves the Shrill, who is nothing more than another demon. An abomination who does not deserve to share the same light as Moritasgus.”

Clara snorted. “Like it or not, the Shrill is a guardian. It has fought and continues to fight for this world’s freedom. Duke here is a worm surgeon, yes. Yes, he smells really bad. Yes, he’s uglier than a scarab grub that’s been chewed up and spat out. But he’s still of the same blood as you and me. Look at him. He’s not exactly a threat. He’s no match for your mechanized templar infantry. Also, Banksy here trusts him, so there’s that.”

That garnered a reaction. Shiiing. Throb recalled the skewer back into her hand, lowering it. Steam hissed out of the back of the mech, and the whole thing seemed to relax. She looked down at my worm. “Do you trust this ghoul?”

Banksy looked back and forth between the armored sentry and me.

“He’s my father,” Banksy said.

This was the opposite of what had happened when we entered Charnel. The worm surgeons did not trust my hook slayer. Here they held him in higher esteem than they did me. 

“Very well,” Throb said after a moment. “You may enter the outer circle of Kinnegad. But not the residences or sheriff seat or any of the barracks or armories. And if you set foot near the temple, you will be killed immediately. This is not negotiable. You may visit the merchants. There is an inn for sleeping.” She looked at me with disdain. “If your unholy kind sleeps.” She whispered into a microphone-like device on her shoulder. She looked back up at us. “You will be watched at all times. Do not cause trouble, and you will remain tolerated, if not welcome. Follow me.”

She turned and stomped down the stairs, causing the whole bridge to waver ominously. The twin brass tanks on the back of her mech were each adorned with the likeness of a badger. We hurried after her.

“Good job,” I whispered to Clara. “What is your charm?”

She shrugged. “I just said the first thing that came to me. My charm is 11. Not great. You were just unlucky. Like that one lady said before, celestial magic users don’t like resurrection users like yourself too much. ”

“They seem to hate shade gremlins more than worm surgeons.”

“Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with that. If I remember the spell cycle correctly they’re actually supposed to be enemies with the leechers. Everyone hates someone and gets along fine with someone else. There’s a whole complicated circle of relationships. Your main enemy is the radiants. For my kind, it’s the midwives. I thought the enemy of the groundlings was the leechers, but I guess it’s the shade gremlins.”

We followed Throb through a short passage into a bustling underground cavern. The well-lit cave went on as far as I could see. The ceiling stood about fifteen feet over my head, but the ground descended in a massive bowl shape, like we’d entered a stadium at the top level. This place was significantly bigger than Charnel, much larger than I’d expected. Despite it being the middle of the night, the town was alive and thriving.

Pipes snaked the walls and ceilings, and a constant thrum, thrum, thrum filled the air, the sound of a steam engine somewhere below, keeping the lights on. I could feel the engine in the ground, pounding. Hundreds of groundlings were about, moving every which direction.

Soda can-shaped buildings, running from floor to ceiling dotted the downward-angle floor. Metallic cobblestones indicated the main thoroughfares.

The town stank. Almost as bad as the interior of Bast. But this was a different smell, musty, like uncleaned cages from a barn. Added to that was an electric smell, too. Like that of burned wires from an overloaded circuit.

Almost every creature was a groundling, but I did catch sight of a couple others. A physicker skulked through the streets. He or she was a tall, hunched-over humanoid with no features on its pale face other than a pair of slits for eyes. It wore long, flowing wide robes and seemed to float instead of walk. The creatures reminded me of Japanese anime ghosts with their expressionless faces. Clara said they were steam and wind-based.

“There was a woman they brought in here, a consumable. She was a poet. She chose a physicker when they pulled her in. SmashSouth used her at first, but then Frank had her. They look human on the outside, but when you open them up, they’re all sawdust and clockwork parts, kind of like those steampunk robot guys, the menders. Frank didn’t like that at all. They got him someone else, this time a goat-headed viceroy. I think that’s one of the reasons why he went back to hunting in the real world. Frank is like SmashSouth. He wants to play with humans, not any of these weird creatures. Anatoly didn’t program out the races fast enough for him. Plus Frank’s whole thing requires multiple victims, and that wasn’t possible the way this is set up. With only 22 spots, it gets full pretty fast. So Frank had to be supplemented with NPC body parts. The poet lady was then traded off to Princess, who’d been waiting for someone. And even she wasn’t happy with the consumable.”

I nodded. It seemed like a simple enough problem, making it so multiples of a single race were allowed. But I had the impression the co-op version of this game was built around the whole endgame scenario, which was all about getting the various kaiju to fight together. That wouldn’t work if everyone were human. 

At the center of the cavern was what I assumed to be the temple of Moritasgus, their guardian. The temple was oddly shaped, like a massive, brass badger head with heavy rivets all up and down the building. The badger head was the size of a church in the real world. Hell, it was probably the size of the actual kaiju’s head. Its open mouth beckoned worshippers within. A stream of robed groundlings exited the mouth and wandered onto the streets. It appeared a service just ended.

“We need to find a flesh modder,” I said to Madame Throb as we walked the street. Groundlings glared at us from open doorways. The streets became more crowded as the worshippers returning from the badger church reached the outer points of town. “But first we need to find a place to sell a couple potions. Also, I was hoping to buy a pet carrier.”

We only had 325 teeth, and I suspected that it wasn’t nearly enough. We had four of the “Extract of Colo Colo Menses” potions we’d received from Stolas the owl demon. If we could sell just one of them, I suspected we’d have enough to buy whatever upgrades and brands we needed.

The mech pointed at a pair of tin can buildings further down the street. “There is a flesh modder available at the upgrade center. The building will soon open. The proprietors are most pious and attend the evening services. Right next door is the apothecary. He may be willing to look at your potions. We do not have a pet shop in Kinnegad. You will have to find one elsewhere.”

“What about a transport gazebo?” I asked. If they had a working one, we could at least zap ourselves to Medina.

Throb paused for a moment. “We have a gazebo, but it is out of order. We are seeking a quantum mechanic to fix it.”

A quest notification appeared in my vision, popping itself into a folder. This was almost identical to the first part of the fix-the-gazebo quest over at Charnel. The only difference was these guys didn’t want to abandon their city. I wondered if all the small, race-specific towns had gazebos that were out of order.

Now that both Clara and I were high enough level to obtain and cast Teleport, I spent some time reading the complicated description for the otherwise simple spell. At level one, I could transport myself and my familiar from one travel node to any other active travel node that I’d already visited sometime in the game. So far the only active one I’d seen was the one in the center of Medina. At level two I could transport myself and Banksy to any travel node I’d visited plus to any location to which I held a brand, whether there was a travel node or not. I wouldn’t be able to zap my way out though, so that could get sticky. At level three I could transport large groups and access branded locations as long as one of my party held the brand. I would need to have Teleport level three to complete the Charnel quest.

At the top level of four I didn’t require a node to jump out as long as I wasn’t inside of a population center. I still needed to teleport to either a branded place or a travel node. However, it could be a travel node I’d never visited before. I suspected level four was required to visit some of the hidden areas of this world.

Level one cost one skill point, level two cost two, level three cost five and required player level 15, and level four cost a whopping ten skill points and required me to be level 25. That last level also required a bionic upgrade.

The moment I’d turned level 13, both Clara and I gave ourselves the first level of Teleport. If we happened to run across an active node, we’d be able to zap ourselves to Medina.

We approached the silver buildings, coming to a stop outside the apothecary. It appeared these buildings were built out of old, discarded steam boilers. A jagged tear bulged out of the side of the potion shop, and the metallic top curled back where it was pressed against the ceiling of the cavern. I reached out and rapped the side of the structure. It clanged like a steel barrel. The metallic wall was warmer than I’d expected.

A stooped, round doorway was cut into the side. The sign above read “Potions for His Glory.”

Clara hesitated at the entrance. “Maybe I should go in alone,” she said. “I’ll probably get a better price.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but then I changed my mind. She was right. We wouldn’t be able to do it next door at the flesh modder, but my presence only seemed to make things worse. “Okay,” I said. “Remember, that Stolas guy sells them for 250,000 teeth. So don’t settle for anything ridiculously low.”

She nodded and pushed her way into the shop.

Banksy and I waited outside along with Madame Throb, who glared at us. Groups of robed groundlings walked past on the street, giving us a wide berth. Some muttered under their breath, others made a flicking motion with their right hands which I took for an obscene gesture.

“So,” I asked Throb. “Have you had much trouble from the demons?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked. “Is that a threat?”

“No, no,” I said hurriedly, holding up my hands. “It’s just that nearby town of the Lycan people was leveled. And Medina is under siege. And Charnel is under constant attack.”

“Well,” she began, “Unlike those poorly-defended, above-ground death traps, you can see…”

The door to the apothecary burst open. “And stay out!” a voice cried from within.

Clara clamored out, her cheeks a bright red. Banksy rushed up to her side, looking at the door and growling.

“So, how’d the negotiations go?” I asked.

Clara stood straighter. She held one of the Colo Colo Menses potions in her hand, and she shoved it into her pack.

“So, remember when I told you that I thought Colo Colo might be the guardian of the shade gremlins? Turns out they hate her even more.”

I groaned. Son of a bitch. If we didn’t have anything to sell, what could we do? The only other items either of us had of value were our weapons and maybe my leather jerkin, and selling any of that stuff was a bad idea. We were going to have to leave and find another town. The next closest settlement that wasn’t destroyed was a place called Ilth, home to the goat-headed Viceroys.

“Well,” I said. “I guess we should at least try next door and see how much a brand costs. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

The sign above this shop read: “Glory to Moritasgus Upgrades and Flesh Mods. A Division of Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades, LLC.”

Underneath in hand-painted letters was “No food at this location.” And underneath that was the crossed out “No Leechers Allowed.” In fresher paint was one more line: “No Shade Gremlins Allowed.”

The place wasn’t open, but Madame Throb insisted they’d be here at any moment.

“Hey,” I said to the mech. “So why do you guys hate shade gremlins?” I pointed to the sign. “And why don’t you hate leechers anymore?”

Madame Throb grunted. “A leecher recently helped us build our temple. As a result, we no longer hate their kind. A shade gremlin visiting Kinnegad made the pronouncement that Colo Colo could defeat Moritasgus in battle. So we now hate them.”

I exchanged a look with Clara. “You’re painting with a bit of a broad brush, don’t you think? Just because one of a certain race does something doesn’t mean that all of them are bad.”

Madame Throb just looked at me like I was something stuck on her foot.

A thought occurred to me. I turned to Clara. “Hey, who played the leecher character anyway? Do you remember?”

A leecher was a tall, robed humanoid creature with the oblong head of an octopus and five or six tentacle-like appendages on its face. They used technology and resurrection magics, if I recalled correctly.

Clara nodded. “Yeah. It was Frank.”

“Huh. What about a shade gremlin?”

“I don’t remember,” she said. “I think it was a consumable. I know the Canadian played one last season before he switched to a lycan.”

“You said Frank didn’t like playing with non-humans, but you also said he was one of the ones who helped complete the game last season. Do you think he had anything to do with this?”

She shrugged. “Yes, he wanted his consumables to be human. But he did play the game itself, completing quests, leveling up and all that. He collected artifacts. I don’t see how it matters. Frank is gone.”

A male and female groundling pair walked up to the entrance as we waited. Both were dressed in silver robes and wore odd caps made of brass. The hats looked like shower caps, but with the sharp V of a widow’s peak over the forehead. It gave the two groundlings the appearance of alien little people from some 1950’s b-movie.

The man looked at us and smiled broadly. The woman glared at me with open contempt.

Over the man’s head was:

Stonegate – Advanced Bionics Mechanic (Level 31).

“Customers?” the man named Stonegate asked as we met at the doorway. He stood a couple hands shorter than Clara, barely coming up to my waist. He produced a big key. “Come in! Come in!” The door creaked open, a warm, inviting light coming from the interior. He bound inside.

The woman’s title was:

Jazz – Flesh Modder (Level 37).

She stopped in the doorway, blocking it. “You got money?” Jazz asked, looking me up and down. “You look like someone who doesn’t have much money.”

“I have money,” I said. It wasn’t quite a lie.

“What about brand irons? You got iron? I ain’t got a Medina brand if that’s what you’re looking for. I only have a Kinnegad one, and I sure as hell ain’t sticking your kind with one of those.”

“We do,” I said, patting my pack.

She glared at me for a few more moments then turned and went inside.

“I will wait here for you,” Throb said.

“I’ll do the negotiating,” Clara whispered as we followed Jazz.

“Yeah, because that went so well in the last place.”

“That guy would’ve melted your face off if you’d tried.”

I grunted. She was probably right. 

The moment we stepped inside, the musty stench of Kinnegad disappeared, replaced with the equally-nauseating stench of rotting bandages and spilled iodine.

The cramped, round building consisted of a white dentist’s chair on one side of the room and a wood-burning stove on the other. A simple loft hung about halfway up. I caught sight of a pair of eyes watching us from above. A child groundling, about five or six. I couldn’t tell their gender. The kid didn’t have a name tag.

I waved. The child’s eyes grew wide, and they disappeared into the loft.  

Stonegate came to stand by the dentist's chair, and the woman named Jazz stood by the hearth.

“What sort of upgrades are you looking for today?” Stonegate asked. He leaned up against a small table next to the dentist's chair. Several tools clattered as he nudged the table. The tools weren’t very clean. In fact, some looked rusty. Others were covered with blood. I swallowed.

Stonegate continued. “I see all three of you are level 13. While there isn’t anything available for your hook slayer, both of you have several skill points available. Fifteen and five.” He looked at me. “Can I interest you in a grappling hook?” He waved his left hand, pointed it at the ceiling and made a gun shooting noise. “They’re very cool.”

At Clara he said, “For a fae as beautiful as you, I can install an equally-beautiful pair of wings. I can have you soaring the clouds in no time. Or would you like carnivore teeth?” He gnashed his dull gray teeth at her. “It’s one of the deadliest melee weapons for your kind. Expensive, but it’s very worth it.” He patted his chair. “It’d only take a few minutes.”

“How much to upgrade my mapping skill?” I asked.

Clara poked me. “I’m negotiating, remember?”

“Let’s see here,” Stonegate said. “Oh yes. You have a mapping skill of three. To upgrade to four… yes, that would be useful, wouldn’t it. It adds additional points of interest and threat assessments. It also adds interior maps of all towns. You’d always be able to find your way back here. But, it requires some brain surgery. Nothing major. It would be two skill points and 1,000 teeth.”

My heart sank. “How much for the grappling hook?”

“That one is easy.” Stonegate picked a bloody, rusty saw up from the table and made a cutting motion in the air. He had a wild look in his eye, making his enthusiasm suddenly seem sinister. “It’s basically a snip and tuck. Plug and play. It’s five skill points and 500 teeth. I’d recommend you bring it up to level 3 though. That’d be an additional six points and another 3,000 teeth. It strengthens the hook, allows attachments, and makes it a weapon. At the first level it’s nothing more than a glorified rope.”

“We’re actually here for brands,” Clara said, turning to the scowling woman. “We hold a brand for the town of Charnel, and all three of us would like one. On our necks.”

Jazz grunted. “The hook slayer is free. It would be his first brand. Both of you already have neck brands. You can only have two neck ones. It’s recommended you use at least one for your associated kaiju. But, it’s your body. I can put it on your chest. It’s possible to lose them in that area, but very unlikely. It’ll be your second brand for both of you. It’ll be 100 for the fae, 300 for the worm surgeon.”

“What?” I asked. “Why am I three times as much?”

“Because you’re taller.” She crossed her arms. “Also because you’re a demon-worshiping son of a zombie whore who I wouldn’t piss on to save even if you and your entire filthy race of heathens were on fire.”

I opened my mouth to protest, and she held up a finger. “And that 300 price is not negotiable, so don’t even try. You’ve already brought your wretched stench into this house, and it will take at least 300 teeth to have the clerics cleanse it.”

We were 75 teeth short.

“Can I negotiate?” Clara asked hesitantly. “We’re a bit scant, and all three of us really need that brand. And the sooner you do it, the sooner we’ll leave town.”

Jazz grunted. “I don’t see what you can offer me.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Clara said. “You brand him for 300 teeth, Banksy for nothing, and me for 25. That’ll clean out our money, leaving us destitute. But,” she added. “You and your husband can beat the crap out of Duke here, and he won’t fight back.”

“Uh…” I began.

A wide grin spread across Jazz’s face. She looked back and forth between us. She started to laugh, a low, deep chuckle. “Now this lady knows how to negotiate.” She looked me up and down. “Can we use sticks?”

“Wait a second…” I said.

Now Stonegate was also laughing. “I get the top half, you get the bottom half. It’ll be like when we were kids, back before they let the ghouls back into the city.”

Jazz roared with laughter. 

Clara was looking up at the loft where the child groundling had reappeared. She sighed, then she gave me an odd, apologetic look.

“Actually,” Clara said. “I’ll tell you what. Is your child yet an adept?”

They both instantly stopped laughing.

“No,” Stonegate said, suddenly serious. “The invasion came, and we have been trapped here. They had some demons in cages, but they have long since been amplified.” He looked at me then turned to his wife. “Would he work for this?”

“It’s okay,” Jazz said. She was looking me up and down. She stepped forward and grabbed my hand, examining my fingers. “He’s no demon, but he is a ghoul. It still meets the requirement.”  

Clara nodded. “You will give us all the teeth you have. Throw in the wings, grappling hook up to level three, and mapping upgrade for Duke, and instead of you beating him, I’ll allow your child to sacrament before your temple. When is the next Hidora?”

“It is in two days,” Jazz said, whispering. She looked up at the loft. “You would do this? You would submit him to an amplification?”

“Yes,” Clara said.

A single tear traced a path down Jazz’s face.

What the hell?

“We can do the upgrades, but you still have to spend the skill points,” Stonegate said. “It would cost 13 of his 15 points. For you the wings will take all five of your points. We have about 5,000 teeth saved up, but they are all yours.” He paused, looking at his wife. “It’s a miracle.”

“Wait,” I said, looking between the three. “What is happening? What does sacrament me mean? And what the hell is ‘Hidora?’’ Clara refused to look me in the eye. How did she know about any of this?

“I’ll explain later,” she said. “Okay. You have to do the brands first, then the surgeries.”

“We shake on this,” Stonegate said, stepping forward to me, holding out his hand.

Hesitantly, I took his hand.

New Debt Incurred. The notification disappeared into a folder.

I looked at Clara who had a terrifying look of apology on her face.

Chapter 21

“What did I just agree to?” I hissed at Clara as Jazz prepared the brand. She said it’d be about fifteen minutes before her hearth was hot enough.

We sat outside the tin can building. Madame Throb parked out of earshot, sitting in the main street, keeping an eye on us. She talked quietly with passing groundlings. It appeared she was telling everyone I’d agreed to this sacrament thing. Their looks of disgust turned to adoration. A few even waved at me before they continued on their way.

Clara sighed. “Okay, so do you remember when I was telling you about Paulo? He was a Mexican guy. Lived in Tucson, Arizona in the real world. Had a thing for teenage boys?”

“Yeah,” I said. “The cannibal. You said he was like Frank. He quit because he wanted everyone to be human. His consumable was his real-life next-door neighbor.”

“That’s the guy,” she said. “He played a groundling. I was there when he first signed up for the game. Anatoly brought me with him for his orientation. This was early last season.”

“How long have you been in here anyway?”

She’d mentioned earlier that this current season had been running for a year and a half, but she hadn’t said how long she’d been here before that.

She ignored the question. “Whenever someone joins the game for the first time, they have to go through a long training sequence that teaches them how to play. It’s different for each race. For the fae, I woke up in the bed, and I had my little sister show me around, teaching me how to buy and sell at merchants, pick plants, use my menus, cast spells, and so forth. Eventually we went into the woods, and I performed a ritual where I received my first familiar. Anatoly pulled me out early the second time, though. So I never got one this season.” She sighed. “I named him Maxie, my familiar. I miss him.”

I nodded. “It was the same with me. I was with my cousin, but Anatoly grabbed me almost right away.”

“I don’t know what happens with you worm surgeon guys. Probably something disgusting. There’s lots of that in this game. It’s why nobody played it. Some of this stuff is really beyond the pale. Anyway, Anatoly always let the new clients work all the way through the introduction part of the game, so they knew how to play. The groundlings have an underground neighborhood in Medina. It’s pretty similar to this place, though there isn’t that bizarre badger head in the middle. So Anatoly brought me down there to meet Paulo. We sat back and watched him go through the whole tutorial. It ends with him performing the sacrament on Hidora. Hidora is a day of the week. It’s their Sunday. He had to perform it on some humanoid demon they had tied up.”

We paused as an elderly groundling rushed up and grabbed my hand. “Thank you, thank you,” he said. He patted Banksy on the head then rushed away.

“So what is the sacrament?” I asked warily, watching the old groundling disappear into a building across the street.

“I’m getting there. Like I said earlier, groundlings worship their kaiju like a god. They believe that when they die, they get into a special heaven where there’s only their kind and badgers I guess, I don’t know. It’s weird. But anyway, performing the sacrament is like being baptized. You can only get into heaven once the sacrament is performed. It’s very, very important to them. You can’t do the ceremony until you’re old enough. So most groundling families worry that something bad will happen to their kids before they can do it. That’s why my offer worked. The game put the kid in there on purpose, as a way to get you to be able to buy stuff you can’t afford.”

“But why me? Why can’t we go out there and capture a demon?”

She waved her hand. “Oh, I’m sure that’s what you’re really supposed to do. But neither of us are strong enough yet to capture one. When we watched Paulo go through the ceremony, the cleric said that this was the last demon they had locked up for this purpose. They would have to go out and grab more. Alternatively, they could also use practitioners of resurrection magic. There’s probably a groundling-only quest where you gotta go around kidnapping NPC worm surgeons and leechers and sneak them back to a temple without getting caught so the child groundlings can make their way to heaven.”

She paused, eyeing me apologetically. I felt terrible anticipation, like I stood at the bottom of a cliff that was about to fall on top of me.

“Tell me what it is,” I asked again.

She sighed. “Okay. So it’s called ‘amplification.’” She shuddered. “I watched Paulo perform it a couple times because he kept screwing up the ceremony and having to restart. Groundlings think their souls need a sort of invisible brand to get into heaven. This brand is inside of demons. And you guys too, I guess. Groundlings can only get this brand by cutting it out of a still-breathing demon. The moment the demons die, the brand goes away. The problem is, each demon is different, and the brand is hidden in one of, I don’t know, it’s like 50 different places. And you don’t actually know when you’ve received the brand. So the only way to be sure is to release all 50 areas. Doing this is called the sacrament of amplification.”

I looked at her, horrified. “So they’re going to start lopping off my body parts while I’m still alive?”

She cringed. “It’s a little worse than that. A cleric paralyzes you. They… bisect each section. Everything they cut remains attached to your body. They start with your toes.” She made a chopping motion. “They cut each one in half lengthwise so it’s still attached to your foot. They have this ceremonial blade that’s like a laser Xacto knife. It cuts the bones perfectly in half. So your five toes on each foot become ten toes on each foot. Then they cut your foot in half. Then the fingers. Then the hand. Then the leg below the knee.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “For the guys, the penis gets sliced in half. The testicles are each cut. Then the nose. The ears get cut. The eyelids, the lips. Each individual tooth in your mouth gets sliced. And your tongue. The tips of the nipples. Each eyeball is cut in half near the end.” She looked up at me. “The whole time, a group of clerics are casting spells to make sure you don’t die before the ceremony is over. If the groundling makes a mistake, they cast a spell to heal you completely, and the ceremony starts over. It ends with them folding you into a flower shape, something that’d be otherwise impossible if you were all intact. Then they cut out your heart.”

I didn’t say anything for several moments. My hands shook. Across the street, another groundling in a mech clanked by, waving at me.

“Why would they put something like this in the game?” I asked. “That’s sick. I refuse to believe they’d program something like this in.”

Clara shrugged. “There are dozens of ways to get tortured in this game. You know the caduceus race? Those lizard-headed guys? There’s a quest they have to do where they get their skin peeled off and then they get dipped in acid over and over until they form a new coating of blisters. The whole process takes like a week. And then they have to peel the blisters all off by hand. Anatoly told me that in single-player mode most of these torture events happened via cutscene. In co-op mode, you are supposed to get logged out during the events. You’re not supposed to actually experience them, even if you had your sensation setting up. You can watch. But that’s it. The third-person scenes were one of the first things Anatoly took out when he tweaked the game. It’s also why some of this stuff is so hard to figure out. You get a new weapon, there’s a cutscene tutorial that shows you how to use it. But they’re all gone now, so you’re on your own.”

“So when I get tortured, I have to just sit there and take it?”

She nodded. “Yep. But…”

This is too much. This is too much.

“Let me be very clear with you,” I said, interrupting her. “There is no way that is going to happen. And fuck you for even suggesting it.”

“It was the only thing I could think of,” she said. “But listen…”

“We can leave,” I said. “We can try to find another village.”

She closed her mouth, suddenly angry. “I am not going back out there. Not with Jenk prowling around. He knows we’re here. He’s looking for us.”

My mind kept going back to the thought of the knife slicing my penis in half. And my tongue. My eyes. Jesus. That’s worse than the death sequence. “I don’t know what he did, but it can’t be worse than that.”

She jumped to her feet. “You don’t know anything. You could be amplified for a week straight, with the sensation setting turned up to 200 and it wouldn’t be a pinprick compared to what he can do. I would torture you, your wife, and your precious daughter a thousand times over if that’s what it took to make sure he doesn’t get his hands on me again.”

She took a deep breath. I watched her mouth something, and I realized she was counting backward. I was taken aback, shocked into silence. She eased herself back into a sitting position. Banksy put his massive head in her lap. She started to pet him.

She looked at me. “As I was saying before. We’re getting the brands. We’re getting the surgery. The ceremony isn’t for two days after that. We’re gonna have to kill ourselves. But you’re not going to actually have to go through with it. Christ, Duke. I wouldn’t do that.”

I started to relax. Of course. We could always get away. The death sequence was terrible, horrific. But it sounded like a damn papercut compared to the sacrament. But then I thought back to her outburst.

I would torture you, your wife, and your precious daughter a thousand times over if that’s what it took.

I’d never told her who it was on the other side of the screen. She’d never seen. She’d pretended in the beginning to have not known, but she must have. Maybe she could have guessed, but I didn’t think so. She knew way more about this place and the people here than she was letting on. But her fear of Jenk, that was real. I was certain. You couldn’t fake that.

She’s the one who picked you, SmashSouth had said. She’d had an excuse. But was that true?

“Why were you there?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When Anatoly visited Paulo. Why did he bring you?”

She looked down and was silent for several moments. “They always get a starter consumable, to make sure this is something they’re really interested in. It takes a lot of money and effort to get a consumable into the game.” She put her hands out. “That was my job. To ease them in.”

“Yeah, but didn’t he like boys? And wasn’t he a cannibal?”

Clara grunted. “Yeah.” She made a jabbing motion. “A stick right up the keister. Then he spins you over a flame. He told me he even stuck a fucking apple in their mouth. I’m not so sure he ever did anything in real life. Those cannibal guys are usually all talk. Anyway, it was pretty rare that I met the proper demographic. Anatoly used it as a marketing technique.” She tried to imitate his voice. “Now just imagine if you were cooking and eating a sweet boy.” Clara shook her head. “He never did meet that promise, though. Paulo was pissed when that kid came in here and he had fucking fairy wings. I ended up going to SmashSouth after that. In his case, I was what he was looking for. So I stayed with him.”  

“He said you liked it,” I said.

She looked surprised, then angry. “No. He wanted someone who liked it. He wanted a strong, assertive consumable who would still succumb to him. People like that don’t really exist. So it became my job. I did not…”

The door swung open, and Jazz stuck her head out. “The brand is ready.” 

Chapter 22

Clara opted for the Charnel brand to be placed on her chest, right above her breasts. Banksy stoically received his on his neck.

For mine, I went with the center of my back, between the shoulder blades. Jazz assured me it was just as safe as a place as my chest. She rubbed a cool cream on my gray skin before she branded me.

“This will ease the pain,” she said. Her angry demeanor from before had changed to that of a caring mother. “Normally we charge more for it, but for you, no charge.”

Sure enough, I felt the heat of the brand, but it did not hurt. Just a dull pain. 

Brand received! You have received brand access to the town of Charnel – Town Square.

Your available regeneration spots are

Bast – Player Base (default)

Charnel – Town Square

You may choose your preferred regeneration spot in the menu.

I pulled up my menu. I now had three choices for regeneration spots: Bast, Charnel, or whichever was closest. I picked Charnel. I noted a memo at the bottom of the menu I hadn’t noticed before:

Some quests and game areas will override your preferred regeneration spot with temporary locations.

I wondered what that meant. I suspected if you were knee-deep in some dungeons or boss fights, you’d come back right there instead of halfway around the world. It made sense. This game had a lot of stupid crap in it, but if it didn’t have something like that, it’d be a deal-breaker for most. I couldn’t imagine how frustrating it was to be almost through an area, to die, and to find yourself having lost several hours of grinding. Especially in a game like this where everything is trying to kill you.

I went into my familiar menu and switched Banksy’s regen over to Charnel.

I felt a huge weight lift off of me. I received another warning that I didn’t have a pet carrier, so we’d be separated if only one of us died. But that was still better than him bursting out of my chest. Finding a carrier would be our next priority. And then we’d level up some more and tackle the Shrill quest. We’d get the gazebo in Charnel repaired, teleport into Medina and then really start the process of getting ourselves as powerful as possible. And finally when we’re strong enough, we’ll pick up the game where Anatoly and the others left it off.

Clara’s cybernetic enhancements went first. Stonegate said the surgery would only take a few minutes. Banksy lifted his bulk up the side of the wall, turning to watch as Clara was prepared for surgery. The dentist chair converted to look like a massage table, and Clara went face first, her dainty arms hanging off the side. Stonegate muttered excitedly to himself as he rummaged around his tools. He pulled out a long syringe.

“Just a prick, and you’ll be straight into dreamland. You’ll wake up with a set of the most beautiful wings.”

Clara gave a thumbs up from her face-down position. He stabbed her with the needle.

“I’m so excited,” Stonegate said. He picked up a tool that looked like an ice cream scooper made of rusted metal. “I’ve always wanted to try doing this.”

“Wait, what?” Clara said, lifting her head. She conked back down. The word Unconscious appeared next to her name. A five-minute countdown started ticking.

“I hope that was a joke,” I said.

“Uh, of course it was,” Stonegate said, looking sheepish. He stood on a stool and went to work.

The surgery was fascinating to watch. Stonegate went about it with the glee of a child opening a Christmas present. He started by cutting a hole in the back of her half shirt. He used the scooper to peel away a chunk of her skin, exposing her mottled, tan-colored spinal column. He giggled as he worked. Blood boiled out, cascading off her and onto the floor. The moment the blood hit the floor, a clockwork mouse appeared, shooting from a tiny hole in the wall. It traveled over the blood, cleaning it up, making a loud ticking noise. Banksy tracked the mouse with his triangular head, quivering with excitement.

Stonegate placed a tiny metal box onto Clara’s spine with a chink. He smacked it with a hammer and slipped another needle into her neck. He started to sew her back up.

“Oh damn,” he muttered, pausing. “I did it upside down. We don’t want her flying into the ground, do we? Whoops.”

He repeated the process. “There we go,” he said, finishing the final stitch. The whole thing was over much more swiftly than I’d expected. “That was easy.” The countdown timer over Clara’s head still had a couple minutes to go.

He turned to me. “When she wakes up, she’ll be groggy for a bit. We’ll test her wings out to make sure I installed the correct module. And once she’s satisfied, we’ll move onto you.”

I felt a tug at my leg. I looked down to see a child groundling, no older than six years old standing next to me, looking up at me with giant, round eyes.

It was a boy, but with long hair down to his shoulders. He stood no taller than my knee.

“Hi mister,” he said. “My mommy told me I have to thank you for letting me get into heaven.”

“Chris,” I said, the word just coming out of my mouth. I shocked myself into silence, feeling as if I’d been hit by a truck. Why did you say that? But I knew why. I had that reaction every time I saw a child around that age. It was why I avoided kids if I could. I felt it there, at my chest. The anchor, I called it. It clutched onto me, dragging down. Not into the ground, but into myself. Into the dark, endless abyss. The abyss that lives in all people who’ve experienced such a terrible loss. It was always there, behind every frown, every smile, every grimace, and every smile. All pain was enhanced, all joy muted. I never forgot it, this abyss.

Sometimes one could pretend to forget the pain. They could live their lives, shuffling through their days, their heads down, not turning their eyes toward that blazing presence that was always there. I did that. I pretended to forget.

But not when I was in the presence of a child. Five years later, and it all came roaring back out of nowhere. And when it did that, it loved to remind you of how it’d never gone away.

Five years. He’d have turned eleven a few weeks back, on January second.

“Hello there,” I said to the boy, choking on the words.

“I’m not Chris,” the boy said.

I took a deep breath. “No you’re not,” I said, kneeling down. This is an NPC. This is not a real person. “What’s your name?”

“Everyone calls me Gulch,” he said.

“Gulch? That’s a silly name.”

He laughed. “You’re nice. You’re not so scary when you talk.”

I felt myself smiling.

Gulch continued. “My mom says that when I perform the sacrament on you, your soul will be free too. It’s helping you as much as it’s helping me. When we’re both in heaven, maybe we can be friends.”

My smile faded. “Yeah, okay kiddo,” I said.

“Okay, bye, Mister!” he said. “I gotta go practice my knife cuts. I keep accidentally slipping when I slice the practice dummy’s wiener.” He frowned. “Mommy says it’s not because of my seizures. Papa Mori will make my cuts straight. Mommy makes me start over when I mess up. Sometimes she cries and tells me to keep it a secret.” He turned and then scurried up the wall, climbing like a monkey. I couldn’t even see any handholds. He disappeared into the loft.

I glanced over at Clara, who was now awake. She watched me with wide eyes.

“You’re awake!” Stonegate cried, rushing forward. He pulled Clara up. “Sit up, sit up. Let’s try these out. Now, we won’t be able to actually fly in here. And it’s a tad dangerous outside. But we can maybe hover a bit, make sure they’re working. Now, do you think you can…”

Before he finished, a pair of glowing, metallic bat wings burst from Clara’s back. They made a swoosh noise followed by a ratcheting sound as they clicked into place.

“Okay, this is weird,” she said, flapping the wings up and down. Each wave clicked loudly. Her wingspan wasn’t nearly as wide as it probably should be, but the appendages still looked huge on her, probably about seven feet from tip to tip. The skeletal outline of the wings was made of a silvery, metallic material. Each “bone” connected to a series of miniature clockwork joints and pistons and rods that twisted and ticked away like tiny train wheels. The membrane between the bones glowed a translucent blue, like electrified silk.

“It said these are special edition wings, only available from this particular vendor. I guess you can collect different ones. It’s weird. I know how to control them.”

The wings started to vibrate, buzzing loudly. Clara rose from the chair. Stonegate clapped loudly. “They work! They work! I didn’t kill you!”

He turned to me. “Okay, let’s do some brain surgery!”

Chapter 23

You have awakened from surgery!

World Map skill has successfully been upgraded to level 4.

Grappling Hook has been installed. Grappling Hook has successfully been upgraded to level 3. You may now install attachments to your cybernetic limb. These may be purchased from any Cyber Outfitters locations.

I sat up, groggy from the dentist chair. My ear felt sticky. Banksy hovered over me worriedly.

“Are you dead, father? He dropped your brain on the floor.”

“It was not your brain,” Stonegate said. “At least not all of it. You’d have died if it’d been all of it.”

I shook my head. My left hand felt weird. I had a headache, and my life points were worryingly low. I was almost out of soul power. I needed to kill something soon.

“I gave you the optional four-finger upgrade,” Stonegate was saying. “The base model is three fingers. Why don’t you try your new hand out?”

I gazed stupidly at the four metal fingers where my left hand used to be. If felt odd, itchy. Heavy. I still had sensation in my hand, though my four metal fingers tingled unpleasantly, like they were asleep. I could shoot my hand across the room. I felt the potential energy, like having a loaded gun in my hand. The knowledge was burned into my mind.

My wrist was still my original flesh, but it was now encased in a metal sleeve that reached all the way to my elbow. Like Clara’s wings, some cogs and wheels and pistons twisted along the sleeve. A flexible tube, red with blood, connected my wrist with my shoulder. I reached forward to touch the pipe with my right hand. It was warm to the touch, and my shoulder was sore where it entered me. But it felt otherwise solid, like hardened plastic.

I clicked my four fingers together. The sensation hurt my brain. It felt as if I had four thumbs. “How far can I shoot it?”

“The initial upgrade is about five meters. At your level three, you can fire nine meters. That can be extended with some of the accessories.” He looked up. “That’s not quite far enough to reach the ceiling. But you can reach the loft.”

I looked up at the platform protruding from the side of the round building. There was no real handhold. I lifted my arm, pointed, and fired.

My hand shot out like a harpoon. My hand rushed through the air, smashing painfully against the bottom of the extended platform. I winced, the sensation like punching a wall. The whole mechanism crashed to the floor in a pile, bouncing off the top of Jazz’s hearth with a loud clang. I had no sensation in the brass-colored cable that connected my hand and wrist.

I pulled my shoulder instinctively, retracting the cable. The arm whipped about, flying back toward me, knocking over Stonegate’s tool table with a loud clatter. Banksy, who’d been coiled up behind the dentist chair, hissed in surprise. My whole body vibrated like a plucked string as my wrist thwapped back into place.

“Let’s try that again,” I muttered. I aimed more carefully this time. I fired my hand. My fingers smashed the edge of the platform, and I grasped, catching the edge. I squeezed, and the metal crumpled under the power of my fingers. Without thinking about it, I locked the cable in place, making the rope rigid. I could swing, I could retract. If I retracted while still clutching onto the metal, I’d pull myself up to the loft.

I let go, keeping the cable rigid this time, which kept it from thrashing about. “Dude,” I said, holding up my hand to admire it. “This is awesome.”

Stonegate clapped his hands in delight. “Wonderful! Just wonderful! I trust your mapping upgrade is also working?”

“I’m not sure what’s different,” I began, pulling up the world map. “Whoa, never mind.”

At first glance it looked mostly the same, but as I called up the menu, it zoomed into my current location. All the shops in town were labeled with little icons indicating what they were. There weren’t too many other shops in town. Most appeared to be shops exclusive for groundling characters.

Of the 22 kaiju, the map still only listed 16 of them. I was pretty sure the other six weren’t dead, but I didn’t know where they were.

“There’s a search option,” I said. I pulled it up and mentally typed “Pet store.” Fifteen spots populated the map. All but one were inside of Medina. A green checkmark appeared over one of the locations, right in the center of Medina. I realized that was where I’d received Banksy. The game kept track of all the places I’d visited.

The one pet shop outside the city was in a town called Little Cibola. The race icon over the village was that of the sundered, a humanoid race that exclusively used technology magic. The settlement was way on the other side of the map, down in the southeast corner, closer to the breach than any other town I could see. It’d take a week to walk there.

A note appeared under the list:

Additional, yet-to-be-unlocked areas of the map may contain additional results. 

A list of types of shops and spots of interest appeared under the search bar. One of them was called “Transport Gazebos.” I clicked on it.

More than fifty dots populated the map. Most of them were grayed out, including one a quarter mile away from our current position. I assumed that meant it was out of order. About twenty of them glowed green, indicating them as still active. Fifteen of them were outside of Medina. My heart leapt.

“There are a ton of active transport gazebos,” I said to Clara. I frowned, examining the results more closely. The only active gazebo that appeared to be inside of a town was also in that Little Cibola place. However, a red triangle with an exclamation point hovered over the icon. I clicked on it, and the tooltip said Access Restricted to Epsilon Corporate Business only. Whatever the hell that meant.

The other active fast travel locations were scattered randomly about the map. Each one also had a red warning icon. It appeared each of these gazebos was surrounded by an enemy encampment. The symbol for these said Key Required. “Shit. It looks like we’d have to fight our way to each one. And even then we need to find some sort of key.”

I played around a bit more. I found a toggle marked “Quest areas” and several popped up. It included the location of the Shrill, the two travel gazebos that needed fixing, the area of Medina where I still needed to finish my tutorial. It also showed a blinking cursor in the middle of a darkened town on the southwest side of the map. It was labeled “Andras.” That was the demon prince we were supposed to hunt down and kill for Stolas the owl demon.

I clicked everything off and searched for the missing kaiju. I received a similar note to before at the end of the results:

Additional, yet-to-be-unlocked areas of the map may contain additional results. Guardians using stealth or who are otherwise hidden may not appear.

“Wait,” Clara said. “Does the map show you concentrations of enemies?”

“Yes,” I said. I had the ability to create a heatmap of hostile creatures, though it seemed most of the map was a sea of red.

“Can you sort it by difficulty?”

“Hmm, let me see.” I played around a bit. There were multiple types of danger areas: encampments, breeding grounds, infestations, summonings, and something called pavilions. I found an option that allowed me to filter out regions that were too difficult for my level. Nothing appeared when I selected “easy” except a couple spots inside of Medina, all infestations. When I added the “intermediate difficulty” option, it appended twenty or so areas to the map, most of them also inside of Medina and in the forest we’d already traveled through. These were also infestations with a few encampments added to the list. A couple low-level monster blooms appeared on the outskirts of the abandoned city where the Shrill lived. That would be an excellent place to start once we escaped this place.

“So, are you satisfied with your upgrades?” Jazz asked. She handed me a pouch. A notification appeared. 5,025 teeth.

“Yes,” I said. “Thank you.”

“Very well,” she said. “Stay here while we get the clerics.”

“What?” I said. “Why?”

“We need to take you into custody. If you don’t start the pillorying in the next few hours, you won’t receive the required two nights of public display before the sacrament.”

I looked sharply at Clara, giving her a withering glare. “I didn’t realize that was a part of it.”

“Oh yes,” Stonegate added. “You stand at the base of the temple for two days, locked in a neck clamp while the adept initiate prays at your feet. Other adept initiates may tear finger-wide strips of flesh as good-luck charms. Do not worry, though. A cleric will always be nearby so you don’t succumb to sepsis. Or starvation. We know your kind has special dietary considerations.”

Jazz looked up at the loft. “Gulch, come on!”

A head appeared. “I can leave the house?”

“In two days, the gates of heaven will be opened to you. Yes, you may leave.”

“Yay!” the boy cried. He flipped off the loft with his monkey-like arms, swinging to the invisible handholds on the side of the wall, scaling down lightning quick.

“We’ll be right back,” Jazz said.

And just like that, all three of them went out the door. I caught a quick glance of a mech standing sentry outside. It wasn’t Madame Throb, but I didn’t grab the name. It was some sort of guard, level 15.

“Public display!” I hissed at Clara. “Two days of public display!” 

“Well, shit,” Clara said. “I guess we’ll have to skedaddle right now.”

I sighed. “Are these guys going to be gunning for me after this? I almost feel bad. They’re so excited.”

Clara grunted. “They probably will be hunting us. So we won’t ever be able to come back here.”

I nodded. “Okay, so how are we doing this?” All three of us needed to die before the others got back. In Dominion of Blades we used to call this trick “poor man’s fast travel.” But in that game you didn’t get tortured for two minutes when you died. 

Clara waved at Banksy. “Come here, boy. So you can’t kill Banksy, and he can’t kill himself, which means I’ll have to do it.” She looked at the worm, putting her hand on his massive head. “Sorry, buddy.”

“It’s okay, Clara,” he said. “Shoot inside my mouth, and I will die.” He opened his triangular face flaps.

Clara raised her handgun and fired, just like that. Banksy crumpled to the floor. 

Your familiar has died! You do not have a pet carrier installed! Familiar will regenerate at: Village of Charnel. You must travel to this location to retrieve him.

His soul power flowed into me. I resisted the urge to heal myself.

Clara laughed. “Hey, I went up to level 14!” She fished around in her pack and pulled out a candy apple. “I saved a couple of the non-blood nuggets because they taste better.” She tossed it to me. “Okay, so blow my head off and then eat the apple. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

I nodded. I hated this part. I pulled my gun from my shoulder. It felt odd with my new left hand, though the metal of my hand attached to the barrel with a metallic clink. An aiming reticle appeared in my vision.

Hey, that’s new. It must’ve been part of my grappling hook upgrade package. 

I raised the gun, aiming at Clara’s face. She cringed. “Do it,” she said through clenched teeth. I eased the trigger. Clara flew against the back wall, splattering. Her blood sizzled as it hit the hearth. My experience went almost to level 14, but not quite enough. Damn, I thought. I was going to lose half of it when I died.

I raised the apple to take a bite, but I paused. I pulled up my experience again. It was right there on the edge. I eyed the door. If I could kill that mech out there. He was only level 15. If I took him by surprise… The mechs were probably deadly and powerful, but the groundlings driving them were absurdly exposed in the center. I could do a quick headshot, maybe take out a few more groundlings and then kill myself. I’d hit level 14 for sure.

And if I was mistaken, if the mech killed me straight away? I’d be dead anyway.

I didn’t need to think about it. I put my gun at the ready, eased myself to the door and ripped it open, jumping out onto the steps, screaming.

Three mechs and a robed groundling now stood out there, including Madame Throb. She was level 26. The other two were both 15. The fourth was a level 49 cleric. They stared at me, surprised. The look on Madame Throb’s face turned first, evolving from surprise to rage in slow motion. She raised her hand with the skewer toward me, a billowing of steam rising from her suit. A metallic shield started to close around her exposed body. 

Oh fuck. I didn’t think about it. I aimed, putting the reticle between her eyes. I fired. The other two mechs were now reacting. Too slow. I took a knee and fired rapidly, hitting them in quick succession. I turned and fired once again, hitting the cleric.

It happened so fast even I’d been surprised at how swiftly I’d shot. All four hit the ground almost at the same time. Notifications flew by. Level 17. I’d gone up to 17!

I’d killed the three mechs, including Madame Throb. I’d knocked the cleric off his feet, but he appeared unhurt.

I ducked as a shot ricocheted off the tin can over my head. A horde of mechs descended on me from both sides of the street. A siren started to sound, a low, sinister-sounding wail. I jumped back into the house, slamming the door as shots thumped against the metal of the building.

“That’s right, bitches!” I cried. I laughed. It was the first time I’d laughed in a long time. I pulled the apple up and took two quick bites. The poisoning notification came.

As the pain wracked me, I quickly searched for things to loot. I grabbed a brand off Jazz’s table, examining it.

Branding Iron

Village of Kinnegad.

Huh. It went into the pack. I stole all of Stonegate’s tools, which still lay scattered on the floor. I eyed the loft, wondering if I could get up there in time to search. I should have done this first.

Another pain wracked me, and my health points pulled me into death.  

***

You have died 12 times!

Due to debts incurred, your regeneration location has been overridden.

Entering Kinnegad.

I awakened screaming. It’s not worth it. This is not worth it.

But it was over now. As painful as it was, the physical remnants of agony did leave the moment it was over. All that was left was the memory. I took a deep breath, shaking my head. My neck slammed back. I groggily realized I was chained to something.

Wait, where am I? This isn’t Charnel.

I read that last notification with a terror that overshadowed any I had known up to this point in the game.

I stood, my feet barely touching the ground. The musty smell from before was tenfold this close to the temple. The collar around my neck pulled upwards, just barely enough to keep me from suffocating. I was attached to a pole at the edge of a pavilion outside the entrance to their temple. Nearby, the brass badger head loomed, so large I couldn’t see above the snout. The entrance to the head-shaped temple had to be three stories tall. Torches and hissing pipes lined the interior of the church. My racing mind barely noted that the curved and ribbed roof of the temple’s nave gave the illusion of a mouth’s interior. If it wasn’t for the hundreds of groundlings worshiping within, and the fact everything was made out of brass, I’d think it was the severed head of Moritasgus. 

Mechs stood all around me, including Madame Throb, who had apparently regenerated before I had.

She looked pissed.

Oh fuck, I thought.

Chapter 24

One of the oddest consequences of having multi players mixed with AI-controlled NPCs in video games was the aspect of regeneration. Players inevitably end up killing everything they can. If the programmers made it so dead NPCs remained dead, certain parts of the game would end up broken. It simply wasn’t feasible. I had no idea if the single-player version of Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon had permadeath for the NPCs, but I doubted it. 

With the newest generation of AI-controlled NPCs, the problem was compounded. They remembered. They reacted to both your actions and words. They had distinctive personalities. And as long as you didn’t spend too much time with them, they could be indistinguishable from actual players.

Most games handled NPC death in different ways. In DoB, non-important NPCs came back, but not for three days or so. Some of the more unique quest-giving NPCs were so powerful it was practically impossible to kill them. But if you did pull it off, they usually came back right away.

In this game it seemed like essential NPCs respawned almost instantly. And they remembered you had attacked them. I bemoaned this fact now as the high-level cleric I had shot, Parson Broc, announced loudly that he would oversee young Gulch’s attempt at the Sacrament of Amplification in two-day’s time.

The semi-circle of mechs surrounding me clapped and shouted their encouragement.

“Did you think you could shoot your way out of here?” Madame Throb asked.

“Yeah, that was the plan,” I croaked. I clutched at the neck clamp. My wrists were not bound. My gun was gone. So was my pack. I pulled up the inventory using the menus and received an error:

Weapons, inventory, and spells are unavailable during incarceration.

Would I get them back? Holy shit. If I lost my Epiviper, my money, I’d have to completely start over.

Oddly, I had the sense that I could still shoot my grappling hook. I sensed my left hand could still crush almost anything it tried. But I wasn’t going to attempt anything with half the town guard surrounding me.

What was I going to do? The thought of having to actually go through with this sacrament thing… I wouldn’t make it. Not mentally. The death sequence was terrible enough.

A cleric stepped forward. He cast a spell, and my pants disintegrated. I felt them sizzle and disappear, leaving my legs exposed. A notification appeared and disappeared, something about my armor breaking.

I still wore a tattered loincloth. My boots remained. Oddly, my belt also remained. It felt odd against my bare hip.

I watched as a young groundling girl, no older than three toddled toward me, holding a serrated knife as long as her forearm. She clutched it uncertainly in both hands.

I kicked at her. “Get that thing away from me.”

Pastor Broc waved his hand.

You have been paralyzed! You are unable to move!  

My body froze in mid kick. I fell, not quite enough to choke me, but enough to be painful on my chin and the back of my head. I could still move my neck and head, but I couldn’t get it in a proper position.

“Get the fuck away from me,” I cried again.

“You’re going to suffer a thousand years of pain,” the toddler said, her voice heavy with a lisp. She turned back to the crowd. “Did I say it right?”

A second cleric stepped forward, putting a stool down on the ground in front of me. The stool was painted in a ladybug pattern. He patted the girl on the head. The child stood on the chair, wavering slightly.

“Whoopsie. I almost fall.”

“You can do it, honey,” a woman groundling called. Her mother.

The groundling girl stabbed me in my left leg, all the way to the hilt. The jagged knife entered my muscle and bounced off my bone with all the finesse of a chainsaw.

I screamed.

“No, no honey,” the mom said, coming forward. “That’s too deep. Pull it out.”

“He bleeds a lot,” the toddler said, yanking. “It’s stuck.” 

“Let me show you on this leg,” the mom said. She grasped the knife, pulling it free. I screamed again.

I watched in horror as my health points actually rose. I eyed that second cleric, the one who’d disintegrated my pants, his hands aglow.

The mom pinched a handful of skin on my upturned thigh, the one still raised in a frozen kick. “Don’t cut it. We want the skin, nothing else. It’s like peeling a fruit.”

I screamed anew as the mom filleted a 10-inch strip of skin off my thigh.

“Gimmee gimmee,” the girl said, clapping her hands, reaching for the knife.

“So you think you can do it like that?” the mom said, handing back the blade.

“Fuck,” I cried. “Heal me. Jesus Christ.”

The cleric did not heal me this time.

The mother gave me a chilly look. “Language,” she said. “There are children about!”

“I can do it,” the toddler said.

“Okay,” the mom said. “Nice and gentle. Cut down and slow, like you’re peeling the skin of a fruit. Be careful you don’t nick yourself, honey.”

“Okay, mommy,” the girl said.

She plunged the knife in my leg again. It went straight in, but this time it was stopped by the bone. She yanked it out and stabbed again, and again.

“Whoopsie,” she said.

***

My world was pain. It became my life, my religion, my breath, and my blood. It was all I knew, all I would ever know.

After the toddler, older children came. The ones who knew what they were doing were worse than those who didn’t because the clerics did not heal me between each proper flaying. Both of my legs looked like one of those shawarma spits, with bits of skin and fat hanging off like paper streamers. An impossibly large pool of blood cascaded off the pedestal and ran into a channel, streaming downward into the temple and toward the dais at the back of the badger’s throat.

It took almost a full day and dozens of healings for all of the town’s children to get their strip of flesh. I watched, dazed as a group of child groundlings rushed through the streets, waving the skin at each other, shrieking with laughter, pretending like the strips of leather were whips. One child fastened a crude slingshot out of his piece and spent a full hour shooting rocks at my head before one of the mechs finally shooed him away.

I spent this time attempting to break my mind in two. Dr. Metcalf had tried to teach me how to do it when I was dealing with Chris. At the time, I had thought the whole thing was stupid. Mary had clutched onto it like a lifeline though, spending hours meditating. It had never worked for me. But it seemed to help Mary. Not a lot, but during those first few months, anything that eased an ounce of the pain was worth it.

The whole idea—to compartmentalize your mind, to be able to dispassionately look at your own situation—it’d seemed wrong to me. Even if it had worked, it would’ve been like cheating.

I’d deserved that pain. I needed that pain. Like cauterizing a wound.

Besides, Dr. Metcalf’s method was a way of dealing with the pain of grief, not physical pain.

Still, I clutched onto the idea of being able to disassociate myself like it was the last crumb of food in the world.    

And it worked. Not like I intended, but by God, it worked.

I thought of Chris. I thought of that day. There was no pain that could supersede that memory. None.

Where are you? I’d asked Ruth. You know you’re not supposed to leave.

Relax, she’d replied. We’re at my boyfriend’s house.

Come home, I’d said. Come home right now. Mary is pissed.

Unwad your panties, dad. Chris is fine. He’s asleep. I’ll bring him back in the morning. Or you can come get him.

Goddamnit, Ruth. Get here now.

It was my fault just as much as it was hers. She’d been drunk and high, not in the right mind. I’d ordered her to come home. Mary was pissed. She didn’t like Chris leaving the house with Ruth.

She’d ended up going the wrong way on State Route 16. She’d collided head-on with another car. Chris. My beautiful little boy. He hadn’t even been wearing a seatbelt.

The driver in the other car had been injured as well. A teacher. She recovered, but I remembered that day in court, her staring daggers at us. I couldn’t look at her.

Ruth didn’t have a scratch on her.

That memory, reminding myself of that moment when the state troopers came to the door, of Mary falling to her knees, clutching her head, screaming. This is too much, this is too much. That was seared into my mind deeper than any brand, any scar, and it burned harder than any physical pain could.

But this flaying, the peeling of skin off my legs. This was nothing compared to what was to come tomorrow.

Amplification.

Damnit, Clara, I thought. I wondered if she knew what was going to happen. If not, I wondered what she was thinking right now, speculating why I hadn’t shown up. She’d had to have figured it out by now. Maybe they were on their way back to me. Maybe they’d come and save me at the last minute, guns a’blazing.

Maybe I’d wake up any minute and realize this was all a dream.

It took me a while to realize my legs had been healed and the jeering crowds were gone. I opened one eye to see young Gulch sitting cross-legged in front of me. A single cleric and a single mech stood respectfully back. Gulch rocked back and forth, praying silently.

I became acutely aware of my left hand. Assuming my grappling hook worked, I could effortlessly grasp the child, crush him.

I dove into my menu, searching for the folder that held my debt notifications. There. I read it several times.

In exchange for a branding, multiple cybernetic enhancements, and 5,025 teeth, you agree to allow Gulch, the child of groundlings Jazz and Stonegate to perform the Sacrament of Amplification upon you during the next Hidora at the base of the Temple of Moritasgus in the town of Kinnegad.

Note: the debts recorded here are binding and must be fulfilled. Only through breach or inability to perform by the NPC members of this agreement may the debt be canceled.

Madame Throb had immediately returned when I killed her. If I killed this child, would he come back right away? Could I kill him? Some games wouldn’t let you harm children.

They already hated me. How worse could it get? Earlier, I watched as the proprietor of a store across from the temple had appended “And Worm Surgeons” to his “No Shade Gremlins Allowed” sign.   

I paused. What if I did it, and they decided to remove my cybernetics? That would be worse. Then all of this would be for nothing. Still, I had to try. Could they remove my new hand? It was something I bought with actual skill points. Did that make a difference?

I decided to wait. It seemed they were done with the flaying for now. All that was left was the amplification. I would wait until the start of the ceremony, and I would kill the child then.

I spent the next twenty-four hours in a constant state of terror and pain. When my mech guard wasn’t looking, I attempted to use my powerful left hand to break the rod and chains that held me. It felt as if I was almost strong enough to break the pole, but not quite enough. I devoted some time to reading the menus, and I realized my left hand actually had a 2X strength bonus, so my strength of 15 was actually 30 in that hand only. I still had four attribute points from leveling up, and I tossed all four into my strength, bringing it up to 19, making my left hand a god-like 38.

I tried again, and I felt the pole start to break under my fingers. But then it stopped.

Self escape is not possible until your debt is paid or canceled.

“Fuck you,” I screamed out at the air, startling the mech, cleric, and boy, who had been sleeping at my feet.

Gulch looked at me with wide eyes.

“You said a bad word,” he said.

I took a deep breath, remembering. Chris said the same thing to Mary all the time. I rarely swore. Mary swore like a sailor with a splinter in her eye.

“I’ll try to be better,” I said at the boy.

Gulch nodded solemnly and went back to sleep.

A few hours later, I received a strange notification.

Banksy Hook Slayer is now Level 14.

Your familiar is full.

A few hours later, I received a similar notification. Then another.

Whatever was happening, it looked like Banksy and Clara weren’t just sitting on their figurative hands waiting for me. Also, it was clear that because of the distance, Banksy couldn’t talk to me. I wondered how close one had to be before our telepathic link started to work.

I clicked over to my experience, and sure enough, it was slowly ticking its way up.

My health points in the meantime siphoned away on their own, but the clerics seemed to be aware of the nature of worm surgeons, and I received random healings from my guard.

The morning of the ceremony came. Gulch disappeared. Pastor Broc wheeled out what looked like a harness device from some sex dungeon. “You will be strapped into this for the ceremony,” he said matter-of-factly, and before I could react, he cast a paralysis spell on me, surprising me. No. Not now! A pair of mechs unhooked my neck and started strapping me into the harness.

I was brought from the pole to the center of the pavilion. The entrance to the temple loomed even closer.

I tried to remain calm. I could still talk. “Will I remain paralyzed until the ceremony?”

“No,” Broc said. “But you will be paralyzed again for the first half of the amplification. By the time it wears off, you’re usually too weak to move on your own.” He grinned at me, revealing dirty, sharp teeth. “Young Gulch will work his way up your body. By the time your testicles are amplified, most don’t have much fight left in them.”

I swallowed.

As I was placed in the harness, a crowd formed around me. Stonegate and Jazz emerged, sitting in giant chairs atop a litter carried by a group of children groundlings all wearing badger masks. The litter was placed awkwardly on the ground, and the children stood back.

The paralysis wore off while the clerics started to chant. The harness left me hanging in the air, a strap around my chest and waist. I could be turned and twisted about like a pig on a spit. I bounced idly up and down on the bungee-like ropes.

My vest was removed along with my boots, leaving me in nothing but my loincloth. The moment my vest was removed I received a notification that my pack lost 50% available storage space. I hadn’t enough stuff in there to fill it up anyway.

Pastor Broc appeared from inside the temple, holding a glowing red knife in the air.

Half the groundlings, including Stonegate, stood and turned, walking into the temple, chanting. I realized it was almost all the males. Those who remained were the children, the women groundlings, and a handful of clerics—both male and female, and a few mechs as well, though all the mech drivers were women. Pastor Broc sat on the dais next to Jazz in the chair Stonegate had abandoned, still holding the electric knife in the air.

The badger-masked children stepped forward and picked the litter back up.

The children chanted as they raised the dais even higher. The platform wobbled under the weight, and I watched as one of the mechs surreptitiously reached forward to help. From underneath the podium another child appeared, in a red robe and wearing a badger mask. He pulled off the mask, revealing himself to be Gulch. He took several steps toward me and turned to face his mother and the head cleric.

He bowed and started to say something.

I had to act now. It was now or never.    

I reached toward the boy, my left hand outstretched. I clicked my fingers.

Bam! I fired my hand, and it clamped hard onto the back of the kid’s head. He screamed. I crushed. He screamed again, his voice a terrifying wail as the crowd around me erupted. The dais came crashing to the ground as the children scattered. Pastor Broc and Jazz both tumbled off and away.

He’s not dying. His head is strong as a diamond.

I retracted, his body heavier than I expected. I pulled the child ruthlessly against the ground as I pulled him to me.

He continued to scream. He did not die.

Damnit. Children are indestructible.

A mech guard was screaming, aiming a gun directly at me. A few clerics cried as well, their hands glowing. Nobody cast or fired anything, afraid they’d hit the child.

Children are indestructible, but they don’t know that.

I finished retracting my arm, pulling Gulch up to my chest. “Unbind me,” I cried. “Get me out of this thing, or I will pop his goddamned head off!”

Mechs and clerics welled closer and around, surging like hornets out of a nest.

Pastor Broc stepped forward. “Put the child down, Duke. If you do not, I will cast Sleep on both of you, and while you are asleep, I will cut your arm off to free the child. And then I will allow you to remain alive until the next holy day to be amplified again and again.”

All of the clerics surrounded me, their hands crackling with spells.

This was a bad idea.

Gulch wailed. I looked down at the boy, his eyes wide with terror. I thought of Chris, of those moments when Ruth drove the wrong way down the freeway. She said he’d been asleep, but was he really? Had he awakened in those last moments. Did he look up at his sister with eyes like that?

Gulch ceased his screaming and looked up at me. He sniffled. “My dad says people do bad stuff when they’re scared. I’m scared too.”

This is not a real person. This is a computer-generated NPC. But it felt like a real person right then. Guilt washed over me, like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on my head.

“I’m sorry,” I said, whispering it so only the boy could hear. I loosened the grip, and suddenly I was hugging the boy. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was scared. We do stupid things when we’re scared.”

“It’s okay,” the boy said. “My dad says…” He trailed off. “It’s coming,” he said. He looked around, meeting eyes with his mom. “It’s coming.”

Even from across the square I could see Jazz go pale.

What was going on?

I looked down at the boy, and his teeth were clenched, his eyes closed.

“Gulch?” I said.

I felt a sudden wave of concern for the boy I’d just tried to murder.

Something changed. He somehow seemed even heavier than before, his body stiff like a metal beam. He made a gurgling noise, spittle and foam coming from between his clenched teeth.

“I think he’s having a seizure,” I said stupidly, looking up at the crowd around me.

Jazz rushed up, ripping him from my arms. “Baby, baby,” she crooned. She looked up at the clerics, eyes wide with fear as she sat on the ground, her child cradled in her arms. “The demon did this!” She glared at me, eyes a mix of terror and hate. “Damn you,” she hissed. “You will pay.”

Pastor Broc kneeled before Gulch, putting his hand against the boy’s head. He whispered a few words to the boy, who seemed now to be asleep. “No,” Pastor Broc said. “This is the Agitation. It is not demon touch.”

Gasps and whispering filled the crowd.

“No,” Jazz said, rocking the boy back and forth. She sobbed openly. “No, it is the demon.”  

I watched as Stonegate entered the clearing. He looked wildly about, his eyes focusing on his wife and child huddled on the ground. The man noticeably sagged, a look of defeat overwhelming him.

“The boy is damaged,” a woman called from the crowd.

“Give the worm surgeon to a worthy child!” another called. “My Victus is of age and is free of the Agitation! He is here and ready to perform the ceremony!”

“No,” Jazz repeated, shaking her head. “No, no, no!” She clutched the boy closer to her chest as she sobbed. Stonegate sat on the ground and enveloped his wife and child with his arms.

A silence fell over the crowd as Madame Throb stepped forward. Each step hissed with steam-driven hydraulics.

“You know the rules,” Pastor Broc said. His voice was quiet, gentle, but firm. He looked up at Madame Throb and nodded.

“Step away from the child,” Throb said. When neither parent moved, she took another step forward. “Jazz. You know what must be done.”

I watched, fascinated as Stonegate leaped to his feet. The genial, middle-aged groundling held a look of absolute outrage on his face. He had a knife in his hand. It was the same glowing knife Pastor Broc had held earlier. It was the knife Gulch was supposed to use in the ceremony.

“You will not touch my child,” he roared, swinging the knife at the mech. Pastor Broc jumped back, his face registering shock.

Madame Throb sighed, pointed her hand at Stonegate, and skewered him between the eyes. The whole move took less than two seconds. The groundling dropped like a sack of rocks. The knife hit the ground, scattering away. I felt a whoosh of soul power. Jazz screamed.  

Throb turned to Jazz. The mech sheathed the bloody skewer, showering the tiles with specks of blood.

The tableau held for several moments. The two groundlings stared at each other. Blood pooled underneath the dead Stonegate.

Finally, Jazz seemed to make a decision. She took a moment to compose herself. She swallowed and stood, her still-unconscious child in her arms.

I thought the clearing had been silent earlier, but it was now dead quiet except for the sound of the engines. I became aware of my own breathing and the whir of the underground machine that powered the city, beating like a heart. The boilers of the mechs all hummed, but the sound was like a distant whisper, as if even they were holding their collective breaths.

Jazz gently placed her child into the upturned arms of the mech. She reached down and kissed him on the forehead, and she turned and slowly walked away, her head held high.

Without a word, Madame Throb turned and walked into the open mouth of the temple, parting the silent crowd.

I allowed a glimmer of hope to fill me. If the kid was gone, then I could get out of this. I felt absurdly worried about the NPC child and horrified at what had just happened. But I was more concerned about not having a different child split my penis into two pieces with a glowing knife.

I tested the bonds of the shoulder strap. Still, if I started punching some of these mechs in the face with my super wrist, surely they’d put a hole in me, killing me.

I pulled up the debts tab. The debt was still listed, still active. Was Madame Throb going to kill poor little Gulch? And if so, would the debt go away then? I had to keep an eye on it. The moment the debt disappeared, I’d make my move. Any sooner and I’d likely die, suffer through the death sequence, and then reappear right here in the harness again, probably with my implants removed.

A pair of clerics appeared and dragged the lifeless body of Stonegate away, leaving a streak of red on the tiles. I idly wondered if NPCs killed by NPCs stayed dead. This whole sequence had to have been programmed in here, hadn’t it? If this was part of the main groundling storyline, then he had to be dead, dead, didn’t he? I knew each individual NPC was run by an AI, but I didn’t know how much of their actions were predetermined or not.  

Out of morbid curiosity, I pulled up my map, looking for the Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades shop here in Kinnegad. It wasn’t there. Not grayed-out like it was closed. It was just gone. The apothecary next door remained, but the circle of the shop no longer held any label at all.

Pastor Broc returned to the clearing. He reached down and picked up the glowing knife, examining it.

“So,” I said, breaking the silence. “If Gulch can’t perform the sacrament, I guess you gotta let me go. I agreed to let him do it, nobody else. That was the agreement.”

The cleric grunted in amusement. He looked me in the eye. “Young Victus, are you still here?” he said without turning away from me.

“I am!” a young boy hopped forward. This boy was about a year older than Gulch. He had a larger head, meaner features than the other boy.

“Do you know the ceremony?” Broc said.

“I do,” the boy said. “I do.” His voice did not hide his excitement.

He handed the knife to the boy.

I reached forward to shoot the boy like I had with Gulch, but I was hit with the paralysis spell the moment my hand left my body. It shot a meter out, sagged, and then slowly returned on its own to my wrist.

Pastor Broc stepped forward and whispered in my ear. “There is a prophecy that a worm surgeon will bring ruin to the Temple of the Chained Gods. I’ve never trusted your kind, and I will do all I can to make sure each and every one of you suffer. The sacrament is going to happen today. It is going to happen right now. Nothing is going to save you. Prepare yourself, demon.”

Without any more hesitation, the boy stepped forward, grabbing my left foot in his strong hand.

“We start with the small toe,” the boy cried. With the knife, he placed it against the tip of my frozen pinky toe. He pushed, and I felt the searing pain as the toe split into two, nail and all. He cut easily through the bone, as if it was made of unfired clay.

“The first chamber has been amplified,” Pastor Broc declared. He had to speak loudly over the sound of my screams. “Fifty-one chambers to go!”

Chapter 25

I would love to say my rescue came in the nick of time. The toes, the soles of my feet, my fingers, the palms. All of that was terrible, the worst physical ordeal of my life. I’d just love to tell you how I was saved the worst of it just as that little shit Victus pulled away my loincloth and grasped my left testicle.

The chaos and ensuing destruction of Kinnegad did not happen in time to save my left testicle. Or my right one.

It did happen, however, when my absurdly-long zombie penis was halfway through being inexpertly sliced in half like a hotdog being sheared by a blunt spork.

After every few cuts, the clerics cast a particularly nasty spell called Preserve Injury, which allowed them to heal my life points without actually closing up the wound. It would’ve been useful when I was first feeding Banksy, but I could think of no other possible use for it. Except for torture.

The Preserve Injury spell did blunt the pain of the injury somewhat, but that ended up being more of a curse than a blessing. By the time Victus had sliced my third toe, peeling it open like a pistachio, I was in so much screaming, why-am-I-not-passing-out pain, I barely registered new injuries to my person. I looked down, surprised to see him working on my fourth toe while I was still screaming about my second one.

After he was done with my big toe, I was wailing and sobbing and begging for death. The cleric cast the Preserve Injury spell, and a welcome, glorious warmth spread across my foot. I found myself gasping, gulping in air, my heart thrashing in my chest. My toes still ached. They itched as if on fire. Victus brushed by to move to my next foot, sending a fresh spasm of pain through me. But the pain on its own was manageable, like an injury that was several days old.

That had the unfortunate effect of allowing me to focus entirely on this new pain.

From my toes, he moved to my fingers on my right hand, then the hand itself, which he sliced at an upward angle, starting from outside the inner wrist to a point below my index finger, allowing my hand to flap open loosely. It had the effect of losing all feeling in that hand, and the bottom half of my palm screamed, though the sensation wasn’t nearly as bad as the destruction of my fingers.

He left my mechanical left hand alone for now.

My feet were peeled in a different manner. He cut from the bottom of the heel, carefully easing the knife through the bone and only halfway up the depth of my foot. He cut along the center of the sole, ending at the space between my index and middle toe. He then peeled the foot open like an upside-down baked potato. I felt bones and tendons snap and crack and splinter.

I can say, without a doubt, this was the most excruciating physical pain I had ever felt. It was like the death sequence, the fingers and toes, the cutting open of my own stomach, all of it combined at once and focused on a single, solitary spot of my body and amplified a hundredfold.

My mind was doing this odd stuttering thing, like a needle on a record player skipping and scratching, desperately trying to find the proper groove. I kept moving between screaming pain, saying “no, no, no,” and “You little fucker. Fuck you, you little fucker,” and having my mind wandering off, finding itself in a loop. I pictured the kangaroo poster on Ruth’s wall when she was a child. I kept thinking of it, of how it ripped when I tried to remove it when we moved. Her mom had left us for Arizona. For another man, and we’d been forced to find a smaller apartment. Ruth had accepted her mother leaving with a quiet, matter-of-fact stoicism that was unusual for an 8-year-old. But she had wailed when I tore that poster. I kept thinking of it, of the poster, my mind taking refuge in this odd place. I’d crumpled to the floor that night, sobbing for the first time in my adult life after spending hours scouring the internet for a replacement. I hadn’t thought of that in years, and it was ridiculous I was thinking of it now. 

But I clutched onto the terrible memory, thinking of that moment over and over. Of that stupid fucking kangaroo poster.

But then Victus moved to my testicles.

One does not simply slice a testicle in half and leave it remaining attached to the body in two distinctive pieces any more than someone can slice a raw egg in half, shell and all, hoping to keep all the pieces attached and within.

As such, there was a special tool made just for this part of the ceremony. I was in too much terror and pain to get the best look at it, but my first impression was the device was like a handheld cherry pitter.  

I fear I have already described too much of this process. Let me just say after the second testicle was obliterated, left hanging on my body like an apple that had been crushed and juiced, rotting away, I felt that record needle of sanity snap right off. It was like a physical thing in my mind. I screamed, I wailed, I foamed at the mouth. They had to wait for a good long time after the second testicle before he could move on.

My mind was finally tumbling back into coherence just as Victus grasped my flaccid cock in his left hand and pulled it taut, like he was attempting to yank a turtle’s head from his shell.

For his part, the boy went through the actions of the sacrament with determined ferocity. Despite his earlier eagerness, he showed no pleasure or displeasure in the process. His cuts were uneven and haphazard, but he did not hesitate, and so far nothing was actually cut off of me, which would require him to start over. I was absurdly grateful for that.  

The clerics knew exactly what they were doing. They cast their terrible Preserve Injury as Victus split open the gray head of my worm surgeon cock.

Victus paused, the knife curving, coming dangerously close to severing off the top half of my member.

“Be fucking careful,” I screamed through gritted teeth.

But the boy wasn’t paying attention to me. His head was turned. His grip on me slackened, causing my dick to cut itself as it retracted like an eel back into its cave.

I finally registered that the screaming I heard wasn’t just my own.

A massive frog with a set of antlers jumped into the clearing, croaked once, and shot his tongue out. The long, wart-covered tongue splattered onto the chest of a groundling cleric. The tongue held fast. The cleric flew off his feet as he was pulled to the monster. The man folded in on himself, his scream abruptly cutting off as he cracked like a twig. The frog swallowed him whole. The groundling was a few hands larger than the frog, but it didn’t matter. He disappeared completely into the frog’s mouth. The frog chewed a few times, its mouth sliding to the side like that of a cow. The beast casually shot its tongue at another groundling, this one a woman.

My eyes focused on the frog’s tag. This was the same one we’d seen earlier.

Familiar – Player Jenk

Victus screamed as the frog’s tongue lashed onto his back. The boy looked up at me, and our eyes met. His loose left hand grasped my dick like it was a life preserver. He opened his mouth, as if to say something. He was violently yanked away, pulled into the giant frog’s mouth.

The knife went flying.

Victus’s hopeless grip failed him. He went one direction. I rebounded back in the harness, bouncing like the surface of a trampoline.

The top half of my penis flew straight up like a damn bottle rocket. I watched it curl into the air, spinning, trailing blood. It landed with a splotch on the tiles, only to be trampled a moment later by a rush of screaming groundlings.

I was in too much screaming pain to see what happened next, but I did note the boy was not swallowed by the frog. With children being indestructible by other players—and their pets, apparently—he was not swallowed. He ran off, screeching.

The crowd scattered. The frog bounded off, chasing a pair of particularly-plump groundlings. An explosion rocked the town behind me. Then another.

Holy shit, he’s here, I thought. The Canadian guy was here. But then I looked down at the ruined half of my body and stopped caring about Jenk. 

The paralysis spell was starting to wear off. I felt the now-familiar crackling tingle that indicated I’d soon regain full motion. But that did not matter. My life points flowed out of me like water from a sieve. With no clerics nearby to heal me, I would bleed out in minutes.

Hurry up, hurry up, I mentally screamed at the life bar. Die already. Blood cascaded from my crotch like a firehose. The burning heat of death would be like a spa day compared to this.

A mech ran past, his or her features obscured by the lowered blast shield. The templar screamed incoherent orders. Something about protecting the temple. A group of mechs took up positions around the entrance of the outside of the giant badger head, a mere 50 feet away.

Death would come at any moment. I felt myself slipping away. I pulled up the debt menu. Goddamnit, I thought. It was still there, not yet canceled. Why the hell not? When I died, I’d come right back here. I looked at my ruined testicles and cock, the splayed ends of my toes, curled up like a dead sea creature. That was okay, I decided. If I was going to face this crazy Jenk asshole, then I would rather be fully intact.

And then he was there, as if had summoned him.

Jenk – Player (Level X).

The wolf waved his hand, and my life bar froze. I was not healed. My injuries remained.

You have been Decelerated!

“No,” I cried. My health bar had paused right at the edge. The corners of my vision remained red, pulsing like a heartbeat.

I wasn’t paralyzed like before, but I still couldn’t move. The spell he’d hit me with, Deceleration, seemed to slow everything down except my ability to talk. My arms felt like they were stuck in molasses. 

He stood before me, his hands on his hips, appraising me. A brown, well-muscled wolf man. He wasn’t nearly as decked out as Anatoly and SmashSouth had been. He wore what looked like a pair of leg bracers over his black jeans. They were some sort of mechanical enhancement. Probably something that let him jump. His left hand was also mechanical, though instead of the circle of four grabbers I had, he wore a metallic glove that looked like a chrome version of his own hand.

He wore twin bandoliers over his otherwise bare, broad chest and had a pair of handguns holstered around his waist, making him look like a deranged werewolf cowboy. He did not carry a special edition Epiviper pulse rifle. His left eye appeared to be cybernetic, and it focused on me, servos twisting and turning within.

I realized then that all sound had cut off. A flash of light caught the corner of my eye. We were encased in some sort of semi-circle shield that encompassed the entire pavilion. To my right, a group of mechs silently poured fire at us, but the translucent glass shield protected us. These were the mechs protecting the temple. One of the mechs disappeared, screaming silently as the frog crunched him. My life ticked down again. One or two more percentage points, and I’d be gone. 

Jenk’s gaze fell upon me, on my ruined body, and he examined the crushed and ruined half cock smushed against the tiles. He poked at it with a booted foot.

“Well this is awkward,” he said. He spoke amiably, casually, like he was someone who’d just sat down next to me at a bar. He did not have a menacing voice, which made him seem even more terrifying. He ground the smushed meat even further into the tiles. “Are you circumcised in the real world? You might find this interesting. So you probably know in some bris ceremonies, the rabbi guy—the mohel—he lops the newborn’s foreskin off, right? But did you know there’s this sect of rabbi guys. They actually cut the foreskin, and then they suck the blood away with their mouths. Can you believe that? People say I’m fucked up. But when I heard that, I just laughed and laughed. A bunch of years ago, some rabbi gave a couple babies herpes by sucking on their injured wieners. One of the babies actually died. Did you know that?” He took a step toward me, then paused, looking thoughtful. “Actually, I don’t know if you have to be a rabbi to be a mohel. Do you know?” He looked at me expectantly.

“Do you?” he asked again.

“What?” I asked, bewildered. 

He reached forward and grasped my ruined testicles with his metallic hand. I didn’t feel it at first, an effect of the deceleration. The pain did come, though, climbing up me in slow motion, a slow-moving lance of fire ascending like spiders up my body. I screamed.

“Do you know if someone has to be a rabbi to be mohel?” he asked again.

“No,” I gasped. “I have no idea.”

Jenk sighed, releasing me. He wiped his hand on his fur. He looked around, sighing again, this time louder.

“Still, this is probably the most entertaining circumcision I’ve ever attended. I mean, I haven’t been to many. But this is definitely up there. How about you, Duke?”

“I’ve been to better,” I muttered.

Jenk clapped his hands in delight. “Oh, this one is funny. You’re the artist, right? Clara’s pet. I’d heard Anatoly was finally bringing you in here. You sure have gotten yourself into quite the pickle. You know what’s funny? In the normal version of the game, people went out of their way to get themselves amplified. It’s not easy to get the groundlings mad enough to do it. The thing is, whenever you get tortured or imprisoned it triggers a cutscene. Time zooms by, and you can only watch via third person. There are pages and pages on the internet of people trying to hack the game so it’ll let them experience what only you have managed to do. There are some sick fucks out there. I call them pain junkies. They would give anything to experience what you just did. And you’ve done it at 105%. Well, half of it. Man. If you ever manage to get out of here, you’ll be a folk hero. Like the Captain Sully of VR torture.”

Tick. My health bar went even lower. I wouldn’t escape if I died, but at least my body would be repaired. Come on, come on.

He leaned close, examining me, my arms. “You only have one brand,” he muttered. “Are you really using Anatoly’s base as your regeneration spot? That’s why you were here, wasn’t it? You came to get a new brand, but instead you got yourself peeled.” He nodded. “That means Clara is back inside of Bast, too.”

My new brand was in the center of my back, which was pressed against the harness. He couldn’t see it.

“Whatever you are up to, it’s pointless, fruitless, aimless, and even a bit futile. This is a big, scary game. There’s no winning. Only losing. And when you lose here…” He made a point to look down at the remnants of my smashed penis on the ground.

Suddenly the frog was there, leaning up against the leg of Jenk. She was completely covered in blood and guts. A long tendril of gore hung from her antler, dripping. Jenk patted her head. “Good girl,” he said.  

The frog let out a satisfied ribbit. She noticed the gore of my severed penis on the ground. She slurped it up.

“Okay,” Jenk said, looking at me. “I have no interest in you.” He tapped his lips. “But we do have a mutual friend. Hmm.” He patted the antlered frog again. “So I’m going to close these caves off, make sure you can’t come back and get a brand. I’m sorry about that. But first Olga here is going to eat you. When you regenerate, I want you to pass a message on to our Clara. Can you do that for me? It’s the least you can do. After all, I saved you before they got to your teeth. Trust me, and I’m an expert in this sort of thing. This pain you feel with your balls and fingers and feet. That is nothing compared to what the splitting of the teeth would’ve been like. Not the way they do it here.”

I didn’t respond.

“So, anyway. Please pass a message on to Clara for me. Tell her ‘You-know-who misses her mommy. But not to worry. She’s in great hands.’”

I growled. “How about you go fuck…”

Before I could finish, my health ticked down one more notch.

You have died!

Half your experience toward level 18 lost!

***

Pain.

***

You have died 13 times!

Due to debts incurred, your regeneration spot has been overridden.

Entering Kinnegad.

I gasped, screaming back into the world with fire still licking my skin. I remained attached to the harness, in the same place as before. My clothes returned, but they were the ones I started the game with. My leather harness that gave a storage bonus was gone forever. But my fingers, my toes, my feet, and most importantly, my cock had all been restored to their former glory.

Jenk and the circular shield that had protected him was gone. He and Olga the frog had wandered off somewhere. He must have assumed I’d have regenerated back in Bast. But he couldn’t have gone too far. It’d only been two and a half minutes. I looked around, seeking him.

The place was abandoned. Burning husks of mechs surrounded me. The pavilion was painted red with groundling blood. Jenk and his frog had killed everyone in town.

But the NPCs would be back at any moment. Before, Madame Throb had regenerated right away. But had she regenerated that rapidly because I had died too? I hadn’t thought of that before. If Jenk had killed the NPCs, would they stay dead longer? I knew a few other games did something similar. But either way, the NPCs would return. What would happen then? Would they start the ceremony again? I had to get out of here. I grasped at the strap holding my chest with my powerful left hand.

Self escape is not possible until your debt is paid or canceled.

“Goddamnit,” I cried. I read the debt notification again. It would only be canceled once the day had passed, once the child died, or once the ceremony was completed. Completed by Gulch. But Madame Throb had killed little Gulch, hadn’t she? I looked off toward the temple. The mechs guarding the entrance were splattered all over the place. Throb had brought the kid in there somewhere. He must not be dead yet. That meant I’d have to wait until the end of the day before the debt would go away. Would it take that long for the NPCs to come back? I doubted it.

The entire cave shook, followed by a distant explosion. I heard screaming, followed by a very, very loud howl, louder than the detonation. Rocks fell from the ceiling, crashing around me.

What was happening now? My minimap was awash in red. I pulled up the main map, zooming out to get a better view.

The howling was coming from Orthrus, Jenk’s two-headed kaiju. It had moved from the fields to the east to directly above our position.

Then I remembered what Jenk had said. I’m going to close these caves off. He had control of his kaiju, making the giant two-headed dog cave in this entire town. I wondered if that would finally cancel the debt. I welcomed the idea, even if it meant dying once again. Anything to get out of here without having to go through any more of the amplification ceremony.

The distinctive hissing of a mech suit punctuated through the distant sound of roaring. My heart started to thrash as I struggled in my restraints.

“Your lycan friend did not try to save you,” a familiar voice said, sounding odd as it was amplified through the loudspeaker of the mech suit. All around us, rocks continued to plummet from the ceiling. The large mech clunked into my view. The unit’s blast shield was down, obscuring the driver.  

I was expecting this to be Madame Throb. I was surprised to see it was not.

“He’s not my friend,” I said through gritted teeth. My eyes caught the name over the mech suit. Jazz. She was not wearing the same type of suit that Madame Throb and the rest of the guard wore. This suit was a head bigger than the others and wider, too. But it also looked older, more worn. It did not appear to have any built-in weapons. Hoses threaded from the back and into the center, making it look more like an old school diving suit.

The suit wasn’t armed, but she did appear to have a weapon. Her suit carried a giant, metallic block on the back. It was the size of a dishwasher and appeared to be a solid hunk of metal. A chain hung from the side, each link as wide as my arm. The thing was some sort of flail. The whole thing appeared to be outrageously heavy, and I kept waiting for her to topple backward.

The restraint around my waist snapped off, followed by the one at my shoulder as Jazz easily removed them with her mechanical hand. I fell forward, hitting the ground hard.

You have been broken free of incarceration!

The moment I hit the ground, my pack and rifle returned, settling over my shoulder with a satisfying weight. Relief flooded me. I was free. For now. A quick glance showed me the debt was still active, which meant if I died again, I’d still regenerate in this stupid town.

The ceremonial knife still sat there on the tiles. Gasping, I picked it up.

The knife hummed in my hands. It was more a surgical tool than a proper weapon. It had a long, silver handle and a short, glowing energy blade as thin as a razor.

It cut through bone like butter. It had a slide on the side, and I could make the blade about seven inches long, or I could retract it completely. So less like a scalpel and more like a box cutter. I retracted the blade and slipped it into my belt as quickly as I could. If Jazz was going to kill me, I wanted it in my inventory so I’d keep it upon regeneration.

The knife’s information popped up.

Knife of Amplification

Used in the Sacrament of Amplification, this knife is able to finely pierce and slice organic material with precision.

+20% Celestial Prayer Points when worn.

I waited for a fatal blow from the mech, but it never came. I looked up, and the mech stood over me. The blast shield retracted, revealing the woman groundling. Her eyes were rimmed red.

The weird brass skullcap was gone, and she had what appeared to be a square, metal patch woven into her forehead. I wasn’t sure if she had the patch before or not, but I didn’t think so. Blood oozed from the metal square. This was an upgrade she had just installed onto herself.

“You’re going to help me get Gulch back,” she said.

“I thought they killed him,” I said. I knew he couldn’t be dead, but what else could I say?

“He may not be. He has been training against this possibility. He may yet live within the oblation chamber. Kinnegad is about to collapse.” She gestured at the temple. “We need to get in there and rescue him before it’s too late.”

A new quest notification flashed.

I stood to my full height. I still had to look up to face Jazz. Her mech vibrated and coughed like an engine with a bad valve.

“You owe me this,” she said.

I shook my head. No. While I needed to level up as rapidly as possible, it was crucial I get back to Clara and Banksy. Now that this Jenk guy knew we were here, everything was going to be much more difficult. I didn’t have time for side quests like this.

“I don’t owe you shit,” I said.  

The mech reached forward, picked me up like a ragdoll and turned and walked into the open mouth of the badger temple.

I fought, scrambling to grab at my rifle, my knife, anything but she held my arms tight.

I cursed and struggled until I saw the notification as we entered the temple. I froze.

Entering Moritasgus – Mouth Region

Warning: Guardian Moritasgus is in poor health.  

I stared stupidly at the notification as we walked along the pews. Jazz’s mech was so wide, we cleaved through the room, throwing the benches aside like a boat cutting waves.

Deep Dive activating! World Map is not available during a deep dive! Gross Anatomy map activating! Surgery menu activating! Frame Vision now available!

Multiple purple waypoints opened up in my vision as the guardian map activated. 

We passed the pulpit, and she pushed me through the curtain that hung at the back of the altar. Darkness washed over us as we passed through the temple and into the fleshy back of the kaiju’s mouth. We stood over a dark precipice, the dark cavern of the kaiju’s throat.

Heat blasted me as the guardian exhaled. A terrible, fetid stench, like rotten cabbage, overwhelmed me.            

“Hold on,” Jazz said.

“What…” I began.

She jumped, and we fell, swallowed by the darkness.

Chapter 26

We smashed into the fleshy inside of the gullet, our descent stopped by the cup of a U-shaped shelf on the interior throat. My Frame Vision turned on, but only for a moment before a pair of bright lights activated near the head of Jazz’s mech, illuminating the interior of the beast’s throat. The passage was as wide as an airplane hangar. Humid, putrid air rushed by, in and out.

Jazz let go of me, and I plopped onto the ground made of pink flesh. The thump, thump, thump of the heart hit me like the beat of a drum. I realized that was the pounding I’d heard throughout the entire city.

I stood, my legs unsteady. My mind reeled. This wasn’t a temple for Moritasgus. The damn temple was the guardian! I looked up at Jazz. “What the hell did you do to his head! Why does he just sit there?”

She looked at me like it was the stupidest question that had ever been asked.

I couldn’t access my world map, but I knew several of the kaiju were missing. I hadn’t even thought to look for this one. It had been under our feet the whole time, and I’d had no idea.

The ground heaved, and we both flew up into the air, almost dislodged from our spot and back into the throat. The cup in which we perched was momentarily turned inside out, like the guardian was clearing his throat. I bounced as the world settled again. I fell hard onto my ass.

“Calm, my lord,” Jazz muttered. She patted the flesh.

I pulled up and placed the Gross Anatomy minimap in the top corner. The badger appeared to be buried standing erect in the ground, with only his head poking out into the center of Kinnegad. We sat right on what appeared to be the kaiju’s epiglottis. 

Jazz climbed up the edge of the flesh cup. A chain emerged from the mech, and she attached it to a tire-sized loop of metal that appeared to be drilled into the kaiju’s flesh along with several other loops. A single chain was already attached to one of the loops, next to the one Jazz used. This was how they entered the deeper realms of the kaiju, I realized. From this spot we could go into either the digestive tract or the pulmonary system.

“Why is your kaiju buried like this?” I asked again.

Jazz paused and looked at me. “The demons came. It is our responsibility to protect our god from the unholy. We keep Papa Mori safe.”

“But why is he just sitting here? Why doesn’t he struggle, try to get away?”

Jazz tapped the brass metal plate on her forehead. “Pastor Broc held the controller. I took it from him when the chaos erupted. Okay. So we are going toward the lung region. I need to pick you up again.”

“Controller?” I asked, not making a move toward her. “So that thing in your head makes the kaiju do what you want?”

She looked outraged. “This thing in my head tells me Moritasgus’s will. Now come to me. Unless you want to live the rest of your days stuck in the throat of a god.”

I reluctantly stepped forward, reaching to grab her hand. She pulled me to her, wrapping me tightly against the metallic hull of her mech. The mechs of the town guard had twin boilers on the back. This wider mech held her massive flail like a backpack in that same place. Instead, a single, but larger, boiler sat underneath the hunk of metal, part of what was holding it up. It rattled and hummed and sputtered.

“Okay, we’ve got a long way down toward the lungs, but we’re not going all the way into them. We’ll stop just before the branch, and then we’re going through the hatch into the heart. That’s where they bring them.”

And then she jumped off the edge. We fell, ratcheting down with a click, click, click as an impossible amount of chain emerged from the shoulder of her mech. We occasionally bounced off the wall of the brachial tube, and I wondered idly if the creature could feel it. The air in here was hot and foul, rushing back and forth like waves as the giant badger breathed in and out. 

As we fell, I glanced at my waypoints. A waypoint pulsed over the heart area, and I focused on it.

Level 5 Dirofilariasis Infestation

107 Meters Away – Heart

Warning: You must treat this infestation at the direct location.

Warning: Guardian Moritasgus is in poor health.  

I had no idea what “dirofilariasis” meant, but the game seemed to believe I’d be able to handle it at my current level. The last time it gave me a warning when something was beyond my ability to heal.

We stopped with a jerk. For a terrifying moment, I thought she’d drop me as I continued to slide painfully down. We hung loosely in the air. Directly below, the tube split into two directions. The beating of the heart reminded me of being just outside of a nightclub. You could feel it in your bones. It rattled your teeth. Even Bast didn’t have a heartbeat this loud.

Jazz pointed up at a round, riveted porthole built into the side of the tube. The door was large, big enough to accommodate Jazz’s mech. Several more eyelets were drilled into the flesh above the entrance. A single chain was already attached to one. This was the other end of the one already attached above.

“We need to swing over there. This part can get tricky,” Jazz said. She started to push back and forth, swinging.

“I got it,” I said. “Just don’t drop me.” I reached forward with my left hand, aiming for the metal loop of the porthole.

My hand shot forth, easily making the distance. My aim was true, and I grasped onto the ring.

“Okay, hold on,” I said as I retracted the arm. I grunted with the effort of pulling both myself and the heavy mech back up. For a terrifying moment, I feared my implant would rip right off of my arm. But thankfully my newfound strength was enough. We reached the eyelet, and Jazz grasped on with her free hand.

A small shelf was built into the flesh just under the round portal. I slipped out of the mech’s grasp, standing awkwardly on the ledge, my hands grasping onto the round, spinning handle of the door.

This ledge and whole travel system only worked if the kaiju was in its current position, buried almost vertically in the ground. Bast was always rolling all over the place, and the interior spun about like a washing machine. I wondered how long the groundlings had trapped their guardian in this position. 

“Get that door open,” Jazz said as she unhooked the chain from her mech and onto the second eyelet. “We can’t keep it open for but a few moments before he starts to feel discomfort. So once it’s open, go quickly through and I will follow.”

The portal turned easily in my hand. It opened inward with a whoosh. I practically blew inside. The temperature rose, and a terrible roaring filled my ears.

Entering Heart Region

Warning… Diagnosis is recommended.

I expected to step onto flesh, but instead my feet hit solid metal. The ground swayed up and down like one of those funhouse bridges. I received an Unsteady notification, and I had to stand still while Jazz crowded behind me and slammed the door. The roaring noise solidified into a heartbeat mixed with the rushing sound of a waterfall.

A guide rope was built across the bridge, and I grasped it with my right hand as I took stock of my surroundings.

We stood upon a broad, metallic bridge about as wide as the one that led into the town of Kinnegad. A white glow mixed with Jazz’s bluish light, giving the chamber a sickly feeling. The slats were connected with bits of chain, but they were far enough apart that I’d fall through if I wasn’t careful. There seemed to be a track of sorts built into the slats, and I realized it was for the groundling mechs. The bridge led off toward what appeared to be a small, glinting building nestled into the shadows ahead. The round building looked similar to Anatoly’s base that was built into Bast’s large intestine. If it was a player base, I likely wouldn’t be able to go inside. It would be empty as nobody was playing the groundling this season.

The bridge heaved, thrumming with the heartbeat. I could feel it in my chest, each thump like someone slapping me. The bridge, according to my map, spanned directly over the heart. But if there was a heart underneath all of that, I could not see it.

Below my feet, and stretching out as far as I could see into the darkness was nothing but a writhing mess of white worms. Thousands of them. Or maybe it was just one. I could not tell. They pulsed and wriggled and slithered, undulating as they swarmed the guardian’s heart like a living mass of bleached angel hair pasta.

Heartworms.

Each white worm was only about fifteen inches in diameter, but they just stretched and stretched, so long that I couldn’t see any beginnings or endings.

The curling, twisting knot of parasites filled me with an overwhelming revulsion, more so than anything else I’d yet seen in this horrific game. I felt my gorge rise, and I had to fight to keep it down.

As I stared, my kaiju healing menu popped up. I hadn’t ventured in here since a few level-ups, and I glanced at the menu of my available surgical talents:

Antiparasitic: Level 5

Cauterize: Level 3

Incision: Level 3

Lance: Level 3

Vaccinate: Level 3

Numb: Level 2

Detoxify: Level 2

Reroute: Level 2

Diagnosis: Level 2

Cleanse: Level 1

Patch: Level 1

BloodBorne: Level 1

The Diagnosis spell pulsed, and I instinctively selected it.

The worms all now glowed with a red outline. A muddle of yellow and red warning exclamations suddenly appeared, helping me discern individual worms. There were thousands of them.

Scanning…

A wall of text filled my screen.

Level 6 Dirofilariasis Infestation

This infection is worsening.

Time to level 7: 1 day, 23 hours, 58 minutes.

Warning: Your antiparasitic skill may not be adequate for this infection.

Warning: Guardian Moritasgus’s effective strength is reduced by 30% due to this infestation. Moritasgus’s total strength reduction: 85%

Warning: Guardian Moritasgus is bound in a trap.

Recommended treatment:

Antiparasitic followed by Detoxification and Cleanse. Vaccines recommended. Warning! You are out of stock on vaccines.

Warning: due to the strength of the infection you must be in direct contact with a pulmonary vein to administer the antiparasitic.

The infection was at level 6. It had been at level 5 just a few minutes earlier. I didn’t know what that meant, but it had probably worsened because of my presence. This was typical game stuff. The mere existence of a player had a tendency to set things into motion.

My soul power was still topped up from my recent resurrection, and my health hadn’t had much time to tick down. It seemed the diagnosis spell had cost next to nothing.

If I wanted to heal this guardian of its worm problem, I had to cast a series of healing spells. The thing was, I had no reason to want to heal it. Not really. The less I did to be noticeable, the better. Jenk was still out there and nearby. I knew I received experience when I healed. And healing these monsters was the point of this whole damn game, so I’d eventually have to start doing it a lot. But the last time I’d done it—during the character creation process—I’d ended up unleashing a torrent of demons on myself. No thank you. Not until after this stupid day ended and my debt went away.

“That’s the oblation chamber,” Jazz shouted, pointing at the boxy hut at the end of the bridge. Her voice came at me, amplified at full volume through the speakers on her mech. Even then I could barely hear what she was saying. “That is where they brought Gulch. The worms are especially active today. Come. I will need your help, demon. Prepare your weapons.”

She rushed forward, moving smoothly across the heaving bridge as her mech feet turned to tracks, locking into place. She pulled the giant, metallic block off her back and dangled it in her right hand. 

Shit. I looked one more time over the edge. I swallowed and pulled my gun. I tentatively followed behind, far enough back so I wouldn’t get clobbered by that flail if she started swinging it around. It was difficult to keep my balance, and she quickly outpaced me.

She disappeared into the small building before I’d even crossed half the bridge.

The light of the heart chamber halved the moment Jazz disappeared, and my Frame Vision activated. I looked down again, and now I could see the full outline of the heart. I gulped. The pulsing muscle had to be 80 feet across and 100 feet deep. The entirety of the organ, outside and in, was filled with the worms. I had no idea how the muscle worked at all, so choked with parasites.

A pair of flashes brought my attention back to the bridge. As I came closer, I realized the small building was attached directly to the exterior of the aortic valve. It hovered a mere ten feet above the curved top of the heart. The bridge and the building were kept relatively steady using similar magic as Anatoly’s base. The writhing mass of worms reached all the way to the bottom of the building. Some of them even curved up the sides.

Another flash came from within the building. A fourth flash pulsed. The came light from underneath the closed door and a hole in the roof.

This was all game setup, I knew. I took another step toward the door. I was about to walk into something...

The door flew off its hinges as Jazz rocketed backward and out of the building. She hit the bridge hard, rolling to a stop just in front of me. I fell onto my back, and I scrambled, clutching onto the slat with my mechanical left hand as the bridge heaved. The entire top half of my body dangled over the edge. The writhing worms below were mere feet away. They seemed to sense my presence, and they undulated, the whole mass rising toward me.

I pulled myself back up. Jazz’s mech was face down on the slats. The boiler rattled. It’s gonna blow, I thought. I need to get out of here. The giant flail was still clutched in her right hand, but it dangled off the side of the bridge. I watched in horror as a group of worms reached the square hunk of metal. They climbed, worming their way up as the whole mech started to slide, pulled toward the edge of the bridge. It was a race to see what would happen first, would the mech get pulled off the edge before the mass reached the slats to overwhelm the bridge? 

Jazz emerged, pulling herself out from underneath the mech, climbing up the arm, monkey-like. She jumped onto the sliding back of the mech, screaming something. She pulled a wrench out of a slot on the shoulder, smacked something, and with a twist, the whole right arm fell from the mech. The flail and worms plummeted away.

She then moved frantically toward the boiler, which glowed an ominous shade of red.

Jazz was shouting at me, pointing toward the building. I could not hear her.

A second mech emerged, coming from the missing front door of the small building.

It was Madame Throb. But I caught a slight difference in the name floating over her head:

Madame Throb (Host) – Mechanized Sentry Leader of the Protectorate Templar (Level 26)

Host? What did that mean?

It didn’t take me long to figure it out.

A single, impossibly-long white worm was attached to the top of her head. It threaded over the top of her mech and reached right into the top of the cockpit. Behind her, hundreds of worms began to emerge from the building.

Madame Throb’s eyes were gone. As I watched in horror, dozens of small worms started to slide out of the empty eye holes. The worm thing was controlling her.

“You have breached the agreement!” the worm thing screamed through Throb’s loudspeakers. It pointed at me. The mech held a large, blunderbuss-like gun. At the same time, Jazz scrambled off the back of her downed mech. The boiler continued to glow red. She rushed back toward me, screaming and waving her arms. 

“I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” I screamed back.

“You presented a child! This child escaped to where we cannot reach. Bring him to us, and all will be well. Do not do as we ask, and we shall choke this so-called god to death! Deals are sacred to our kind. Break this pact, and all of your gods shall suffer our wrath!”

Another quest notification appeared in my interface. This one was different than the previous ones. Usually there was a chime, and the quest disappeared into a folder. This one glowed yellow and was persistent on my screen. I couldn’t click it away until I read it.

Timed Quest!

You have fifteen minutes to complete this task.

Option A. Gulch has escaped the grasp of the dirofilaria. Capture him and present him to the parasites. Completing this task will reward you with a permanent +20% strength bonus to all controlled guardians. All dirofilariasis-type infections will cease to cause strength reductions. However, your standing with all Groundlings will have a permanent 10% deficit.

Option B. Kill the dirofilariasis infection and free Gulch. Doing so will cause Jazz the groundling to swear allegiance. She and a fully-armored defense mech will join your party as a mercenary. However, all guardians infected with dirofilariasis-type parasites will receive a permanent 10% strength reduction in addition to the existing effect of the parasites.

Failing to complete either of these options will result in a permanent 20% strength reduction to all worm-based strength deficits.

“Goddamnit,” I muttered. I’d stumbled onto a compulsory quest. 

A 15-minute timer appeared in my vision, counting down. The timer mirrored itself directly above the glowing-red boiler of Jazz’s abandoned mech.

Jazz was at my side now, frantically screaming. I still could not hear her.

I read my choices again. Either way, I had to find Gulch. Once I did, I had to decide what to do with him. If I gave him up to the worms, it sounded like heartworms would cease to be a problem and all controlled guardians would be stronger. If saved the kid, I’d gain Jazz as a wingman. But any guardian I wanted to control would be that much more difficult to heal. All guardians would receive a 10% strength reduction.

I didn’t know how much of a big deal that was, but it seemed pretty damned important. I had the sense I’d stumbled onto something major, a hidden boss battle, something that regular players of this game would go out of their way to seek out. Either way, if I did nothing, the penalty was obscene.

I didn’t know if the Throb-thing could hear me or not.

“Where did he go?” I called. I eyed the glowing boiler nervously. It appeared it would blow at any moment, not in fourteen minutes. I suspected if I touched or shot it, it wouldn’t wait.

The worm-controlled mech rolled backward into the hut. She beckoned at me.

The worms pulled back, settling on top of the heart. They ceased their reaching for the hut and bridge. The bridge settled.  

“Let’s get your kid,” I shouted down at Jazz. I turned and ran toward the building. I didn’t know if she followed or not.

I still had no idea what I was going to do.

I rushed through the door of the oblation chamber, and I stepped into hell.

Entering Oblation Chamber.

All exterior sounds ceased, replaced with something much more terrible. There was some sort of magic here, protecting the space. I could still feel the thudding of the heart in the sticky, metallic floor. It was only slightly better lit than the area outside. A dingy, yellow light seeped in the room, lighting the chamber just enough to present the horrors held within. 

A red mist clouded the air. Blood, I realized. It a matter of moments, I was covered, dripping.

The chamber was bigger than I’d anticipated. It was about 500 square feet if I had to guess, and perfectly round. Holes peppered the rusted metal floor, holes just large enough for the hundreds of worms that pushed their way up through them.

I was instantly reminded of the night thieves, the worms who wore dead babies as shells. This was similar, but not exactly the same.

These worms rose vertically in the tall chamber, all reaching about ten feet off the ground. They waved lazily, as if entranced, wafting back and forth like sea anemones caught in a mild current. Each worm clutched a single groundling child, held upside down. The children were each about two or three years old, all younger than Gulch. The round mouths of the worms grasped onto the crown of each child, covering the hair and eyes and usually the nose. The arms and legs of the children were rigid, their legs pointing straight upwards, their arms outward, cross-shaped.

The children were paralyzed, I realized. They were hit with the same type of freezing-in-place paralysis spell that I’d been hit with during the amplification ceremony. I knew this because their bodies remained rigid, but they could still use and move their mouths. The blood that permeated this chamber only reached about six or seven feet up, more fog than a mist. The worms seemed immune to the stuff. Their bodies remained white, but the walls did not, leaving a clear line. The mist did not appear to reach the children, though their bodies were all stained red, as if the chamber sometimes filled with blood, like a tide.

There were about 75 groundling children in the room, all hovering above me like inverted crosses. Each and every one of them screamed and cried.

Their ragged bodies, some half decomposed with brown and black bone showing through rotted, sloughing skin on their legs and arms, all remained rigid. But these children were alive, and they were in constant, unrelenting pain.

“What…” I began. Holy shit.  

This is too much. This is too much.

“That one,” Jazz said, pointing toward a particularly-decomposed child at the far end of the chamber. I hadn’t realized she’d followed me into the room. She looked to be in a state of shock. Her eyes were wild, her words slow, defeated. She shouted loud enough for me to hear. “That’s my uncle. My mother’s brother. He has been here for 80 seasons. Their bodies cease to grow, but it takes them decades to die, decades to properly decompose. That is our deal with the worms. We give them our damaged children, and they do not kill our god.”

“You should have just killed him,” I said, my eyes drinking in the room.

“Stonegate wanted to,” Jazz said. “He wanted to spare him this. But I am stubborn. A mother loves her child, wants to protect him. But sometimes that love is a curse. Now my husband is dead, and my child is damned.”

Madame Throb stood in the back of the room, silent, stiff. The normally-white and gold machine dripped red.

“Where is he?” I asked.

The mech pointed up. “He scaled the wall of the chamber, and he disappeared.”

A round hole at the top of the chamber revealed nothing but darkness.

I nodded, impressed. That kid could sure climb. He would’ve had to scramble up one of the worms and leaped off the body of a paralyzed groundling in order to have pulled that off. “Okay then,” I said. I shouldered my gun. “I’ll find him.” I had 10 minutes.

Jazz clutched onto my leg. “When you find him, do not go back into the chamber. Keep climbing. The boiler on my mech is going to fail. The explosion will kill everything nearby, including me and these worms. I cannot stop it. The release valve is broken. Take care of my child, worm surgeon.”

I nodded. I still didn’t know what I was going to do. But I had a thought. I opened up my menus, scrolled to my skills, and re-activated Wicked Meat. I looked around the room, first focusing on Madame Throb, then Jazz. I took note of the results and switched it back off.

I shot my left hand out, easily reaching the hole at the top of the chamber. I pulled myself up, struggling to wrench my bulk to the roof.

Entering Heart Region.

Once outside, the rushing, thumping sounds returned. Relief flooded me. Anything to get that terrible screaming and crying out of my head. Darkness enveloped me, and my Frame Vision activated, turning everything into a wire frame.

Eight minutes left.

Massive, rushing tubes surrounded me. The temple was nestled in the space between the aorta and the vena cava, according to my map, which looked like the vein I needed to grasp onto in order to administer the antiparasitic. The vein was as thick as a grain silo.  

Okay, Gulch. Where did you go?

I looked around. The kid could climb like a monkey, but I didn’t think he’d be able to get far. Especially in the dark. He wouldn’t have gone down, not toward the worms. But with all these veins and arteries, there were literally dozens of directions he could have gone.

“Damnit,” I muttered.

I had 14 skill points left after leveling up to 17 in my ill-fated attack on the templar guards. I had multiple tracking-themed skills available. I hadn’t spent too much time looking at them, and I cursed myself now for not reading up on everything I could.

I quickly pulled up the menu, glancing through all my choices. I focused on something that seemed helpful. It cost 3 skill points, but I would have to level it up twice to get it to work during deep dive. I read the description. I nodded to myself. This would work. It would probably be helpful for my next quest, too. The one to find the quantum mechanic inside of the Shrill.

Track the Lost

Aids in the finding of lost livestock and NPCs. Does not work on mobs. Activating the skill shows all NPC and missing livestock passage related to active quests. Second level increases time and distance available to track. Third level adds deep-dive and aquatic support. Fourth level requires a bionic upgrade and adds support and tracking through portals. 

It cost seven points to get the skill to level three. I didn’t hesitate further. I selected it, scrolled through my menu, and turned it on.

Six minutes left.

It only took me a moment to figure out how the skill worked. Sure enough, a glowing track appeared on the ground. The track followed up an angled vein, this one only as thick as an oak tree, splitting off toward another branch. Sitting at the branch, huddled between two pulsing veins was the boy, about fifty feet away.

He lay on his side, his short legs pulled up to his chest. Even at this distance, I could see he was crying.

I awkwardly pulled myself up the side of the vein, which angled up at a 45-degree angle. I found I could bunch the hard, plastic-like flesh of the tube in my hand, creating handholds. When I did this, I could feel the rush of the blood under my hands.

The moment I touched the vein, my surgery menu returned. This time two different available tasks glowed. Antiparasitic and BloodBorne. I had no idea what BloodBorne did, but when I hovered over it, several branches of text appeared. A quick glance told me these were destinations within the body, nearby purple waypoint locations that needed healing. After I moment I realized it was a fast travel spell. I could use it to get to places within a kaiju using their circulatory system.

I pulled myself to the next branch. It swayed like a rope. On my hands and knees, I crawled over to where Gulch sat, huddled. He did not move at my approach. The booming roar of the heartbeat had eased once the quest had started. It was still loud, but not nearly as much as before.

We were about twenty feet higher than the top of the oblation chamber. Directly below was the bridge. I had a bird’s-eye view of the red-hot mech. It glowed like a beacon, the only real illumination in here. My Frame Vision stayed engaged unless I looked directly down. I had no idea what the blast radius was going to be, but we were probably well within it.

Four minutes.  

I clutched onto a rope-like vein with my mechanical left hand to steady myself. Once again, my surgical options appeared. I left the window open.

“Gulch,” I said. “It’s me. Your mom is down there.”

He looked up, rubbing his eyes. “She’s a liar,” he said. “She told me I’d never come down here. We trained for it, but she said it was a game. I’d never have to really do it. I want my dad.”

This is not a real child. This is not a real child.

My left hand remained attached to the vein as I sat next to Gulch, leaving my legs dangling over the edge. I put my right hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Your mom is too.” I paused. “Sometimes parents have to lie to their kids.”

“Why?” he asked.

Take me to him, Mary had said. The two officers from the state police had looked at each other. That look. It spoke volumes.

Ma’am. That is not a good idea, one of them said.

I don’t care. We’re going to see him right now. I won’t believe that it’s him until I see my boy. I’d reached out to touch her, to stop this madness. I couldn’t even feel my own hand. 

Hours later, we stood over the table. The medical examiner held back, looking down at the floor. Mary clutched onto me, her arms crushing as she sobbed. Everything was numb. Yet raw. Light was painful. Dark unbearable. 

No, no, no, Mary had said. She’d looked up at me, her eyes angry, accusing. This is your fault, those eyes said. They’re just as much your fault as your addict daughter.  

“Why?” Gulch asked again, this time even more desperate.

I paused. “Because the world is big, and it is scary, and it is filled with monsters,” I said. “We don’t want it to be, but it is. We love you, and we want you to be safe. We do our best to protect you. But sometimes, despite our best efforts, it’s not enough. So we lie, and we tell you it’s going to be all right. But we’re not just lying to you. We’re lying to ourselves. We do it so we can sleep at night.”

Gulch stared. I didn’t know how well he could see me, but his round eyes seemed to pierce right through me, accusing.

“I want to go home,” Gulch said.

Mary had said the exact same thing, word for word. I want to go home.

My virtual pointer hovered over the Antiparasitic talent. I sighed and moved it away.

“That’s the problem, kid,” I said. “I want to go home, too.”

I pulled Gulch tight to me. I jumped. I controlled my descent with my left hand, and we landed neatly on the bridge with 90 seconds left. The boy did not struggle. He held tightly onto me. Whether trusting, or resigned, I did not know.

I retracted my hand, and I ran back into the chamber.

I stepped into the room, back into the mist that seemed to be coming from everywhere, back into the screams of the children. Back into hell. I looked about, expecting to be attacked immediately by Jazz, or to find her dead, or attached to one of the worms. Instead, I found her in the center of the room, struggling in the grip of Madame Throb’s mech. The worm had detached itself from Throb and was waiting for us.

At first I thought Madame Throb had returned to herself, no worse for wear after being attached to the heartworm. But that was not the case. She remained dead in her mech, her eyes still burned away. The parasite had grasped onto Jazz, holding her into place and then abandoned the mech, leaving Jazz trapped. It was as if it knew my plan ahead of time.  

“No,” Jazz screamed, her voice frantic. “No, please. Worm surgeon. Please, he is my child.”

“Mom?” Gulch said, looking up from my shoulder.

Her face crumbled. “Baby, baby, it’s going to be okay. I’m here.”

“See,” I said. I held the boy up in the air, facing me. His eyes flickered from his mom to me. “She’s not lying to hurt you. She loves you.” We locked eyes as a parasite clamped down onto the boy’s head. He went instantly stiff, his arms reaching out in the cross position.

Life remained in the boy’s eyes.

He opened his mouth, and he began to scream.

Chapter 27

I had about twenty seconds before the boiler would blow. I pulled the knife of amplification from my waist, leaped forward, and I decapitated Jazz. Our eyes met as I slid the knife across her throat. She was afraid. I didn’t have time to think about the morality of my actions. A wall of text obscured my vision, but I ignored it as I worked. I had to cut several times to separate the screaming and gurgling head from the body. I shoved the head in my pack. I had to get it in there before we all blew to hell.

I slammed the head into my bigger-on-the-inside pack, adding it to my inventory. I cringed, waiting for the explosion.

Thump.

The world shook with an obvious detonation, but it was small, especially compared to the beating of the heart.

That’s it? I looked back, peering out the door. I felt an odd sense of disappointment I hadn’t died.

The bridge was gone. A black mess of withered and dying worms disappeared down into the darkness. It seemed they’d swarmed the mech, effectively jumping on top of the bomb, blunting the explosion.

I stood to my full height, and I read the wall of text.

Quest complete.

Satisfied with the sacrifice, the dirofilaria have agreed to loosen their hold on the guardians. From this moment forward, all guardians under your control with receive a +20% strength bonus. Furthermore, all dirofilariasis-type infections will cease to cause strength reductions in any guardians. However, your victory comes with a price. Your standing with all groundlings is forever damaged. You will no longer be welcome in any groundling-controlled settlements or neighborhoods.

Experience earned!

Level up! Level up!

You are now level 19.

Heart area has been healed!

Experienced earned!

Scanning…

Warning: Guardian Moritasgus remains in poor health!

Warning: Guardian Moritasgus’s total strength reduction due to infections, injuries, and parasites: 55%

Warning: Guardian Moritasgus is bound in a trap. Moritasgus needs to be at 60% strength to break free.

Recommended treatment:

Seek out areas of needed healing for specific treatment plans. Vaccines recommended. Warning! You are out of stock on vaccines.

Gulch remained just above me, screaming. His voice was louder than the others. I tried to ignore it. I wondered what would happen if I killed him now that the quest was done. It wasn’t worth the risk, I decided.

Besides, you can’t kill children in this world, remember? You can only damn them to a fate worse than death.

I pulled up a menu. The debt was gone. I’d done it. I could die now, and I’d end up back in Charnel.

I’d gone up two levels, and I’d increased the guardian’s strength by 30%. This quest had only stopped one specific kind of parasitic infection. I wondered if there was a quest like this inside of all the kaiju. It made sense. Like I could stop the heartworms in this one, and I could go to another kaiju and stop fleas or something, eventually making it so all the kaiju would be relatively healthy.

A heartworm slithered into the chamber from below. It snaked up the body of Madame Throb’s mech, and it reattached itself to the head of the dead templar warrior. The mech hissed, coming to life. The arms relaxed, dropping the headless corpse of Jazz to the floor of the room. The whole chamber shook, the floor heaving. For a moment, I thought it was another explosion. But then I realized what was happening.

There’s nobody keeping the kaiju calm anymore. Moritasgus was waking up. However, his head was still encased in a trap. That’s what the metal shell of the temple really was. A kaiju trap. The guardian’s current strength was at 45%. Once his strength got up to 60%, he would be able to break free. In the meantime, without anyone controlling him, he was now waking up. He wouldn’t be able to wander around, but I suspect that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. Which meant things were about to get bumpy. I had to work fast.  

“The conditions of our deal have been met,” the corpse of Madame Throb said through her mech’s loudspeakers. Baby worms oozed out of her nose and ears. “You are welcome to use this place as long as you do not disturb the others.”

A full-sized worm appeared, coming up from a hole in the ground in front of me. It regurgitated a hunk of iron. It dropped, landing at my feet with a clang. I picked it up.

Branding Iron

Guardian Moritasgus – Oblation Chamber.

It went into my pack, which was getting pretty full.

I looked uneasily at the worms with the screaming children. I had to get out of here as soon as possible. I wouldn’t be able to leave via the bridge anymore. I reached up and once again left the chamber through the hole in the roof.

I’m sorry, kid, I thought as I passed the screaming form of Gulch.

I pulled myself onto the relatively smooth roof, nestled amongst the massive veins and arteries. The moment I pulled myself through the hole, the screaming ceased, replaced with the heartbeat. I remained there for several moments, trying to catch my breath. The rounded platform was relatively steady compared to the worsening conditions of the rest of the body.

The first thing I did was spend my two attribute points. I put them both into durability. I was going to need it with what came next. That left me at:

Strength: 19

Acumen: 12

Durability: 17

Deftness: 11

Charm: 8

That low charm still bothered me. If it had been higher, all of this crap with the groundlings could have been avoided. But I only received one skill point a level, and I was committed to a strength/durability build. Hopefully once we regained access to Medina we’d be able to find some equipment that enhanced all the stats.

I sat cross-legged, pulling my pack into my lap. The world continued to rumble, but the roof held steady. I removed Jazz’s head from my pack and held it between my legs. The thing was as big and as heavy as a medicine ball. Detached from her body, it made the short creature look much bigger.

I reactivated Wicked Meat and examined the head. There were three upgrades possible. Her left ear, her right eye, and a part of the brain. I examined each section in turn:

Compatible Left Inner Ear

+Steady

Rejection Chance: 65%

Compatible Right Eye

+50% Darkness Vision

-Frame Vision

Rejection Chance: 73%

And finally

BA 45 (Pars triangularis)

+Neural Link to Guardian Moritasgus

Rejection Chance: 0%

I wanted to add both the ear and the BA 45 thing, whatever that meant. I assumed it was a part of the brain. But I also wanted to know what would happen when something was rejected. I was afraid if I used my Upcycle, and something was rejected, I’d forever lose the use of that body part. I suspected there would be a warning. I needed to find out. So using my amplification blade, I stuck the small knife into the side of the head, coring out the ear area. The moment I did, a menu popped up:

Upcycle Compatible Left Inner Ear?

I held my breath and clicked Yes.

Sure enough, I received an ominous message:

Warning! This item has a 65% chance of being rejected by your body. If rejected, you will forever lose the use of your existing left inner ear until another replacement can be found. Upgrading Upcycle or harvesting from a specimen closer to your own kind will increase success rates. Do you wish to continue?

I clicked No, but I threw the gooey ear core into my bag. I didn’t know how long it would keep, but maybe sometime in the future I could be in a place where I had an inner ear backup in case it failed. I wanted that Steady ability. My character seemed a little too prone to falling into Unsteady, which that skill would counteract. But for now, a 65% chance of becoming permanently half-deaf was not worth the risk.

The eye upgrade was useless. My Frame Vision skill was vital to deep-dive medicine, and it was far superior to just being able to see in the dark. At least inside of the kaiju. If I could find an eye that’d allow me to see in the dark without losing that skill, it’d be much better.

The real prize, and the sole reason why I’d decapitated Jazz was for that third upgrade.

I held my breath, and I started to cut around the top of her head, making a bowl out of her skull. I needed to get the brain out without damaging it. The knife made the work easy. It cut through flesh and bone with absolute ease.

I had a quick memory as I cut, of making a jack-o-lantern with three-year-old Chris and 17-year-old Ruth. Ruth had wandered off before I’d finished, bored. Little Chris had jumped up and down as I cut, so excited he couldn’t contain himself. He’d kept screaming “Great Pumpkin! Great Pumpkin! It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!”

Fucking hell. Years later, and I was still ambushed by memories like this. It took a full minute for me to recover. I set my jaw and went back to my grim work.

The top of the skull peeled away easily. I tossed it aside. I grasped onto the brain with both hands. Using my metallic grabbers was awkward. I felt in constant danger of crushing anything I touched. I readjusted, using that hand to hold the head down while I wrapped my right hand around the brain and started to pull. Gentle, Gentle.

It didn’t want to come out, but after a moment, the brain started to slurp free from the skull. The menu popped up:

Upcycle Compatible BA 45 (Pars triangularis)?

I clicked Yes, bracing myself for a warning.

Warning! This game is currently in co-op mode. This particular item is owned by the groundling class. The groundling character has not yet been claimed by a player. Per the current assigned rules, if a new player joins and chooses the groundling race, you will immediately lose one of the abilities associated with this upgrade. (+Neural Link to Guardian Moritasgus.)

Do you wish to continue?

I read the warning several times, my initial panic easing. It made sense. In the single-player version of the game, I suspected you could take control of any of the kaiju you wanted, though you were probably at an advantage using the one associated with your race. In the co-op mode you were only supposed to use your associated guardian.

But what happened if a player quit before the end of the season? Or if one of the races never signs up?

The AI running the game had to make some adjustments. Otherwise, playing the game was pointless if it couldn’t be won. That didn’t mean it would be easy, but it was still possible.

Anatoly was having trouble tweaking the game to his liking because every time he changed something, the hardwired AI in charge of keeping the game solvable changed some aspect of the code. I wondered if that was why I had been given access to the Upcycle spell so early. The AI saw me join and thought, if these other players aren’t coming back, and you’re joining this party so late, you still have a chance, but only if I give you this nudge. But first you gotta jump through a few hoops.

Thinking back, I’d practically been herded in this direction. I’d gone to Charnel, and they suggested I go to Kinnegad. So I did, and I’d virtually been handed this upgrade.

I held my breath, and I clicked Yes.

Upcycle commencing!

Before I could blink, a man-sized portal gulped open up next to me. Dozens of red and pink tentacles shot forth from the swirling, dripping mist. I yelped as they grasped me, impossibly strong, and dragged me within.

The world blinked, and I was on a metal table, strapped down, unable to move. This was a surgical chamber. Bigger, more well-appointed than Jazz and Stonegate’s small home. Disjointed, fast, bass-laden heavy metal blasted, pulsing, shaking the walls. Gnomish, hairy creatures filled the room, chattering excitedly, their piercing voices louder than the music. Demon-faced with bat wings, each one of the obsidian-colored things was no taller than my forearm. They buzzed back and forth. They ran amuck in the room, knocking tables over and throwing instruments about. One of them held Jazz’s brain. It jumped on my chest holding the brain in the air and screeching like a damn howler monkey.

The creature stuck his hand into the brain, ripping and tearing. He came out with a tiny, round piece of meat about the size of a peanut. It had a blinking metallic circuit attached to it. The imp squealed with delight, tossing the rest of the brain over its shoulder.

Another imp appeared, this one wearing a surgical mask. He brandished a power drill. 

The tentacles that had dragged me into the portal remained, hanging from the swirling mist of the ceiling. They dripped with a pink goo and seemed to sway with the beat of the music.

I blinked, my eyes catching a sputtering neon sign on the wall. It read: “Necroshire Mystical Upcycle Emporium.” And underneath was, “A division of Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades, Ltd.”

The drill-wielding imp shrieked. He placed the sharp and rusty bit against my forehead.

“No, no, no,” I said. “Wait!”

The imp screeched again and pulled the trigger. Pain exploded. My health started to plummet.

The world went black. Then silent.

I awakened a moment later, back on the roof of the oblation chamber.

At least it seemed to be a moment later. I had the sense the whole episode had taken about a minute, maybe a bit less.

“What the hell was that?” I mumbled, shaking my head. My ears burned.

My health was almost to zero, my soul points were all but depleted, and I dripped with pink slime. I had maybe a half hour before I would die unless I killed something. I shook my head again, bewildered.

I looked about, trying to determine if I felt any different, other than the goo. I discovered something was stuck to my chest. It was a sticker. I peeled it off and looked at it.

“I was a good boy!” the round sticker announced, dripping with the goo. The sticker held three proud, smiley-faced gold stars underneath. And under that read “Necroshire Mystical Upcycles.” The sticker dissolved, and a felt a slight buzz on my shoulder. A woven patch appeared on the outside of my small pack, identical to the stickers. I wiped my goo-covered hand on the roof of the chamber.

A notification snapped me back to reality.

Upcycle complete!

Operation: success!

Congratulations! Your body did not reject the upcycle!

A new menu is available: Guardian Control.

I immediately pulled up my menus, scrolling until I found Guardian Control. An avatar of the badger kaiju sat there, and I clicked it.

Warning! Your controls are limited unless you are in the guardian cockpit. You may reach the cockpit via your BloodBorne talent.

Warning! Guardian Moritasgus is stuck in a trap! 

I had several choices:

Sleep

Summon to my current location

Summon to waypoint

Attack at waypoint

Go Stealth (Burrow)

Hell yeah, I thought.

Both Summon to my current location and Go Stealth were grayed out, which made sense. I couldn’t summon the kaiju if I was inside of it. And it was already burrowed into the ground.

I wanted to get to the cockpit, and I needed to break it out of…

The world rumbled, and the veins near my head tumbled away. I had to duck to keep from getting clobbered. I belatedly realized the guardian was twisting and turning. The room under my feet, like Anatoly’s base, was attempting to keep steady while the world around me twirled.

Guardian Moritasgus has broken free from his confinement!

I smashed down on Sleep, and the world stopped spinning. The old, broken bridge stood before me, rising vertically into the air. It took my brain a few moments to understand what had happened. The kaiju was still burrowed under the mountain, but it now lay horizontal, upsetting the bridge and travel system of the groundlings. Instead of being below me, the heart was now before me, looming like the bow of some massive, worm-covered ship. The heartworms twitched, twisted, undulated, undisturbed by the change of position. The damaged bridge hung vertically from the portal in which it was attached, swinging and dripping with gore.

Moritasgus had broken out of the trap. Thanks to my deal with the dilo-whatever worms, the kaiju had received a 20% strength boost the moment I took control. His total strength had gone from 45% to 65%, and he only needed to be at 60% to break free. So that’s exactly what he did.

I put my hand on a vein, and the surgical menu popped up. I chose BloodBorne, but instead of the list of destinations, a warning popped up.

You have insufficient soul power to cast this talent.

Shit. I needed to kill something. If I died now, it’d probably be a long time before I’d be able to get branded and back here. I wanted to try my hand at driving this thing. I warily eyed the knot of heartworms. I couldn’t touch them. I had to kill something else, and fast. I wondered if there was anything like those crab things roaming around. Only those things scrabbled about the large intestine, and I was a long way from there.

I examined my purple waypoints. There were none of the train-sized parasites roaming this kaiju, thank goodness. While Moritasgus was in poor health, he wasn’t on the verge of death like Bast always seemed to be. That meant fewer things crawling around the inside of him trying to murder me.

I briefly wondered about that. Up until this point I hadn’t thought much about the nature of the creatures that lived within the kaiju. Most of them seemed to be gamified parasites, the same sort of critters that creatures in the real world would succumb to. Moritasgus had heartworms. I’d seen gross pictures of dogs who’d been infested with something similar.

But the whole catalyst of this game was the opening of the rift and the demon invasion. According to the groundlings, Moritasgus had been “kept safe” from the demon invaders. So did that mean all the parasites and creatures living within were of a domestic origin? Bast had way more things living within her, but she was also living and fighting not too far from the front line. So what was the difference between native and demon parasites? Was there one, other than perhaps difficulty level? Did it matter?

It was something to contemplate later. For now I needed to find something relatively easy to kill.

Hmm. I continued to pore over my Gross Anatomy map. There weren’t too many places I could get to from here without digging through flesh or riding the blood vessels, and I couldn’t do that easily without soul power. But I did see something of interest.

I dropped back into the oblation chamber. The worms remained. The children remained. They continued to scream.

The large mech stood, statue-like in the center of the room. The boiler chugged merrily away, like nothing was wrong. Madame Throb remained attached to the harness, slumped over. The worm attached to her head was gone. She appeared as an NPC on my map, where the children didn’t appear at all. She still had her name and title floating over her head. The “Host” part was gone.

The fact she still had a tag meant she was still alive. Holy shit, she lived.

Her entire body shuddered. White, wriggling worms continued to come out of every visible orifice. But she was still alive.

I pulled my knife, and I stuck it in her temple. She did not move. But she did, finally, expire. I felt the rush of soul power, so much it filled my bar. I healed myself. I received a nominal amount of experience, too.

I noted that it only took about 30% of my total soul power to heal me this time. Before it took almost my entire bar. I suspected if I tossed some points into my acumen stat, my soul points bar would be able to hold even more. I still didn’t like the way soul points worked. It made it hard to plan without hard numbers.

A few bare moments after Madame Throb died, the entirety of her body dissolved away, replaced by worms. I took a step back as they cascaded off the front of the mech, disappearing through the hole in the floor.

I spent a few moments unsuccessfully attempting to use the mech. It could only be equipped by groundlings according to the system. I couldn’t stuff it in my bag, even if I took everything else out. It would have to remain here. There was a pouch with about 200 teeth, which I quickly snagged. The odd rifle she’d carried was also much too big to carry, so it also remained.

This time I left the chamber out the front door, which now faced an arterial wall. I placed my hand on the flesh and was rewarded with multiple waypoint choices after I selected BloodBorne. The very first option was “Guardian Cockpit.” I chose it.

I watched, fascinated as the artery before me bulged. Through the thin skin I watched as multiple white cells appeared and started to form and coagulate before me, forming what appeared to be a worm surgeon-sized pod within the vein. And just as I wondered how the hells I was supposed to get to the damn thing, the artery split open, and the pod peeled, alien-like.

Lights appeared on the interior of the pod.

“Okay then,” I said. I held my breath, and I stepped in. 

Chapter 28

The moment I stepped into the pod, it snapped closed. I was whisked away.

I tumbled, spun, and twisted. It felt as if I was rolling down a hill. I had quick flashes of red, purple, black, and yellow as I made a circuit of the kaiju’s blood system. Before I knew it, the cell screeched to a halt, opened up, and vomited me out into a small, white room.

I hit the floor with an oof. I sat up, shaking my head. The whole trip had taken maybe 10 seconds.

Entering Guardian Cockpit – Moritasgus

The plain room was about the size of a large walk-in pantry. It held white, unadorned, solid walls that seemed to be made of smooth and polished bone. In the center of the room was a small, groundling-sized chair that I could probably fit into, but I’d be uncomfortable as hell. The chair also appeared to be made of bone. A screen dominated one wall, facing the chair. The screen was black with “Asleep” written across it.

The left wall was a purple vein about as wide as an elevator. It was where I’d come from. The right wall was bare, and a simple, sliding door filled the back wall, almost as if this was a closet.

The room was brightly lit by the flat ceiling, which glowed with yellow light.

Staring at the screen, I was immediately reminded of the television in Anatoly’s base. Of Ruth and Mary’s feed. How long had it been? I instinctively pulled up my status screen. I had 145 feedings left, which meant I’d been in here about three weeks. That was it? It felt like a lifetime. Three weeks. I wondered if Mary had given up on me yet. I wondered if Ruth was okay.

I tried the sliding door, and I received an error message:

You do not have access to this area.

I’d seen this type of door and message before in Anatoly’s base. I realized that the empty base was likely on the other side of this door. That meant Bast’s cockpit was probably on the other side of the door in Anatoly’s base. I would never have access to that area, not without permission and a brand from the man, who was probably never coming back.

I’d assumed the cockpit would be in the kaiju’s skull somewhere, but I guess it didn’t matter. I zoomed out the Gross Anatomy map, and sure enough, I was situated in roughly the same place as I’d been before in Bast. In the large intestine. But I had no door to the outside here. My only exit was through the vein. I wondered what would happen if I tried to get in the vein without using my BloodBorne talent. Probably not anything good, I decided. 

I pulled open my Guardian menu, and my menu items were replaced with two buttons.

Activate Cockpit?

and

Cockpit Skins

I clicked Activate Cockpit.

Direct Control or Managed Control?

I had no idea what that meant. I clicked Managed Control.

The lights in the room dimmed, and a panel rose from the ground in front of the chair.

A second screen descended over the right wall. It was a similar map to my Gross Anatomy skill, but zoomed out. It showed the massive badger kaiju with several blinking yellow lights within, indicating areas that needed healing. All were parasitic-style infestations and sores. Several stats scrolled down the screen, and I didn’t understand any of them except the overall strength stat, which was at 65% and the health meter, which was at 80%.

In front of the screen was a simple joystick. The way the joystick was situated, I’d never be able to properly sit in the chair and use it.

On a hunch, I clicked Cockpit Skins, and a long, scrolling list of options appeared. Most of them were grayed out. Some of the inaccessible ones seemed pretty cool, yet out of place. Like starship bridge, tiki hut, Donkey Kong World, etc. I realized these were user-created skins for the cockpits. This was pretty common in games like this. That probably meant there were skins for the home base, too. In fact, my heart leaped at the button at the bottom that read Create Your Own Skin to Share. If there was a way to access the net, even if it was through a skin…

I clicked the link and received an error message.

You are not connected or you do not have the proper permissions to access the network.

Damnit.

Anyway, of the selectable cockpit skins, there was one for each of the 22 races. Groundling was currently selected. I scrolled down to Worm Surgeon and selected it.

In a blink, the room changed color to a dull gray, the chair rose in the air, and the pedestal with the joystick pushed out slightly.

Much better. I eased myself into the chair and grasped the joystick. The moment I sat in the chair, straps magically pulled over my shoulder. My gun and pack disappeared. It was the same thing that had happened when I was in chains. A tiny button appeared in the lower left of my screen: Exit Cockpit Chair.

The stick had multiple buttons, like one of those old school computer game sticks. There were toggles, buttons, and dials. I had no idea what did what. I gave the stick a tap.

The world rumbled, and the screen blinked on, revealing nothing but brown dirt. A round exterior map appeared in the top right of the screen, indicating coordinates and current depth, which was 233 meters underground. 

I pulled the trigger on the front of the joystick, just to see what would happen. Nothing. A small line of text appeared on the screen.

Main weapon not available while burrowed.

Main weapon? That suggested there were multiple “weapons.” I wondered what they were.

I played around with the thumb toggle on the top of the joystick, and I realized that it controlled the direction of the kaiju’s head. It was a lot like driving a tank in a game. But it was still odd, like playing a game in a game. And the controls were sluggish. I tapped the joystick forward, and the badger dug forward, but only after a moment. Like I wasn’t really the one driving. I was telling the kaiju what to do, and he took a moment to decide whether he wanted to actually do it or not. So did direct control mean he’d be more responsive? What was the difference?

I went back a few menus, and I selected Direct Control.

The joystick rumbled away into the floor. The chair eased back, turning itself into a bed. It reminded me of an immersion rig.

Warning! Ensure your area is secure and you are locked into your chair before initiating direct control. It is possible for your body to sustain fatal damage during direct control.

Warning! You are not branded with a Guardian Moritasgus Cockpit brand. If Moritasgus is knocked out, you will teleport to your currently-selected regeneration spot – Village of Charnel. Guardian Moritasgus will awaken without a controller.

Are you certain you want to continue?

I clicked Yes.

My world went dark.

I felt sick, not whole. The cool earth hugged me on every side. My head ached, and my mouth was full of something foul.

What was happening? My body felt wrong, different. I tried to move my arm, but it held fast. 

My head’s up display remained, but it was all jumbled up.

I was going to throw up. Something was not right.

Take a deep breath.

I tried, and I inhaled a mouthful of dirt.

And then, it all clicked into place. Of course. Of course.

I pushed forward with my legs, and I dug with my claws. Higher, and higher. I instinctively knew how to do this. Burrowing through the dirt and rock like it was merely sand, I ascended. I emerged out into the world, breaking free of my confinement. I felt the brass shell about my head, already cracked, fall. I spit the makeshift remains of the temple from my mouth. I reached up into the sky, and I roared.

I had become a god.

Chapter 29

I was at 65% strength, and I could feel the ill effects of the parasites sapping my energy. My health was at 80%, and I had three special weapons, all of them fully charged and ready to go. The weapons appeared at the bottom right of my vision. All I needed to do to cast them was mentally click. Other than the three weapons, it didn’t appear as if I had any additional special or magical abilities. Except for burrow, which seemed to work regardless of the type of ground. I knew Banksy would never be able to burrow into the stone ground where I now stood.

My three weapons were:

Sizzle and Steak

Feral Claw

And

Batshit Berserker

There was nothing that indicated what any of those did. That last ability, Batshit Berserker, had a skull next to it.

I had emerged from the ground not too far from where we’d entered the caverns to the now-destroyed Kinnegad. It was late afternoon and I looked about, still not used to the different HUD. A map sat in the top right. I tried to pull up my normal menus, but they didn’t work while I was inside this mode. I had two buttons on the bottom: Exit Control and a glowing red button that read Eject!

I took a tentative step forward. The rock under my feet crunched, as if the rocky ground held a thin crust of snow. I didn’t feel nearly as slow as I imagined a giant badger would feel. But it was peculiar, being in this body. My long snout, my prone form, my retractable claws. It all made my head swim. A light rain fell. Everything smelled so much more, the world an explosion of sensation. Animals, grass, the smoky sky, the burnt stench of demons. It was all amplified a thousandfold. I’d played a few games where you immersed as non-human shaped creatures, and it was always odd, disconcerting. It took a lot longer to get used to it than in other games, and afterward it took much longer to recover from immersion. As a result, most games kept the vast majority of characters as bipedal, two-armed creatures.

I’d once tried out the free demo of Garden Variety, a stealth-themed game where you played a fox hunting chickens, and even that was too much for me. The game had eventually been co-opted by the furries anyway. Not that there was anything wrong with that. 

I wanted to try out my three weapons, and then I would hustle my new ride over to Charnel and see if I could find Clara and Banksy.

At this height, I could see the distant glow of Medina and the horde of demons flocking around it. That gave me an idea. I likely wouldn’t survive for long, but I wondered if I could power my way to the walls. I probably could, I decided. If we could do that, then maybe we didn’t need to complete the Shrill quest just yet.

I clicked on the map. I wanted to set a waypoint. I found Charnel, and it allowed me to place a marker. I noticed something odd, though. There was a wide, red indicator around the abandoned city that Charnel bordered. Zooming out, a similar area surrounded Medina. I tried to click within and received an error:

This Guardian may not venture within a kilometer of Medina.

Shit. There went that idea.

My world flashed red, and I went tumbling, agony erupting from my side. I felt myself roar in pain. I spun, bewildered, not sure what could possibly have hurt me so. My health went down to 50% with that single hit. What the hell?

I scrambled to my feet, still uncertain on my legs. I looked up in time to see a massive, two-headed wolf fly at me, both mouths snarling. The right head clamped on my neck and started shaking. I reflexively clawed out, and I connected with the second head. Both heads yelped, dropping me.  

Orthrus! Jenk was attacking me with Orthrus.

All around us, wildlife and demons fled. Trees smaller than blades of grass disintegrated. Rocks shattered with each step. A small herd of those rhinoceros demons, the giant, fireball-shooting monsters, fell over themselves in terror as they tried to get away. I stepped on one and didn’t even feel it.

My health had plummeted to 35%. In a panic, I jammed down on my first special attack: Sizzle and Steak.

I roared, no longer in control of my actions. I felt myself stand vertical, felt the strain on my back. My body became hot, almost unbearably so. The ground around me rumbled. It was an earthquake ability! The ground cracked, steam rushing out. Lava emerged, oozing out from the crevices. Demons and animals and plants all around me died. Orthrus howled, jumping back, moving lighting quick. The wolf heads snarled, circling the ring of fire.

The two-headed kaiju had a green exclamation point floating over it. I didn’t know what that meant, but I suspected it indicated the kaiju was under player control.

The Sizzle and Steak button grayed out, and a five-hour countdown timer appeared.

I tentatively fell back onto all fours. I couldn’t move, lest I burn myself on my own special ability. But as the shaking subsided, the lava eased, turning black and then solid as it rapidly cooled.

I could burrow away. I knew I wouldn’t be able to defeat Orthrus. The wolf was about a third again bigger than me, was probably at 100% strength, and it was controlled by someone who knew what he was doing. But I wanted to know what the other two attacks were.

Orthrus put a hesitant paw on the sizzling ground, allowing its massive foot to sink in. Satisfied it didn’t burn or hurt, the wolf heads appeared to grin. With a quick motion, the wolf galloped at me, leaping just as I clicked Feral Claw.

I leaped forward to meet the wolf in the air, both my forward claws lashing out at lightning speed. I felt them both dig deep. We smashed together with a thunderous crash. The wolf plummeted to the earth, hitting so hard, a distant mountain began to collapse. I smashed into the ground, rolling until I stopped against a rocky bluff. A pair of vulture demons swept down at me, the same kind that regularly attacked Charnel, and I swatted them away like gnats. I turned to face Orthrus. I felt myself snarl.

The countdown timer on Feral Claw was only five minutes.

The wolf looked pissed. I’d hurt it bad. It had a massive gash on its chest. Blood freely flowed, gushing like a waterfall. But I knew I was hurt worse. My health was down to 21%.

“Okay, asshole,” I said, “Let’s see what this last attack does.”

At least that’s what I tried to say. It came out as snarls and screams.

Orthrus kept back, more hesitant. The right head snarled. It seemed to pause, thinking. And then the whole kaiju pulsed. A blue light flashed, almost blinding. The wolf sat, both heads pointing into the air, howling.

He was performing a special attack of his own, I realized.

I watched with equal fascination and horror as the howling wolf split in half, right down the middle. Both sides collapsed to the ground. For a moment, I thought maybe I had miraculously killed it. But the two wolf pieces, each with a head, two legs, and half a tail rolled onto the ground, gore side up, settling to a stop with a deafening crash. The halves twitched. Eight colossal legs emerged from the top and bottom of the creature, from the area below the neck and the area by the tail. Each leg was fifty feet long, segmented, crab-like. The two remaining wolf legs on each half, one front leg and one back leg twisted and cracked, becoming pincers. The two horrific crab things rocked back and forth, both on their backs. Each managed to flip themselves over. Gore and intestines and blood and muscle cascaded out of the turned-over kaiju halves.

I should have attacked while they were down, but I was so damn fascinated with the display, I could do nothing but watch, repulsed.

The halves skittered toward me. Neither half was as high as my chest, but both halves remained huge. The wolf heads, one on the left side of one, one on the right of the other continued to bite and snarl, but the eyes were milky white, dead, zombie-like.

“What the actual fuck,” I said. Again, it came out as a snarl.

One of the halves circled around behind me.

I wondered which half Jenk was in. The green tag remained over both halves. I took a tentative step toward the half with the head on the right side. The leg-pincers snapped at me. Every time the kaiju moved, more of its innards slurped out of it, painting the rocky ground red.

That can’t be good for the kaiju.

Whirlwind quick, both halves struck, leaping simultaneously.

I clicked Batshit Berserker.

An Are you Sure? appeared, surprising me. I panic-clicked Yes as I felt my back leg get mercilessly ripped off. 

The next part happened so quickly, I’m not certain what exactly my kaiju did.

Moritasgus died, or was knocked out. That much I knew. I’m pretty certain I also killed at least half of Orthrus, though I imagined that thing was already well on its way to being dead.

In that last moment, I felt my jaws snap back, peeling opening like a flower, the top half of my jaw flipping over the top of my head, drowning me in darkness. The bottom half of my long jaw also opened, going down, spreading out. Something came out of me. I had the impression I was going inside out. I felt something latch onto the forward half of Orthrus, a limb or appendage I didn’t have a moment before. I felt that something grasp onto and crush the wolf/crab thing.

And then it was all over. All physical sensation stopped.

The world went red, then back to black, and all that remained was the pitiful, terrifying sound of one of the wolf heads yelping.

Words appeared on the screen. 

Guardian Moritasgus has fallen.

Chapter 30

Entering Charnel – Town Square

I did not die, thank god. The transfer was quick, jarring, sudden. I felt like a top that had been left spinning on a table, finally settling to a stop.

The ground smacked my face hard, coming up to hit me. My breaths came to me ragged. My heart felt as if it would explode. My body felt odd, unused to the quick change from behemoth back to my normal size. My whole body felt sore, used up, lighter.

Experience Earned! Experience Earned!

You are now level 21.  

I wasn’t sure what specifically gave me the experience, but I welcomed the points. I threw a point into strength and a point into durability.

I pulled myself into a sitting position, only to be bowled over a moment later. A massive form crashed into me, hitting me with the force of a car crash. I cried out in pain, bewildered.

“You’re back! You’re back!” Banksy cried, looming over me. My pet had gotten bigger. Much bigger. He undulated, dancing all around me, hopping up and down, smashing into the ground with each leap. Worm surgeons, who’d been milling about the town square, all scattered.

His tongue, thick and wet and smelling of rotten garbage savagely licked at my face. The tongue was as wide as a snow shovel. Each lick pushed me back along the rocky ground.  

“Stop!” I cried, pushing him away. He did not stop.

“Clara!” Banksy cried, screaming up toward one of the town’s defensive towers. “My dad is back!” He resumed his frantic licking.

“Stop,” I said again. I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it. The laughter surprised me, but it was genuine. “Okay, Banksy. Stop. You’re going to drown me. Holy crap. Look how big you are!”

“I’m level 20 now,” Banksy declared proudly, moving back so I could see his full size. “Clara and I went hunting while we waited for you to return.”

“I can see that,” I said.

My pet was now about 17 feet long, as long and almost as thick as the largest of crocodiles. Fishhook-like nubs grew along his flesh-colored underbelly. His face had gotten longer, sleeker. Two fangs pushed out of his four-pronged mouth when it was closed, giving him the impression of having an underbite.

“Look at what I can do now,” he declared.

“No,” a worm surgeon cried, running forward. It was Renault, the head of the town guard. “No, no, not again!”

Banksy didn’t listen. He reared up, his face opening like a flower, and he smashed into the ground. In a second, he was gone, having burrowed directly through the cobblestones and dirt. The ground rumbled, and a moment later, he popped back up, twenty feet away in a shower of pebbles and dust. He shook like a dog, dirt showering everywhere.

Renault came skidding to a stop next to me. He scowled at the hole in the ground, then sighed. “Your pet has been… restless, waiting for your return.”

I pulled myself to my feet. “I hope he hasn’t been too destructive.”

Renault shrugged. “This town is already half fallen down. But if you ever bring him into Medina, you must be careful. The office of animal control does not take lightly to destructive pets. You must pay for all the damage your pets do or you risk being jailed.”

“Animal control?” I said, shaking my head. “There’s an office of animal control?”

He nodded. “It is run by brownies and fae. They take their work very seriously. If he knocks down a single farmer’s stall, you will attract their attention.”

I remembered what Anatoly said about going to jail. That had to be avoided at all costs. I looked up at my familiar. “That’s awesome, Banksy,” I said. “But let’s not do that in town anymore, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, sounding dejected. “It’s pretty fun, though. I can’t wait to do it in guardian hide. Clara says we’re going to when you get back.”

“Speaking of Clara,” I said. “Where is she?”

“She’s just about done with her shift,” Renault said. “And if you plan on staying here overnight, you know the rules. Up in the tower with you.”

“I know the rules,” I said.

“Oh, oh!” Banksy said. “I can do something else!”

I looked sidelong at Renault. “Is this something we need to do outside the walls?”

“No! Check this out.”

He made a wet sound, his head shaking up and down. Then he ralphed a steaming pile of slime-covered armor and weapons in front of me. The pile was much bigger than what he should’ve been able to hold. I exchanged a horrified glance with Renault.

“I can hold loot!” he declared proudly. “Clara says there’s some good stuff in here. Some you can wear! We took out an encampment!”

“Uh, I can see that,” I said, poking at the pile with my foot. I noticed one of the helmets still held a bug-like demon head. These were the same demons I’d seen during the character creation process. They were the most common foot soldiers of the demon army.

Renault pointed at a gray breastplate with chains hanging off both sides. The armor gave off a subtle glow I’d missed. “Most of this is junk, but I reckon that will suit you well. None of these weapons are as good as your rifle. Those knee pads will work also.”

I picked up the breastplate and examined its properties.

Anti-Piercing Plate of the Spellcaster.

+2 Acumen

A strong field discourages projectile-based weapons from hitting home.

In addition, you may cast Invulnerable once a day. Spell lasts for 1.1 seconds per level of Acumen skill.

“Hell yeah,” I said. Invulnerable was a powerful spell in any game. I removed my gun and pack and slipped the armor over my shirt. It fit perfectly. It weighed almost nothing, but felt solid. This was made specifically for worm surgeons. My acumen ticked up to 14. My soul points bar inched a bit longer.

The skull-plated knee pads went next.

Knee Bracers of the Wind

+1 Deftness

Nothing too exciting, but much better than nothing. These seemed a bit too large, but they did fit well enough as long as I tied them tightly. Plus they looked pretty cool. My deftness went up to 12.

There were multiple slightly-enchanted items in the pile, but nothing that would fit me. One was a helmet too small for me but too big for Clara that gave +5 to strength. I suspected it was very valuable. All of it we would be able to sell.

“Clara kept the potions,” Banksy said. “She also got a ring that makes her small.”

“You took the long way home, I see,” a new voice said.

I turned to watch Clara float down and alight in front of me. Her steampunk-style wings buzzed to a stop and folded in on themselves, disappearing against her back. She’d been busy in my absence. She’d also managed to kit herself out in armor and a new gun.

The armor was a matching set, though it looked a hair too big for her, like it was designed maybe for the bird-headed plague doctorer race, who were slightly larger than the fae. It comprised of a black and gray composite breastplate, like the armor of a superhero amazon princess going through a goth phase, replete with bracers. The bottom half was an armored, segmented, Roman-style skirt that probably was supposed to go her knees but dropped a few inches further on her tiny form. It made her look absurdly cute and fierce at the same time.

Her new gun appeared to be a pulse Uzi. Small, but it glowed red. She hung it over her shoulder like a purse. She still wore her hand blaster on her hip.  

I gave her a sour look. “So, what was it you said? ‘Don’t worry, Duke. I’ll sign you up for this torture thing, but don’t worry. It’s not going to happen.’”

She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh my god, Duke. I’d assumed you’d forgotten to change your regeneration spot. I’d assumed you’d gone back to Bast!”

“I didn’t,” I said. For the next twenty minutes, I gave her a much-abridged version of our separation. I told her of the torture. Of my release by Jazz, and how I took control of Moritasgus.

I did not tell her about Jenk. I left out the destruction of Kinnegad and of the death of Moritasgus. I would, but not now, not here. We needed to be sitting down, in a quiet place. I remembered what he wanted me to tell her. Tell her ‘You-know-who misses her mommy. But not to worry. She’s in great hands.’

There was a story there. And if it was anything like my own story, I knew it had to be terrible. It could wait. I pulled the knife of amplification from my belt and tossed it to her.

“Here’s a souvenir,” I said.

She caught the knife. Her eyes went wide when she examined its properties. It gave its owner +20% celestial prayer power, which I assumed was like soul points. It was useless to me, but I knew it would be a powerful weapon for her.

“If you ever need to slice someone’s dick in two, trust me, it does a great job.”

“Look,” Clara said, cringing. She slipped it into her belt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the debt thing. I’ve been here for a long time, been playing this game for a long time. I know a lot, but I didn’t know about that.” She suddenly hugged me, holding me tight. And then she was sobbing. “That must have been terrible. Holy shit. I’m sorry.” She pulled away. “But you have control of a guardian now? Can you summon it here?”

“No,” I lied. Jenk didn’t know where we were. If I sent the kaiju here, it’d be as good as lighting a sign. “It’s a long story. I’ll explain it later.” I patted Banksy’s head. “Tell me what you two did. And what level are you now?”

Clara sighed. “I’m level 23. We figured you’d be along in a couple days. I thought you were in Bast, and I figured you were going to cut your way out again or just kill yourself and come back here. You told me about that nearby encampment, remember? Banksy and I went to check it out. We figured we could take them, so we did. It wasn’t too hard. After that we took out a couple other encampments. They’re good for finding loot. The demons keep piles of the stuff. Once we figured out Banksy could store a lot, I had him keep everything that seemed it might be valuable.”

“Oh, oh,” Banksy said, interrupting. “Tell him about Winky!”

“Winky?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah,” Clara said. “She’s out hunting. Hang on. She closed her eyes, then held out her arm. A moment later came a pop, like the sound of a lightbulb blowing out, and a black bat appeared, hanging upside down off of Clara’s arm. The creature was about ten inches long. As far as I could tell, it looked like a normal, fuzzy black bat.

Floating upside-down over its head was:

Familiar – Player Clara

“Hi Winky!” Banksy said. 

The bat opened one eye, looking at Banksy. She growled.

“So, you found a familiar,” I said, leaning closer to get a better look. It had enormous ears.

“Yes, she’s a wink bat,” Clara said. “I found her fluttering around the other night when we were coming back from our raid. They’re a common pet. They don’t get much bigger, but they automatically pick up fallen teeth and are good at finding hidden items. She’s only level six right now. They fight and can teleport at will, so you don’t need a pet carrier. They don’t share experience like Banksy does though. Also, they can’t go deep dive with you until they hit level 15. She can’t talk out loud, but she can talk telepathically like Banksy can with you.” She scratched the bat behind the ear, and it made a purring noise. “You can go back to your hunt, little one. I just wanted you to meet our friend, Duke.”

The bat looked at me and hissed, revealing a mouth of sharp teeth. She extended her wings, flapped twice, then blinked away.

“She’s my best friend,” said Banksy. 

“Charming,” I said.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clara said. She produced a handful of vials. “Here. Take these. The red ones are health potions. This one is an antidote for poison. This one increases your deftness for a while, and this pink one raises your charm by five points for a bit. Oh, and these two.” She handed me a pair of vials with tiny little demons inside.

I held the vial up to the light. A tiny, red demon buzzed about angrily inside. No bigger than a housefly. He slammed the glass. He saw me looking at him, and he gave me the finger.

Clara grinned. “They’re specifically for you resurrection magic users. The demon inside dies when you pull the stopper. It gives you soul points or something, I guess. They’re pretty valuable, so only use it when you absolutely need it.” 

My belt had slots for vials, and I placed them in the ready positions. I had four health potions, one antidote, one of the agility potions, one charm potion, and two of the soul power ones. I still had the two potions from Stolas the owl demon, but those remained safe in my pack.

A distant roar caught my attention. I looked east, toward the abandoned city. My map indicated the Shrill was about four miles away, shuffling south through the city.

I pulled up my kaiju menu. Moritasgus had regenerated earlier. He hung out in the same rocky area on the west side of the world. Orthrus skulked not too far away. The two kaiju didn’t appear to be fighting, not now that I was no longer in control.

I clicked Summon to Waypoint, and I sent him off south toward the rift, roughly in the direction of Bast. I needed Jenk to think we were in Bast, and we were summoning the kaiju to us. Once the kaiju got there, I’d have him burrow into the ground where hopefully he wouldn’t get too molested by the demons.

If I could get into Medina before Jenk figured it out, we’d have many more options. I sighed, looking at Clara. You-know-who misses her mommy. Should I tell her? I didn’t know. My instincts told me it would be a bad idea.

“Okay,” I said. “Tomorrow we’re going into the old city. We’re going to find the Shrill, heal him, find Bernadette the quantum mechanic lady, and we’re going to get her back here to fix the damn transport gazebo.”

Clara nodded. “You got it, boss.”

Part 3 – The Shrill

Chapter 31

Feedings left: 142

It took us a day longer than I anticipated to get out of Charnel and off toward the devastated city. While Clara slept, I spent the time using my newly acquired mapping ability. I noticed a small town not too far away called Yelm. It was a nerve agent village, home of the same ogre people as SmashSouth. But they had a stable within and a few other shops. I was hoping to get Banksy decked out with a saddle or whatever was required to get me able to ride him. Now that Clara could fly, the two of them had been able to travel across the map much more quickly than they’d be able to with me.

The world map on this game was big, but not huge. Dominion of Blades was a one to one map of the real world, and it would take someone years to travel from one end to the other if they tried it without the travel nodes. Some of those space games had maps literally the size of the galaxy. This map was much smaller, just a couple hundred square miles if I was reading it correctly. So walking from one end to the other was possible, but it wasn’t really feasible. That’s why there was fast travel, mounts, teleportation, and vehicles. And the kaiju themselves.

But we couldn’t yet teleport, and we couldn’t use the kaiju or vehicles without attracting attention to ourselves. So we were stuck on foot.

It took most of a day to walk north toward Yelm. We kept to the outskirts of the old city, avoiding the flying demons the best we could. I walked with Banksy slithering next to me, occasionally darting off to kill something. Clara flew, but she only dared to venture a couple feet off the ground. Winky blinked back and forth throughout the day, fluttering haphazardly by Clara’s head.

We sporadically had to stop and fight small groups of flying demons. These smaller ones were yellow and green-tagged. As long as they weren’t in groups of more than five or six, they weren’t a problem. The dwarf-sized demons were fast, though, and we had to keep a wary eye out. They carried nets and flaming swords that disintegrated when they died. Clara’s fully-automatic Uzi usually made short work of them. My slower-shooting Epiviper was enough to one-shot the green-tagged ones, and it stunned the bigger ones long enough that they would fall from the sky and usually die on impact.

These things sometimes traveled in groups of a hundred or more. Massive flocks patrolled the skies, and when we saw them, we had to quickly find cover.

The larger vulture demons also had to be avoided at all costs. The further north we traveled, the more they darkened the sky with their blazing red tags. I used seven of my 19 skill points to buy a spell called Leaden, which caused flying demons to slam to the ground. The spell used a lot of soul power, though, so I had to save it only for emergencies.

We passed through the encampment Clara and Banksy had liberated. The bodies of the four-armed ant demons were all gone, but the camp was bigger than I thought it was.

“How many of them were there?” I asked, looking about at the still-smoldering wreckage with awe.

“A lot,” Banksy said. “Clara flew in the air and shot them up good.”

“The zippers don’t have guns,” Clara said.

“Zippers?” I asked.

She nodded. “Renault says they’re called zipacna demons, but everyone calls them zippers. They don’t use guns, just these dragon-headed clubs or these things that look like segmented cricket bats. But you gotta be careful. There’s usually a couple of the bigger ones in the camps, the two-headed dreadnoughts with the hand cannons. Once you take those out, it’s cake. As long as the sky is clear, the zippers can’t reach me as I float above them and fire. It’s like free experience. Once the shooting starts, they get flustered easy. I had Banksy rush them after I killed a bunch. It was pure chaos, and it was over quickly. They’re strong, but they don’t work well individually. They swarm, and if you upset their order and kill the leaders, they’re mostly harmless.”

“They taste spicy, too,” Banksy said.

I remembered watching a swarm of these demons take Bast down during the opening game sequence, so I knew they were more than “mostly harmless.”

Less than twenty minutes later, we came across a small pack of the zippers. We spied about fifteen of them ranging across the road, headed into the abandoned city. They were all green tagged. We hid behind the bombed-out husk of an old school bus that had “Lake Travis I.S.D.” written on it in faded letters. The four-armed demons were about seven feet tall and scary as hell. Their chitinous armor gleamed red and black. Two of them wore large helmets made of the skulls of larger, dragon-like demons and adorned with a full headdress of long, turquoise feathers, reminiscent of Mayan or Aztec armor. The two with the headdresses each carried a pair of the dragon-headed clubs in two of their arms, and the others carried long sticks that appeared to be covered with obsidian teeth. I’d seen similar weapons before in school. They did look like cricket bats, only much deadlier. I couldn’t remember what they were called, but the swords were of native South American origin.

Winky blinked into existence next to Clara. Clara nodded and said, “How far back?” A pause. “Okay, good girl.” Winky disappeared with a pop.

“There’s a much bigger contingent about 10 minutes behind them. A couple thousand at least. We should probably leave these guys alone. We might attract the main hive.”

I agreed, looking nervously toward the woods to the east. The further north we went, the denser with monsters and roving armies it was getting. We waited for the zippers to pass, and we hustled out of the area.

The town of Yelm bordered a lake an hour north. A steady cloud of white smoke billowed into the sky from the direction of the town. As we advanced, the rattle of gunfire rose in the distance, followed by an explosion. The gunfire and explosions increased in ferocity the closer we got. By the time we reached the base of the hills outside of Yelm, it sounded as if world war three raged just over the rise.

Entering Yelm Outskirts.

We crested the hill, hitting the dirt as we looked upon a blasted and blackened valley. My first thought was this valley was probably once quite beautiful. My second thought was: fuck. 

“This looks fun,” Clara said.

A pitched battle raged in the valley.

The large nerve agents used a combination of steam and earth magic, and their town reflected that. The town, if it could be called that, appeared to be the remnants of an old factory built around a massive steam engine. And it didn’t border the lake like I’d assumed based on the map. It sat upon an island in the middle of the lake, making the water more like a moat. Smoke and steam poured from multiple stacks on the building. A wheel that stood at least three stories tall spun, half-buried in the water. Several gun emplacements dotted the roof of the old building, similar to the ones Charnel used. The defenders poured tracer fire into the horde of demons on the ground below.  

These demons were not of a kind I’d seen before. These were fat, pink-hued humanoid cyclops with rotting flesh and patchwork skin, like they’d been sewn together haphazardly. Living, overstuffed ragdolls. Some had pointed heads, some had swirls of skin, like flesh soft serve on top of their heads. Others were perfectly round-headed. They varied in size from about five feet tall to almost twice as large, as big as ten feet. They each had two arms, two fat legs, a swollen belly, a single horn on their foreheads, and a giant, plate-sized eye in the center of their misshapen heads.

The fat creatures crawled across the valley toward the moat. They were armed with machine guns and what appeared to be grenade launchers. They also had a pair of tracked vehicles. Not quite tanks, but they were like moving flatbeds, each with a colossal cannon on top. A strange, black substance covered the ground around the tracked vehicles. 

Fire raged back and forth between the two groups.

“Cyclods,” Clara said. “I hate these guys. They have a thing for nerve agents, I guess. They were always attacking Warble.”

The creatures were all green tagged, which meant we could take them easily. At least one on one.

“Should we go down there and help?” I asked, pulling my gun.

“Fuck no,” she said. “They’re harder than they look. Oh man, they’re going to fire the spider gun. Watch this.”

A group of four of the bigger cyclods manned the steel cannon on one of the tracked flatbeds. The gun was huge, a relic from some battleship. One of the demons deflated before my eyes. His flesh caved in on itself, falling into a pile on the platform like he was a balloon with all the air let out. A second and third cyclod did the same.

Only a single demon remained on the platform, standing at the very back of the gun. The cannon fired with a resounding thwump.

A black ball smashed into one of nerve agent gun emplacements on top of the town. I watched in horror as a seething, living black mass splattered over the three nerve agents. The ogres writhed, screaming and batting at themselves before dropping dead. Another nerve agent appeared on the roof and blasted the group with a flame thrower.

“Spider gun,” Clara repeated. “The cyclods are filled with venomous bugs and spiders. Never get into an enclosed space with one.” She shuddered. “They won’t fight you. They’ll just deflate and overwhelm you.”  

“Well that’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen,” I said.

“Some of them have small, handheld spiders guns too. They’ll shoot you from a hundred yards out, and you’re covered with hundreds of biting spiders and beetles before you know it. We’re going to need more antidote potions. We are too low on supplies to fight them properly.”

“What we are is too late,” I said. “This town is screwed.”

“Something is coming,” Banksy said. “From below. I can feel it.”

A moment later, the earth parted, and several dozen skull-masked nerve agents burst from the ground. The screaming ogres were mounted on the backs of giant millipedes, each about the size of Banksy. The nerve agents held large, hand-cranked flame throwers. They leaped off their mounts, took a knee, and started pouring jets of flame into the scattering cyclods. One of the tracked vehicles detonated, blown sky-high from an attack I hadn’t seen. A moment later, the second also exploded.

One of the millipedes, now without a rider, curled into a ball and rolled through a group of cyclods, bowling them over. The bodies split open, the flesh bulging and ripping and popping, spraying black bugs everywhere.

I could feel the terrible heat of the flamethrowers wash over me, even up here on the hill. 

“You have to use flamethrowers if you want to tangle with these guys,” Clara said.

I nodded. Killing a cyclod with a gun would be like poking a hole in a water balloon. Instead of getting wet, you got covered in spiders.

The tide of the battle had switched in a matter of moments. Less than a minute later, the remaining cyclods slinked back west, disappearing back into the hills. The nerve agents cheered, raising their giant arms into the air.

“These guys like us, right?” I asked as we stood, preparing to go greet them.

“Earth tends to not get along well with wind, so they’ll like you more than me, but neither of us are their typical enemies. Since they’re steam and earth, their traditional adversary will be whoever is wind and technology. I think that might be the alienists. Those bug-headed guys.”

“I haven’t seen too many of those about. The alienists I mean,” I said as we trudged down the hill. The nerve agents were using the millipedes to drag the wrecked flatbed vehicles away, northeast toward the woods. I wondered how often these attacks happened. In Charnel, it was about once every hour. But that was only a couple flying demons. This was a full-on attack.

Clara shrugged. “Most of the technology races seem to be more antisocial. There are a couple hidden towns and planes and stuff like that. That place you mentioned, Necroshire, where you did your upcycle upgrade. It’s one of those hidden towns. That’s a leecher village, I think. I have no idea where it is or how to get to it.”

The nerve agents noticed us, and a pair mounted up on their millipedes and approached us. They wore their flame throwers, brandishing them menacingly. Winky, who had randomly reappeared a few moments earlier, hissed and popped away at the sight of the large ogres.

Shit. The last thing we needed was a repeat of the last town. I pulled the charm potion from my belt. “How long do these things last?”

“I don’t know,” Clara said. “Probably a couple hours.”

“Okay, then we’ll have to make this snappy.” I downed the potion. I cringed, hoping I wouldn’t end up poisoned. I wasn’t. Thankfully the game made a distinction between food and potions.

Charm has temporarily been boosted by five points. Your charm is now 13.

I raised my hand in greeting, and one of them waved back. Both nerve agents seemed to relax. They lowered their flame throwers.

“Greetings, travelers,” one of them called, still twenty meters away. Their millipede mounts made an odd rustling noise as they zigzagged over the blackened ground. Beside me, Banksy tensed at the approach of the twin mounts.

I examined the nametag of the bigger nerve agent. 

J-Beefy – Town War Chief (Level 52).

“J-Beefy?” I said to Clara. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. These guys all have stupid names. I saw one in Medina named Cheese Nostril or some shit like that. The developers were probably smoking weed when they named them all.”  

J-Beefy had an easy, relaxed manner about him. At level 52, he was one of the most powerful NPCs I’d seen so far. The other nerve agent was named “Hairy Bill,” a level 16 town guard. He didn’t seem any more or less hairy than the others. He seemed much younger, though it was hard to tell the ages of these guys. Both of the blue-skinned nerve agents had the hanging jowls indicative of their kind, but J-Beefy’s hung much further down.

“Hi there,” I said. “We caught the end of the battle. You have to fight these guys a lot?”

J-Beefy shrugged. “They harass us about once a day. Some days they bring more. Some days they bring less. It’s almost always just the bug sacks.” He patted his flamethrower. “They’re not too tough as long as you got gas in your tank.”

I noticed he had “Velma” etched onto his flame thrower. I wondered if I should name my own gun.

“Listen,” I said. “I heard you guys have a stable in town.” I eyed the large factory dubiously. “I’m hoping to purchase some supplies for my worm.”

J-Beefy scratched the head of his millipede affectionately. The black creature made a chittering noise and thrashed its mandibles. The nerve agents rode close to the head of the long bugs, sitting astride leather saddles that appeared to be made specifically for the millipedes. 

“We do indeed have what you’re looking for. And more if you got the money for it. Yelm can always use fresh business, especially these days.” J-Beefy looked Banksy up and down appraisingly. “That’s a mighty fine hook slayer you have there. I’m sure ol’ Crust Sock will have what you need.”

“Crust sock?” I asked.

“Yep. That’s our stablemaster. Follow me.”    

Chapter 32

“What do you do with all that stuff?” I asked, indicating the piles of guns and debris being stacked by the nerve agents. We approached the large, chugging building that represented the town of Yelm. Nerve agents swarmed the fields, cleaning up after the recent attack.

J-Beefy waved vaguely north. “We have an ironworks outside of town. We melt most of it down. We gotta be careful to get it all. After we pick it all up, we douse the ground out here again with fire, just to be sure. Can’t have any bugs crawling around.”

I stepped on what looked like a black squirt gun. I reached down to pick it up. I examined its properties:

Spider Gun (Empty)

This weapon can only be fired once. Once fired, it needs to be given to a Cyclod to reload.

Fires Cyclod hive colony members at target.

“You best be careful with that,” J-Beefy said. “That there is a spider gun. See that little cap on top right there? You screw that off, and you’ll be covered in biting, venomous bugs before you can say ‘barbequed ballsack.’ Even if it says it’s empty, there’s always some of them critters still in there. They get all over. If that happens, I gotta use Velma here to clean them off of you. You won’t like that much.”

I nodded. I tossed the gun back on the ground.   

The bottom level of the town of Yelm was not anything like I expected. We crossed the bridge, guarded carefully by dozens of mean and angry-looking nerve agents with names such as “Garbage Stan” and “Dank Tank.” We passed through the large, metallic double doors of the factory into a large, open space with a dirt floor.  

The ceiling here was lower than I expected considering the height of the nerve agents, though they walked freely about, their heads in some cases brushing underneath the low roof by centimeters. The moment we entered, J-Beefy and Hairy Bill dismounted. Their millipedes burrowed into the dirt and disappeared.

“There are a lot of things moving around underneath us,” Banksy said, looking at the ground uncertainly.

Wide, leather belts zipped about the ceiling in some places, driven by cogs and gears, all hanging low enough to brain me if I wasn’t careful where I walked. They whizzed merrily about with unknown but determined purpose. Most of these contraptions were below chin level for the nerve agents. The maze of belts and spinning cogs made for a set of pathways on this open level.

I pulled up the town map. Where the shops of Kinnegad had all been scattered about in tin can-like buildings, the shops here were all out in the open. Like a shopping mall with no walls and only the occasional support column to delineate the individual stores. Shelves and tables and racks sat openly about the room.

“You’re welcome to visit any place on this first level, and you may visit the second level. But please don’t go above that,” J-Beefy said. He pointed to the far corner of the room. “You’ll find Crust Sock over there.”

We thanked him and started walking toward the stables. I could see it from here, a large corral filled with animals, ranging from millipedes and beetles to actual horses and what looked like an oversized kangaroo.

We stopped at an armorer. While he sold nothing worth our while, he was happy to purchase a handful of items that Banksy vomited on the floor, including that enchanted helmet. All the nerve agents seemed to prefer black, leathery armor, making them look like bikers and heavy metal enthusiasts. Banksy had plenty of that in his stomach. We ended up bringing in an additional 3,000 teeth. A weapons guy a few shops down gave us another 2,000. And we still had plenty in Banksy’s storage.

We stopped at a third shop where Clara loaded up on candy apples and popsicles. She had a spell that kept her from starving, but she hated using it. They didn’t have any of the blood nuggets she needed to refill her celestial magic, but she said she still had a good handful left. For now.

“You there,” another shopkeeper called as we headed toward the stables.

“Yeah?” I said, examining the woman nerve agent’s handle.

Sausage Becky – Harmacist (Level 30).

“Warble needs his vaccinations,” she said. “Would you be willing to administer them for me?”

Before I could respond, a quest notification appeared. I cringed, worried it would be another one of those compulsory quests, but it was not. The quest disappeared into the folder.

“I don’t know where Warble is,” I lied. The nerve agent kaiju was hanging out near the rift. I’d checked before we’d entered the town.

“If you agree to administer them, I will throw in a few extra series of vaccinations for some of the others who need it. I’m guessing all twenty-two of the guardians need boosters. I don’t have enough here to go around, but I do have a total of three sets for you.”

I looked at Clara, who didn’t look too excited by the idea. “Err, how big are they?” I asked.

Sausage Becky produced a canister that looked like a 16-oz bottle of soda from a vending machine. “Not too big,” she said. “A full series is six shots. The first two can be administered from the outside. The next three can be done during deep dive.”

“And what about the last one?” Clara asked.

“So, the final is a suppository.”

“Oh hell no,” Clara said.

“We’ll take them,” I said.

Sausage Becky beamed. “Great! I’ll be right back.” She ran to a shelf in her open shop, picked up a wooden crate, and dropped it in front of us. It clinked like a case of beer. I nodded at Banksy, who swallowed it up. 

“Are these really necessary?” Clara asked.

Sausage Becky looked scandalized. “An unvaccinated guardian is a weak guardian. Each of the six doses kills and prevents further issues with one of several guardian ailments. You can kill a parasite infection, but what’s to stop it from happening again a few days later? How can we possibly hope to beat back the demon horde with weak guardians? Poor guardian management is what led to this mess in the first place.”

“We’ll get it done,” I promised. I turned to Clara. “Come on. Let’s get to the stables.”

If Crust Sock had been a human, I’d have guessed his age to be about 120 years old. The ancient, stooped and gnarled nerve agent poked at a scorpion mount with an electric stick as we approached. He hurled obscenities at the black bug, who seemed nonplussed at the old ogre’s jibes. The nerve agent stopped at our approach and beamed widely. He wiped his hands on his apron and opened the gate to the corral, beckoning us inside.

I looked uneasily at the scorpion mount. The bug was the size of a Volkswagen. It snapped its forward claws but backed away when Banksy growled.

Crust Sock rubbed the side of Banksy’s head. “Yes, sir,” he said, examining my worm up and down. He peeled open one of his mouth flaps and peered inside, poking at his fangs with a very brave finger. “Yes sir, indeed. This is a fine mount you have here, mister worm surgeon. I’ll give you a cool two million teeth for him right here and right now.”

Banksy looked insulted. “I am not for sale,” he said. “My father would never sell me… Right?”

“He’s not for sale,” I agreed. “I need him outfitted for riding.”

Crust Sock looked annoyed. “Very well,” he said. “Do you plan on leveling him up further? What are your plans for when he has to evolve again?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when he evolves, but I do want to level him up.”

“You’ll need an expandable saddle. It’ll only work for a few more levels before he evolves when he hits 25. You can give yourself the freeriding skill if it’s available to you. I don’t know if you ghouls can do it or not. Otherwise, you’ll be out of luck. I don’t carry howdahs. You’ll need to go to Colossal’s Supplies in Medina for those. But you can’t get to Medina unless you figure out how to fix our transport gazebo.”

I had no idea what a howdah was, but I did know I’d have access to the freeriding skill when I hit level 30. I’d been familiarizing myself with the list of skills after the near disaster inside of Moritasgus.

A quest notification chimed and fell into the folder. Yet another fix-the-broken-gazebo quest.

“So how much for one of these expandable saddles?” I asked.

“Do you want burrowing support added in? Otherwise you’ll have to dismount when he goes to ground.” He smiled broadly, revealing several missing teeth. “That’s what I specialize in.”

“Yes,” I said.

I thought for a moment. “I reckon 7,500 teeth, plus another 1,000 for the installation will do it for the basic model. Prices go up significantly if you want long-term burrowing support. I’d wait until he grows to his full size before you make that sort of investment.”

We had just under 11,000 teeth now, so it was well within our budget.

A notification blinked, warning me my charm was about to revert back down to eight.

“Let’s do it,” I said, quickly shaking his hand.

Chapter 33

The guards growled at us as we left town. One of them, the one named Dank Tank, shouted something about my mother as we rode back south.

“It’s crazy what a difference only five charm points can do,” I said.

We wouldn’t reach the Shrill until it got dark, so we decided to wait until morning. The plan was to skirt the edge of the old city until sunset. We’d spend the time until night hunting and working on our experience. We’d overnight inside one of the abandoned buildings and head out at first light.

With me mounted, we moved at least three times faster than before. Banksy zipped along, burning a deep rut in the ground. Clara flew alongside, easily keeping up with her wings.

Banksy shuddered underneath me. He complained about the saddle for the tenth time in so many minutes. I was still getting used to the odd feeling. I’d ridden horses a few times in the real world, and I practically lived on the back of a horse in half the games I played, but this was nothing like that. This was like being whipped back and forth in a carnival ride. I’d received an Unsteady debuff the moment I pulled myself onto his back the first time. It took several minutes for my stomach to settle.

“Don’t pull those things. It hurts my face,” Banksy complained as I grabbed the reins. “I know where I’m going.”

“Do you?” I asked. “Because it seems like you’re headed toward those trees when we need to go up that hill.”

“Then why don’t you say so?” Banksy asked.

“I am saying so. I am saying so by pulling on the reins. That’s how this works.”

“Why don’t you just tell me where to go? You know, with your words. Tugging on the side of my face is a very aggressive way to do it.”

“Just go up the hill,” I said, exasperated.

“You see? That wasn’t so hard,” he muttered. He continued to complain under his breath for the next several minutes.

“I think your pet has entered the surly teenager part of his development,” Clara said.

I grunted. “I know all about that.”

“Yeah, sure you do,” Clara said.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. We all seemed on edge. We pulled out of the hills by late afternoon and traveled along a wide field on the edge of the city. We kept a wary eye out for demons. This area was ripe with medium-difficulty monsters. Clara and I took turns sniping at them from afar.

“Banksy,” I said after we entered a long, clear stretch of land. “Let’s try burrowing. Don’t go too deep. I just want to know how this works. Remember, he said I can’t be underground for more than thirty seconds.”

The idea of going into the dirt on the back of something that could dig seemed counterintuitive. If I hadn’t seen the much-larger nerve agents do it earlier, I’d never believe it was possible. It seemed I’d be ripped right off the worm the moment he started to dig. Or worse, I’d tumble off of him as he turned back up to the surface, leaving me underground.

“You sure about this?” Clara said, hovering next to me. Winky had returned a few minutes earlier. The bat looked between me and the worm and hissed gleefully, like she was excited at the prospect of watching me get buried alive.

“Do it,” I said.

“Okay, father. But don’t die,” Banksy said. He reared up, his mouth flanges splaying. I dug my boots into the stirrups. I clutched onto the reins for dear life as I flew up in the air, curved, and smashed face-first toward the ground like I was doing a belly flop into a pool.

Banksy moved easily into the dirt, traversing the rock just as quickly as he would on the surface. My world went black. I felt the rock and dirt and tree roots all around me, disintegrating as they came in contact with my face. It felt odd, like I’d turned my bare face into a showerhead. But I wasn’t getting wet. Just dirty. A moment later, I was outside again, coughing as rock and dirt showered all around me. We were a good thirty meters away from where we started.

Underneath, my saddle vibrated. Some blend of gears and earth magic combined to make the shield that enveloped me during the burrowing. As long as my butt remained in the saddle, and as long as I didn’t remain underground for more than 30 seconds at a time—with at least another thirty seconds between diggings—I’d be safe.

“That was really cool,” Clara said, zipping up toward us. “With some practice, it’ll be a very useful method of sneaking up on somebody.”

“I hope so,” I said.

Over the next several hours we killed a few dozen monsters and a few pairs of demons, jacking our experience up a few notches. It was getting harder to level, but between the two of us and Banksy, we were a powerful team. Most everything that was green or yellow tagged went down easily. Clara was four levels ahead of me thanks to her ability to clear out entire encampments. There wasn’t anything else like that on our way toward the Shrill, not without going out of our way.

There was an “infestation” on the map in the middle of the city, smack between us and the kaiju. I had no idea what that meant, but the map indicated it was much too dangerous for me.

By the time the sky began to darken, I was on the edge of level 20. By my count I had killed almost thirty of the ant demons. The zippers. Clara and I had collaborated on taking down a couple of these tough, horned alligator things that came from the city and charged at us. Also, the area was covered with small, easy-to-kill tortoise things that threw rocks at you if you got close enough. My new breastplate was powerful enough to deflect the trajectory of the rocks. Banksy took great pleasure in pouncing upon and cracking their shells.

We caught sight of a new type of demon. They lurked within the abandoned buildings on the edge of the city, usually spying at us from broken-out windows and rooftops.

These were knee-height, red demons, bright red in color with horned heads. They were armed mostly with spears, though some carried what looked like blowguns and hand-held slings. None attacked, but the little bastards could jump. I watched a gaggle of them leap from the roof of one building to the next, a good ten meters away. Each of them were yellow and red-tagged, which was worrisome. It was usually no problem to kill a yellow-tagged monster when Clara, Banksy, and I worked together. But killing a horde of them would be impossible.

“What are those things?” I asked, pointing out a group of the beasties watching us from afar. They watched us impassively.

“I don’t know,” Clara said. “I’ve never seen them before.”

I pointed to the sky. “Look, the flyers always avoid areas where they are.”

“Most demon kinds don’t mix very well,” Clara said. “Remember how I said there’s something like 71 different demon lords and barons and princes and whatnot? Each one of those guys commands his own legions. And we already know they don’t always get along with one another. So it would make sense that their demons don’t like each other, too.” 

We found a large, abandoned building, right on the edge of town that appeared to be perfect. We waited, looking for the red demons. Clara sent Winky inside, and the little bat reappeared a few minutes later.

“She says it’s clear except the basement level, which has a few monsters lurking within.”

“That’s reassuring,” I said.

We approached the building carefully. There were no obvious entrances on this side, so we had to cross a short fence, crossing what I realized was the remnants of an old freeway. The cracked asphalt showed through in random places, but otherwise it was a flat area punctuated by ankle-high weeds.

We reached the other side of the road and crept into the city

Entering Neo-Austin, Terry

There were no suburbs or any other sort of gradual increase. It went from the empty plains to a thick wall of skeletal, decrepit buildings reminiscent of any urban metropolis. Some were nothing but bombed-out shells, and whole swaths of buildings were just gone in some areas, nothing but smeared and pulverized bands of dust. I suspected if I were to look at the damage from above, it would indicate clear travel paths of a guardian. The buildings in this neighborhood were all about twenty to thirty stories high. Deeper into the city were higher buildings and a few places of note, like what appeared to be the remnants of a stadium or maybe an airport and a few tall, needle-thin towers. The bottom half of what once might’ve been a statue dominated the skyline. The buildings stretched out for miles and miles. According to my map, the city covered several hundred square miles.

Despite the destruction, some buildings still appeared untouched. The gray, nondescript building we now faced seemed featureless, a building that was drawn as background filler. One of those buildings in older games that you’d never be able to actually go into. Office? Residence? It was impossible to tell from the outside. Nothing but gray blocks and windows.

The front door had long ago rotted away, big enough to easily allow Banksy within. We crept inside, revealing a large lobby. A bank of what was probably once elevators stood on the opposite wall. It smelled of mold and must. A stiff breeze penetrated the lobby from the open door. Rubble and rusted hunks of objects so old it was impossible to tell what they once were lay strewn across the lobby.

“Watch the floors,” I said to Banksy, remembering what Winky had reported. The ground creaked ominously. “Make sure you don’t fall through.”

“Let’s see if we can go up a couple stories, find an interior room, something defensible where we can wait out the night,” Clara said. She pointed to an open doorway, revealing rickety-looking stairs. 

“We should clear the basement first,” I said. “I won’t be able to rest if I know there’s something crawling about below us.”

Clara paused, looking uncertain. “Okay,” she said finally. “Let me send Winky in to get a better look. She’d only sensed them earlier.”

I nodded. Clara said something to the bat, who made a screeching noise. The small creature bobbed up and down as she fluttered toward the stairs.

In the distance, the Shrill rumbled. We’d probably be able to see him if we went high enough.

Looking at my map, the Shrill appeared to be the only guardian who lived within the city. I wondered why. That was assuming there weren’t more hidden ones lurking about. After the discovery of Moritasgus, I’d made a more deliberate survey of the 22 kaiju. Six of them were missing. Of those, I strongly suspected where a few of them were. The fish-looking water creatures—the dagon—had a large lake on the other side of the map, and their kaiju was a salamander thing called the Opera. Renault had mentioned it in passing once, of how they’d trained it to defend their town. So I knew it was probably in the middle of that lake. Similarly, I remembered from the character creation sequence that the kaiju of the Mole Men was a tentacled mole creature. Their main town wasn’t too far from here, and I suspected their guardian was underground, just like Moritasgus was. 

Also, the distant town of Little Cibola seemed to be the only place other than Medina that was fully intact. It was a town of the mysterious sundered, the technology-based humanoid robot things. Their guardian was not listed on the map. Neither Clara nor I knew what sort of creature it was, but I suspected it had something to do with their town’s continued existence, especially so close to the rift.

That left three missing kaiju, and any one of them could be hidden somewhere in the city.

I used the opportunity to check up on Moritasgus and Orthrus. My badger had burrowed itself about two miles north of where Bast was currently skulking. Jenk’s Orthrus had followed at a distance for a while. The two-headed guardian had seemed to get into a spat with Bubilas, the kaiju that had taken up residence around the edge of the forest. Thanks to my map upgrade, I could now see that Bubilas was associated with the brownie race, the diminutive fairy creatures who came into the game with built-in wings. I vaguely remembered a flying, hornet-like kaiju in that quick vision of all the guardians I’d had when I first signed in, and I suspected that’s who that was.

Either way, Orthrus had quickly dispatched the kaiju and then went on to follow Moritasgus. By the time Bubilas had regenerated, Moritasgus had managed to burrow into the field. He hadn’t been bothered since. Orthrus had moved further south, sniffing around Bast for a while, but it didn’t appear they’d gotten into any sort of scuffle, though it was hard to tell using just my map. After that, the two-headed wolf had returned to his home just west of the forest. And that’s where he was now.

If Jenk knew where we were, I had no indication. I still hadn’t told Clara the full story. So much time had passed, it was starting to get too late.

“Shit,” Clara declared, breaking the silence.

“What?” I asked.

“Winky is dead. It happened suddenly. She’ll regenerate in a minute, and we can ask her what happened.”

“Great,” I said, looking at the floor warily. “Maybe we should find a different building.”

By now, full darkness had descended on the city. The sad and abandoned streets appeared terrifying in the low light. As I watched, something large rushed by, hurdling down the street as fast as a rocket. It moved so quickly the only feature I could see was the bright red tag floating over its head. A minute later, something not too far away started squealing in pain.

With a pop, Winky reappeared in the room. She started enthusiastically squeaking. Clara nodded.

“She doesn’t know what they are, but there are three of them in the basement. They look like human-shaped shadow women with extra long, extra thin legs and long, dirty hair. They crawl on the walls.”

Winky squeaked indignantly. “And they have long and fast tongues,” Clara added.

“It sounds like some sort of swamp witch, troll thing,” I said. I eyed the stairs. Should I risk it? If I died, I’d get bounced back to Charnel, which would lose us half a day, maybe a bit less. If I managed to get a look at one of them, I’d at least see their difficulty level.

What the hell, I decided. “I want to take a peek at them. I won’t get too close.”

“Uh oh,” Banksy said in the half-second before the floor collapsed.  

Chapter 34

I landed with a terrible crunch, floor and debris falling all around me, crashing, tumbling, spinning. My ankle flashed in pain. I pulled up the menu and healed myself, the motion so quick it’d become a reflex. Darkness enveloped me. 

Banksy groaned nearby. Above, Clara yelled something. I shook my head, attempting to get the cobwebs out. Despite the healing, I was still disoriented.

I saw the blazing red tag of a dangerous monster before I saw the black form it was attached to. A second appeared, then a third. Like Winky had described, these were shadow women with absurdly long limbs, crawling on the walls.

The bat had failed to mention that each of these witches was about twice the size of a normal human.

I tried to grasp my gun. I realized with horror that my right arm was pinned. I’d be able to free myself, but everything was suddenly moving in slow motion. The entire basement was under several inches of black, icy water. The cold seeped into me.

“Shoot it,” I cried up to Clara as I struggled.

“Hold your weapons,” the lead witch hissed. She had a voice like nails dragging across a tombstone. Thick, gritty, barely discernable. “Hold or we shall devour you all.”

Clara hovered into view, her pulse Uzi clutched in her hands. My eyes adjusted enough to see Banksy swirling in circles, clearing the debris away from himself. Water splashed.

Say the word, and I shall strike the one on the left, Banksy said in my mind.

I struggled further, kicking the wet debris off my legs. I readied my grappling hook, aiming at the face of the witch who spoke. I pulled up my magic menu, hovering over the Invulnerable spell given to me by my armor. Once cast, it’d stay active for just over 15 seconds.

“What do you want?” I asked. I struggled further, finally yanking my right arm free.

The ragged face of the lead witch was suddenly right there, looming over me, grinning. The creature moved like a spider, terrifyingly fast. One moment she was on the wall, the next she hovered over me, like a lover ready to mount. She wore the shadow like a wet, dripping cloak, as if she was dipped in oil. I could barely discern her facial features, except the long, crooked hook of a nose and the sharp glint of teeth. Her breath stank of mold and dust and fish. Black clumps of filthy hair spilled from her head, the cold, wet tufts framing my neck. 

I swallowed. I was going to be sick. I caught hints of black, bulbous eyes underneath all that hair, the size of walnuts.

“You are what they call worm surgeon,” the witch said. Not a question.

“Guilty.” I tried to sound tough and confident. I did not succeed.

“What are we doing?” Clara called. Banksy reared up in the room, hovering worriedly. The other two witches had come to surround me. They ignored the others as if they weren’t there. 

“Then you are a thrall of Zagan.” Again, not a question.

“I don’t know what that means,” I said.

She laughed, a terrible noise. I could feel bugs crawling out of her hair and skittering over me. I fought the urge to scream.

“Zagan. The fallen king. The betrayer. You call him guardian.”

“You mean the Shrill?” I said.

The witch grunted. “Yes. The Shrill. A fitting name. You are his serf.”

“Do you want me to shoot this thing or what?” Clara called.

“Hold up,” I said. To the witch, “I am his, uh, doctor. I was coming to give him a checkup.”

A long, sinewy hand appeared, running across my neck, through my hair. The other witches crowded around me. Two more sets of jet black, dripping hands started to lovingly stroke at my body. They felt like reeds of sticks, prickling over me. They left streaks of black where they touched.

“Lamashtu wishes for your presence. We have waited for you.”

“Yes, Queen Lamashtu,” a second witch said.

“Mother awaits,” said the third.

“Who the hell is Lamashtu?” I said. “And who the hell are you?”

All three of the witches hissed in unison.

“Queen Lamashtu was Zagan’s intended, before the great betrayal,” said the witch on top of me. She traced the outline of my chin with her finger. I felt the crackle of electricity. “We are the daughters of the queen. She has come to this place to make peace with her former lover.”

My mind swirled. This was game lore stuff. I only knew a small part of the overall story. Since Anatoly had programmed out all of the game’s cutscenes, I’d missed a lot. But I could fill in some of the holes. I knew my kaiju, the Shrill, was the only guardian who was once a demon himself. He had betrayed the princes and kings of hell, choosing instead to fight against them. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know if it was important.

“Wait,” I said to the witch. “So your mom is one of the boss demons who have invaded this world. And she’s here because she’s pissed the Shrill dumped her? Did I get that right?”

The witch hissed. I took that as a yes.

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it?”

“Uh, Duke,” Clara said. “A bunch more of these ladies are coming over here. A handful just crawled in the front door, and I can see hundreds more emerging from the buildings all around us.”

“Don’t shoot them,” I said. “Let’s see where this is headed.”

“It’s headed toward a terrible death,” Clara said. “These guys have an electric attack, and in case you haven’t noticed, you’re sitting in three inches of water.”

I could hear them now, rustling about upstairs, pulling up the remaining floorboards, crawling down the walls, splashing into the basement.

“She comes,” the lead witch said, looking up into the air. She scrambled off of me, prostrating herself onto the ground. “Oh my mother, oh my queen. It was I who found the worm surgeon. It was I!”

“She lies,” the witch to my right declared. “I sensed him first!”

“No, it was me,” cried the third. “I broke the floor, pulled him into our trap!”

A dull light half illuminated the dark basement. There was no source. It was as if the brightness on my visual display had been turned up a hair. The witches remained inky pools, their forms drinking the light.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to happen next. A magnificent demon descending from high, arms outstretched. Or perhaps a hideous queen, a monster of indescribable terror. Something as glorious as it was terrible. 

I was not expecting a donkey.

The beast jumped into the room from above. It landed with a splash. It had a ribbon around its dainty neck. A small bell hung from the ribbon, and it gave a light jingle as the donkey settled to a stop.

This was a normal donkey. A small donkey, at that. Like the size of one of those Shetland ponies. And other than its uncanny ability to be able to jump a full story down into a basement unharmed, there was nothing about it indicating it to be anything other than ordinary. That is, except for the name tag blazing over it in red, flaming letters:

Queen Lamashtu

Prince Stolas had a single flaming crown after his name. This donkey had twin crowns, one before and one after. Stolas had been a prince. This was a queen. A donkey queen.

The creature heehawed.

All around me, witches hissed and lowered themselves in worship. They were suddenly everywhere, prostrating themselves before their mother. They filled the room, the walls around me in the basement, peering down over the hole in the floor. Hundreds of them. The black oil seeped off them, pooling all around me, joining with the water of the basement.

Clara hovered into my view, floating in midair in the midst of the witches. “Okay, what the hell,” she said. 

The donkey snorted.

“Mother, mother, mother,” the witches chanted.

Queen Lamashtu the donkey clomped up to me. She placed a single hoof on my chest, but she did not lean her weight on me. She reached down and sniffed me several times, the hot air blasting my face.

The witches all groaned, universally making a sound of pleasure.

“The queen has an offer for you,” one of the witches said. It might have been the same witch who had been sitting on me before.

“You know you crazy assholes are all worshipping a donkey, right?” I said.

“Lamashtu seeks something, a small token from her former paramour. You shall retrieve this for her. In exchange she shall grant you a mighty boon.”

“And what’s that?”

“A key. Access through the rift. The ability for your guardians to enter hell and to confront Baal himself and to defeat him.”

She pronounced the demon lord’s name like bail, not ball. But even I knew that name, and I didn’t know much about this demonic crap at all. Moloch, Beelzebub, Baal—no matter how they pronounced it here, and Baphomet. They were all just fancy ways of saying the devil. Satan. The head bad guy. I knew all those names probably had different, specific meanings and weren’t really the same thing. But this was a video game, not a scholarly treatise on demonic lore. So when she said “Baal,” I immediately knew who she was talking about.

The screen on my vision flickered oddly. I didn’t know what that meant.

I looked up at Clara, who suddenly looked serious. “We gotta do this,” she called down. She didn’t seem to have noticed the odd stutter. “Getting into the rift is one of the requirements of the endgame sequence. Anatoly said there was something like a thousand possible endings. And getting access into hell is one of the hurdles.”

The donkey was now chewing on something and drooling on my chest. Its ear flickered.

“Okay,” I said. “So what is this ‘small token’ I need to get?”

The witch moaned, as if being pleasured by something unseen. “Queen Lamashtu wishes for an heir. She has us, her daughters. Her legions. But we are not of her loins. She yearns for a son. You are to impregnate Lamashtu.”

I just stared at the witch for a good three seconds, my brain trying to parse what she said. I looked between her and Lamashtu.

“Yeah, I’m not fucking a donkey,” I said.

“You?” The witch laughed with scorn. “Not your unworthy seed. You must obtain the seed of Zagan, fertilize the egg, and bring it to Lamashtu.”

With no warning, the donkey turned, grunted, and laid an egg on my chest. It came out of the beast’s backside with a plop. The bell around its neck jingled.

Hell Quest – The Shrill’s Seed.

The quest notification chimed, and I clicked on it before it could disappear into a folder.

Queen Lamashtu seeks a child with her former lover. Facilitate this request for a reward. Take the unfertilized demon egg. Bathe it in guardian sperm to complete the fertilization process. Return to Lamashtu.

Reward: Upon successful completion of all tasks, the world rift will become accessible to two-way travel. The rift will open at midnight after the first full day once the task is complete.

Note! The opening of the rift is required to win the game.

I looked at the black egg suddenly sitting heavy on my chest. I hesitantly reached forward to grab it. It was soft, but jiggly, like a hardboiled egg with no shell and covered with goo. It was the size of a football, but it had a heft to it, weighing a good five pounds.

Quest Item – Unfertilized Lamashtu Egg.

It disappeared, putting itself into my quest inventory.

I eyed the donkey. “You know, the Shrill is a bit… larger… than your queen here. Is she sure she wants to have a guardian baby?”

The witch hissed. “You have your task. If you agree to do it, we shall clear the way for you.”

“Is the way not clear now?”

“The legions of King Vinea block your passage. They attempt to bring Zagan to justice.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said. My head was already swimming with all these names. Stolas, Andras, Lamashtu, Zagan, Baal, and now Vinea. “Who is this guy?”

“Are you really this ignorant of the stage on which you dance? King Vinea is one of the great leaders of hell. One of the most fearsome generals. It is he who created the rift. It is he who sends his legions to hound Zagan. He wishes for nothing more than for Zagan—your Shrill—to be brought to justice, to be returned to stand in judgment before Baal.” The witch raised her bony arm, indicating the building around us. “This devastation. This great city. It fell eons ago because of Vinea’s rage. Your guardians are magically prevented from entering the cities, lest they bring boundless destruction to the homes of your people. But when Zagan betrayed Baal to come to your aid, he was not restrained by the magic that protected this city. Zagan helped banish us back into the depths, back into the dark. But his great battle with Vinea fell this city, killing most of your kind, forcing you to create a new homestead, this Medina.” She laughed. “And you learned nothing from the last time. Once again you have protected yourselves from your own saviors. It will be your undoing. Soon, the walls of Medina will fall. Your guardians cannot save you. And once Medina falls, the path to the celestial gates will be open. And we will pour into the heavens like wolves set upon children.”

“Wait,” I said. “If that’s what you want. To storm the heavens or whatever. Then why would you offer me the key to the rift? It doesn’t make sense.”

Queen Lamashtu snorted and stomped her hoof.

“My queen does not wish to rule the heavens. She sees value in the current status quo. But her true motivations are not your concern. You have the egg. Now will you complete your task?”

I gave a sidelong glance to Clara, who remained hovering over me. “Sure,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to jerk off a kaiju anyway.”

The witch hissed. “We shall seal this agreement.”

The donkey stepped forward, moving over my prone body.

“What are you doing? What’s happening?”

The donkey’s belly hung over my face. She even smelled like a regular donkey. I had a quick memory, of visiting a farm on a field trip in elementary school. I soon realized it wasn’t exactly the donkey’s stomach, but its… udders? Is that what they called it on a donkey? Twin nipples dangled directly over my mouth, a pair of wrinkled eraser tips, both dripping with black milk.

“Drink the mother’s milk,” the witch purred. “Drink and the deal will be sealed.”

“Um, I prefer my contracts to be in writing,” I said.

“Drink, drink, consume, drink,” the witches recited.

The chant was deafening, like a crowd of thousands were crying it all at once. The pure volume shocked me. I could hear them, screaming, crying, all around, shaking the walls like I was suddenly in the middle of a football stadium. I realized with amazement that it was thousands. Every building probably had these witch things hidden within, waiting. And now that I was found, they’d literally come out of the woodwork, all of them, converging on this one place.

The nipple descended toward my mouth. I clamped my lips shut.

“Just drink it,” Clara said, shouting over the chant.

Don’t do it, Banksy said in my mind. Father, don’t. It smells really gross.  

“Drink,” the witch hissed. “Drink. Seal the deal. It is a gift. A token of her love.”

I sighed. I didn’t know if this was a brilliant idea or a stupid one since I could only do this once every 24 hours, but I activated my Invulnerable spell. My skin glowed yellow, and a 15.4-second timer started descending. I reached up, clasped onto the nipple with my mouth, and I drank, slurping loudly. 

The nipple stiffened, shooting sideways so the “milk” hit the sides of my mouth. All around me, the witches resumed their groaning. They gyrated back and forth. The room shook with their movement. The spray turned to a hose, and suddenly my mouth was full, the donkey’s weight was on me, and I drank. And drank.

Once, when I was twelve years old, I’d lost a bet against a kid named Joe Shipnik. We’d raced to the end of the street, slapped a blue mailbox, and returned to his driveway. He’d beat me by a hair. He’d cheated, I’d insisted, him having given himself an unfair head start. But there was a crowd, and the consensus was that I’d lost. And because there were witnesses, I was stuck. I’d lost, and a bet was a bet.

I had to drink a glass of the milk.

Every kid in the neighborhood knew about the milk. Earlier that day, Joe Shipnik had been tasked by his mother to clean out the travel trailer that lived in their front driveway. They’d taken it out two weekends earlier on a short camping trip. In that trailer was a refrigerator. In that refrigerator was a cardboard half-gallon of milk. It had been sitting in the fridge for two weeks without power.

Joe had taken the half-gallon of now-solid milk out of the travel trailer, peeled away the cardboard around it, and splatted the remains into a giant mixing bowl, placing it on the sidewalk in front of his house in some sort of act of performance art. The curdled milk had started to mold, and a black fuzz covered the top layer.

He’d found some rotten apple juice, also in the travel trailer, and he’d poured it into the bowl. Another kid named Braydon Mahey came along and poured a 5-Hour Energy drink into the mix.

As the day wore on, more and more kids started adding things to the soup. It’d become a thing, a summer-day attraction for the neighborhood. Another kid named Samir claimed to have peed in the bowl, but nobody saw him. I’d personally added a half packet of Sour Patch Kids. By the end of the afternoon, the mix contained candy, soda, lunch meat, bits of dirt and grass, a dollop of tuna, mayonnaise, and all sorts of other unmentionables.

Then, fifteen-year-old Brenda Wallace took the bowl, poured the contents into a blender, mixed it up good, and transferred the smoothie into a metal pot. At this point it was like brown oatmeal streaked with random rainbow swirls. She cooked it on her stove while half the neighborhood piled into her kitchen to watch. Her parents were gone at work, and within five minutes, we’d all fled because the liquified stew smelled as if it was the hot diarrhea of a diseased skunk.

And then came the bet.

It was my idea. I’d defeated Joe dozens of times in races at school, and I knew I could take him now. He’d been bragging about how could to run a 100-meter dash in 10-something seconds, which was absolute bullshit. So I challenged him.

Every middle school summer has a main event. Sometimes it comes unexpectedly. But when it happens, everyone recognizes it for what it is. Word spread. A gauntlet had been thrown down. The prospect of someone drinking the milk had become a very real possibility. You didn’t just back out of bets. It was unheard of.

So we raced. I lost.

Brenda Wallace, who’d spent the last hour airing out her house in an attempt to cleanse it of the stench before her parents got home, had taken up the role of executioner. In an act of mercy, she chose a small double shot glass from her dad’s collection, instead of the Big Gulp cup Joe was insisting upon now that he’d won.

By now a crowd had gathered. It was probably only 30 kids or so, but in the retellings of this day that would plague me for the rest of my life, some people would claim it was 300. Brenda dipped the glass in the concoction, and she solemnly handed it to me.

The crowd had gone silent. A bet was a bet. They knew it, I knew it. Nothing could be done for me now.  

The milk had turned a bright yellow and had the consistency of potato soup. Things floated in it. It was still warm.

I said a quick prayer for my soul. I held my nose, and I drank it all in one gulp.

And up until the moment I nursed at the nipple of the donkey queen, Joe Shipnik’s summertime milk had been the most disgusting thing I had ever put in my mouth. I’d become violently ill that day so many years ago. Some said my vomit was a bright, chunky pink and actually hissed on its own accord, slipping away to live in the sewer after I splashed it all over the cul-de-sac.

I’m pretty sure I was supposed to be poisoned and die when I drank Lamashtu’s milk. But thanks to my invulnerability, I just felt like dying. I did not vomit. Colors flashed. The world spun. The nipple raised away. The witches waved their long arms toward the donkey and me. They swayed and chanted, shrieking something in a language I did not understand.

You have consumed Milk of Lamashtu!

+1 Strength

+1 Acumen

+1 Durability

+1 Deftness

+1 Charm

The legions of Queen Lamashtu will no longer attack you as long as you remain in Lamashtu’s favor. If you fall out of favor, the queen’s legions (Cellar Hags, Pain Seedlings, and Drivets) will have a +10% damage bonus upon attack.

And then Queen Lamashtu floated into the air. Clara scrambled out of the way as the donkey rose, snorting and flicking its ears, seemingly oblivious. It floated out of the room and disappeared.

I caught Clara’s eye. My face dripped with black milk. I gasped for breath.

“So that just happened,” she said.

Chapter 35

“Zagan fends them off, but he is cornered in one area of the city, unable to leave. Every day they advance, but he holds them back. We will open a hole for you to enter. Once you have fertilized the egg, bring it to Queen Lamashtu. Once she has the egg, she will return to hell. You are free to follow.”

“Hey, wait a second,” I said. “That’s not what we said before. You said we’d get a key.”

“Yes,” the witch said. “You will receive the key.”

“But we have to follow her?” I said. “I don’t understand.”

“All will be made clear. Just be prepared.”

Well, shit. I guess that meant we better be ready to do this when we brought the egg back to the donkey.

The witches—apparently called cellar hags—had all retreated except the one who did the talking. I’d returned to the first floor of the building, pulling my milk-soaked body up the stairs. A giant hole had formed in the lobby, but the east side by the front doors was still solid. Banksy had collapsed the stairs when he tried to ascend, and he’d had to burrow his way back up, going through the basement wall and back into the building.

A pounding storm had come out of nowhere. The night filled with the clapping rain. Thunder rumbled through the sky.

“Where will I find your queen?” I asked the hag. I pulled yet another beetle out of my hair. In the relative light up here, the hag was even more terrifying. Her dripping, black cloak seemed to be of a different dimension, a hole in the virtual reality of the game. The cloaks were more like shawls, clutched tight to their heads. Upon closer inspection, I realized the shawl, cloak, whatever it was, and the black strands of the hag’s hair were all interwoven, as if the garment was growing out of her head. Her hook nose poked from the darkness, black and covered with red, pulsing veins. While human-shaped, she still walked on all fours, though she occasionally reared up to her full height, as tall as the ceiling.

“You may evoke her. Also, Lamashtu’s pavilion is on your map,” the hag said.

I pulled up my map, and sure enough, her location had been added, a good seven miles south of here, right in the middle of one of the danger areas known as “pavilions.”

I realized then that the location of Andras, the demon I was supposed to kill for Stolas was also in one of these pavilions. The locations indicated the home bases of the demon royalty. I filed that information away.

Also, this was the second time someone had mentioned evoking as a way to produce a demon lord. I had a spell when I hit level 40 called Evocation, so it wasn’t something I’d be able to utilize for a while.

“Okay, so when are we going to do this?” I asked.

The hag hissed. “We do this now. Head toward Zagan. We will stop the glazers the best we can, but some may get through. Move swiftly as they are much more powerful than we.”

Clara alighted next to me. Winky buzzed about her head. “What do glazers look like?”

The hag growled. “They are small but fast imps, able to leap great distances. Do not let their appearance fool you. They are the favored infantry troops of King Vinea, and there are many of them.”

Clara looked at me. “Those are the little bastards we saw on top of the buildings when we were coming here.”

I’d seen this kind of challenge before in many different games. This was a gauntlet run. We had to get from point A to B as quickly as we could, and we’d be attacked from all angles along the way. I suspected most worm surgeons playing the game would have to do this, though I didn’t know what level we were supposed to be when we got to this point.

We had a couple advantages. I had Clara and Banksy. The Shrill was only a couple miles away. If we followed the main thoroughfare, we’d be upon him in a matter of minutes. I guessed we moved about fifteen miles per hour when I rode on the back of Banksy, though I knew he could go much faster for short sprints. And Clara could move even faster than that. 

I’d used up my daily Invulnerable spell already, so we had to rely on good-old-fashioned shooting and running.

“I need to kill something before we do this,” I said, looking about for prey. I’d had to heal myself a few times, and my soul points needed to be refilled.

Snap. Banksy crunched Winky right out of the air, fast as a whip. I felt the surge of soul power. I didn’t receive any experience, but the soul power filled me about halfway.

“Hey!” Clara said. “What the hell?”

“Winky doesn’t mind,” Banksy said, crunching. “She comes right back. Do you need more, father? I can eat her again. She tastes bad, but I don’t mind.”

“I mind!” Clara said.

I pointed at the trio of rats rushing through the corner of the room. They’d rushed into the building, fleeing the storm outside. “I do need more, but let’s avoid eating your best friend if we can. Try these guys.”

They were vile rats. They always traveled in groups of three. Banksy gobbled them right up. It brought my soul power to about 95%. A minute later, Winky returned. She squeaked angrily at Banksy.

“We must do this before the sun rises,” the hag said. “Or else we can not help you.”

“Okay guys,” I said, strolling out into the street. Heavy rain pelted into me. Tall, dark forms of the hags surrounded us. In the distance, the Shrill roared. “Let’s do this.”

“Give us a moment,” the hag said. “When you are given the signal, you run.” She pointed down the street. The wide, three-lane boulevard was littered with rusted-out hulks. “Zagan is this way.”

“I know where he is,” I said. I could feel him looming in the distance. If it was light outside, I knew he’d be clearly visible. “What will be the signal?”

“You will know it when you see it.” The hag paused. “Good hunting, worm surgeon. Do not betray our queen. You will not like the consequences.”

“Good talk,” I said. I mounted up on the back of Banksy, and Clara took back to the air, hovering easily in the rain. In the dark, she looked like a larger version of her own familiar. A large, hovering bat. I pulled my rifle.

The cellar hags spread before me, rushing away like a tidal wave into the city.

“Banksy,” I said as we waited for the signal. “If any of these hag things die near us, I want you to bite off their heads and store them in your storage vault. Just their heads. Do you understand? Don’t kill any yourself. Make sure they’re dead before you bite. If you accidentally kill any, the queen will get mad at us. But I want their heads. I need as many of them as you can get.”

“Okay, father,” Banksy said.

“Why?” Clara asked.

“They have very interesting scalps,” I said. “I’ll explain later.”

An explosion rocked the night, followed a moment later by a second and a third. A mushroom cloud of dust and smoke pulsed upwards as a distant building crumbled.

In the flash, I finally saw the Shrill for the first time.

“Holy crap,” Clara exclaimed. “Did you see that thing?”

A fourth explosion ripped through the night, lighting the guardian once again.

The Shrill was about one and a half times bigger than Bast, making him the biggest kaiju I’d seen so far. A potato-shaped golem of flesh and eyeballs and slathering mouths. A beast of nightmares, he towered as big as a mountain. A dozen tentacles erupted from the lower half the monster, thrashing frantically. It looked as if someone had peeled the faces off of old, dead guardians and sewn them all together, creating a terrible, lumpy masterpiece of flesh and horror. Several hundred eyes of all sizes and colors dotted the exterior of the monster and just as many mouths, including one gaping maw that faced directly upward.

I spent the next five seconds recovering from the sight of the monster before I realized that the explosions were the signal. I shook my head. “Go,” I cried to Banksy. “Go, go, go! Head straight for that thing while I shoot.”

We surged forward, pushing into the street, dodging debris. For the first several seconds, I didn’t hear or see anything except the driving rain.

Then I saw them, fighting on the roof of a building. It was a hag, covered in red, biting, slashing demons. And then they were all over. A thousand hags fending off tens of thousands of the glazers. They were everywhere. In front of us, behind us, on the buildings to the left and right, up the walls and upon the roofs.

Snap. Banksy severed the large head off a hopefully dead hag as it flew through the air in front of us. Three of the glazers rode her body like a damn surfboard. They went sprawling when they hit the street. The yellow-tagged beasts leaped up, rushing us as we sped by. I blasted one with my rifle, finishing it off. Clara’s Uzi sputtered to life, raining uneven pulses in staccato bursts. Banksy snapped again, easily killing another. Every time he snapped, he yanked the reins right from my hands. I finally gave up and instead clutched onto the saddle’s horn.

“Watch out,” Clara cried, pointing her gun. Ahead of us, a manhole burst into the air. Dozens of the glazers poured out. We bowled over them, Banksy snatching them up left and right. I ducked as a spear flew at my head.

A spear-wielding glazer jumped onto Banksy’s back. I shot it point blank with my rifle, and it went tumbling away.

As a general rule, if a monster was green tagged, a single shot from my Epiviper was enough to kill it outright. A yellow-tagged monster usually took anywhere from two to ten shots to kill.

A single shot from my gun was enough to send them skidding across the pavement, but they usually bounced right back up. It took three or four shots to kill one. And there were thousands of them. We were about 2/3’s of the way there, but the distance seemed impossible.

The closer we got to the Shrill, the less the hags held them back. The little red monsters started rushing us from the alleys as we passed. If we weren’t already moving so quickly, we’d be overwhelmed. Dead witches poured from the sides of the building, falling like rain. Their soul power flowed into me. The power meter on my gun was getting worryingly low.

A dart erupted out of my shoulder. “Gah,” I cried. I yanked it out. I prayed it wasn’t poisoned. It didn’t appear so. Just painful.

“Clara,” I called up to her. “Focus on the ones with the blowguns and the slings. And let me borrow your knife.”

Several of the cellar hags appeared, galloping alongside us, terrifyingly fast on all fours. They had some sort of shock attack where they could electrify their entire bodies and blast the glazers away with a jolt. But it had a slow recharge. A single shock was enough to kill every glazer in contact, but the dead demons were soon replaced by more of the jumping little assholes who turned the hags into pincushions.

“That’s enough heads, Banksy,” I called. My worm was decapitating the dead hags indiscriminately. “Focus on the glazers!”

“Here,” Clara called, tossing the knife at me.

I shouldered my depleted rifle and grasped the amplification knife with my left hand. 

Banksy has low health.

I looked down in surprise to see several dozen darts sticking from Banksy’s head, making him look like a hedgehog. With horror, I realized my breastplate’s anti-missile enchantment was rerouting the needles into him.

“Clara, heal Banksy!” I cried as I extended the amplification knife to its full length of seven inches.

I watched as she popped one of her blood nuggets into her mouth. She was also doing a porcupine impersonation. I didn’t know how she managed to stay alight. She glowed, followed a second later by Banksy. The needles pushed out of him as he was healed.

I extended my grappling hook to about three feet, clutching the knife awkwardly in my four grabbers. I swung my arm like a flail, cutting easily through the approaching glazers.

But it was hard to control, and I hadn’t practiced with this. It quickly became clear this wasn’t going to be an effective weapon. Banksy and the remaining hags were in just as much danger from the knife as the glazers. I stiffened and retracted my arm. I tried a new tactic, keeping my arm rigid as I shot it out and pierced them one by one. This worked great, easily killing every monster it touched. But it wasn’t fast enough.

“Oh shit,” Clara called.

The Shrill loomed, a mountain of flesh and eyes and screaming mouths. He flung his building-sized tentacles, smashing them on the ground, causing an earthquake with each crash. No buildings stood anywhere near him. He lived upon piles and piles of pulverized rock and concrete.

Between him and us was a wall of glazers. A last stand. Thousands of them, boiling directly at us, all with their spears pointed in a pike wall formation.

In the center of the formation stood a towering presence. It was a large man sitting atop a dark horse. At this distance, I couldn’t see the blazing name over the demon’s head, but I knew who this was. King Vinea.

“Over and under,” I cried.

Clara nodded, slinging her Uzi. She soared away, higher into the air. She was incredibly fast, sailing over the thrown spears and darts.

“Okay Banksy,” I said, pulling myself tightly against him like a jockey. “Let’s do it. Like we practiced.”

Banksy reared up, diving straight through the concrete. We burrowed.

The ground here had a distinctively different feel than the last ground we’d burrowed through. We traveled much longer than before, but I could feel the speed, Banksy moving just as quickly underground as he did on the surface. We emerged into a pile of rubble, rocks smashing me in the face the moment we were above ground. I felt my nose crack as I struggled to remain in the saddle.

But we were past the demons. We had done it. A wall of rubble separated us from the demons and their boss, the demon on the horse. They seemed to keep their distance from the kaiju. We’d beat the gauntlet. Notifications poured by. 

“Uh oh,” Banksy said. I looked up in time to see the monstrous tentacle crashing down toward us.

Chapter 36

The tentacle swerved at the last moment, crashing into the rubble a block east. A tidal wave of shrapnel blasted into my side. Banksy cried in pain. I went flying, ejected from the saddle. I crashed hard into the ground, spinning to a stop in a deep puddle. I immediately healed myself. I sprang to my feet and rushed back to Banksy, who had stopped dead, covered in white filth and red blood. He breathed heavily as the rain washed over him.

Banksy has low health.

“Father, I am in pain,” he said.

“Clara!” I cried, searching the sky.

Then I saw her, angling through the rain. Her wings glowed blue, and she streaked like a meteor toward us.

The Shrill swatted at her, and she dipped out of the way. She hit the ground between Banksy and me, bouncing twice. Her body smoldered as if she’d been pulled from a fire.

“That goddamned demon followed me into the sky. His horse galloped right up into the air. I cast my Holy Flare on him and downed a health potion. The lightning strike barely scratched him. He just kept coming, shooting fireballs at me.” She raised her hand, healing Banksy as we crouched behind a pile of rocks. She collapsed next to me. “I was only saved because the demon didn’t want to ride into tentacle range.”  

The shrill roared, and we covered our ears.

“Well this is just great,” Clara continued, peering over the rock. The rain was coming in sheets. “How are we going to get inside of him?”

Winky suddenly appeared, blinking into existence next to Clara’s head. The bat did not appear to enjoy flying in the rain.

“The glazers are cautiously moving forward,” Clara said. “It looks like they’re about to push an attack on the Shrill.”

“We need to go up there,” I said. “I think he aborted an attack on me when he saw I was a worm surgeon. He was about to swat Banksy and me into dust and pulled off at the last moment.”

“You sure he just didn’t miss? He was aiming right at me.”

No, I wasn’t sure. But I had a hunch. “I think we’ll be safe if you stick next to me,” I said.

“How about you test this theory by going up there yourself and…”

Clara cut off as the rain abruptly stopped pounding into us. We both looked up to see the tentacle hovering directly over our heads. This was a different limb than the giant appendages that ringed the lower half of the monstrosity. This was thinner, only about twice as thick as Banksy. Several blinking eyes of different shapes and colors dotted the bottom of the arm. A dripping, fanged mouth stopped directly over us as we stared stupidly up at the flesh. The mouth was wide enough to swallow me whole.

“Worm surgeon,” the mouth hissed. “Heal me. Come. Give me your succor.” The tentacle pulled away. The rain resumed its assault.

“Well that was unexpected,” Clara said.

“Come on,” I said. I jumped onto the back of Banksy. “Clara, don’t fly. Walk along next to me.”

“Okay,” she said. To her bat, she said, “Winky, go hunting. Go someplace dry. I will summon you when we’re free.” She reached out and patted its head. “I expect you to be level 11 by the time I get back.” The bat shrieked then popped away. 

We pulled up over the rocks. As we crested the small hill of rubble, a different sort of screech echoed. A wall of glazers pushed toward us, about 200 meters away. King Vinea was amongst them, holding back.

“We gotta hurry,” I said. We rushed toward the bulk of the Shrill, running between two tentacles that were each at least three stories tall. I caught sight of one of the thinner arms, and I realized it wasn’t a tentacle at all, but a tongue from one of the many mouths. The main tentacles did not have mouths or eyes, but the extra-long tongues, all almost as long as the much-bigger tentacles, were all covered with mouths, eyes, hooks, and random horns.

The original plan was for Banksy to burrow into the side of the monster, and I’d heal the wound behind us. But we didn’t have to worry. A double garage-sized maw gaped at our approach, saliva dripping in great globs. We rushed right into the mouth, as if it was the opening of a great cave.

Entering the Shrill – Mouth Number 422

Warning: The Shrill is in dire health!  

This is your associated guardian!

Your familiar has a new available regeneration location.

A new menu is available: Home Base.

Deep Dive activating! World Map is not available during a deep dive! Gross Anatomy map activating! Surgery menu activating! Frame Vision now available!

Performing scan…

The Gross Anatomy map that appeared in my vision was significantly more detailed than the normal version. I realized I was seeing a level four rendering of the map, the top level. It was probably something all players received when they were inside their own kaiju.

I gaped at the structure of the former demon.

I wasn’t any sort of expert on anatomy or zoology, but I knew the internal map of Bast had been distinctly lion-like, just on a much larger scale. And Moritasgus was equally badger-like in his innards.

The Shrill was a different story. He looked as if someone had just thrown a pile of random organs in a sack and sealed it shut. There were at least three hearts, ten kidneys, a single lung for about half the mouths and a stomach for the other half. The map of the guardian’s intestines looked more like a diagram of the Tokyo subway system. I spun the map in awe.

The kaiju didn’t appear to have bones at all. Just high-tension tendons and muscles. It wasn’t quite like the invertebrates I remembered from school, but the hydrostatic skeletons of creatures like octopuses were much closer than whatever this was.

Its perfectly round brain was smack in the middle of its bulk, with nerve bundles shooting off in every direction. The brain was huge, about the size of the old Epcot Center in Disneyworld, but small compared to the rest of the monster’s bulk. Dozens of thick nerve bundles were scattered around its body, and I wondered if they worked as secondary brains.  

Two quest markers appeared in the jumbled mess. It turns out I didn’t need that tracking spell in here after all. The first marker indicated the location of Bernadette, my long-lost aunt and the missing quantum mechanic. The second marker, located at the tip of one of the several mammoth tentacles, marked the location of the kaiju’s testicles, where I would be able to fertilize Lamashtu’s egg.

The scan finished, populating my map with areas that needed attention.

The Shrill was very sick. Dozens of crucial action items appeared. Eight of them were the same level-10 train parasites that plagued Bast. Almost the entirety of the kaiju’s massive intestinal system was infested with a level seven “ancylostomiasis” infection, which I suspected was a parasite similar to the heartworms.

My good aunt Bernadette appeared to be smack in the middle of that infection.

Multiple other parasitic infestations appeared on the skin. The map showed the outlines of the botfly-like invaders. The larvae resided in pustules and were each the size of baby elephants.

In addition to the parasites, multiple other, more mundane issues plagued the kaiju. There appeared to be several hernia-like muscle blooms that needed to be repaired. Numerous cancerous cells appeared throughout the body. Exterior boils needed to be lanced. Cataracts plagued the kaiju’s thousand eyes. I had to administer all six vaccines, but I couldn’t do half of them until he was healed of the pre-existing infection.

All told, the Shrill’s current strength was at 30% and his health was at a paltry 25%.

I needed to heal all of it. I needed to get my home base set up, and I needed to figure out how to control this damn thing. I didn’t know if I’d have to give up my access to Moritasgus in order to do so, but I hoped not.

My home base also appeared on the map, a small blip in the center of the chaos. Unlike the previous two kaiju, this one appeared to be located outside the intestinal tract. It was attached to a muscle underneath the center brain. Its location read Visit location to activate home base.

The world rumbled as the maw closed. Darkness enveloped us, and my Frame Vision activated. Clara clutched onto my arm.

“I added a skill that lets me see in the dark,” she said, “but it doesn’t work that great. I need to get a bionic upgrade if I want to level it more.”

“We need to get you one of those miner hats,” I said, looking about. This mouth didn’t have any tongue or teeth, but it was surrounded by small, saliva-creating glands. I was already up to my ankles in kaiju spit. So far, the Shrill didn’t smell nearly as bad as the previous two guardians had, but we hadn’t gone too far inside yet, either.

The ribbed floor of the mouth rumbled again. The Shrill hadn’t moved from his spot since we’d first found him, though we could feel the vibrations of the tentacles smashing at the invading army outside. We walked to the back of the mouth, which led to a horizontal, esophagus-like tube as wide as a sewer tunnel. We’d have to travel single file. It led to a small stomach, but I could see on my map that a thick, red artery ran alongside the tunnel, and I could access it at the lip of the stomach.

“Do you have the BloodBorne talent?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But Banksy doesn’t.”

“Shit,” I said, looking down at my worm. I could probably ride on his back and burrow my way toward any part of the body I wanted, but I imagined that wouldn’t be too healthy for the Shrill. Alternatively, Clara and I could travel on our own and have Banksy meet us.

“Banksy,” I said. “If we go ahead of you, do you think you’ll be able to track me down?”

“Of course,” Banksy said. “I can find you as long as you’re not too far away. During deep dive, I will always be able to home in on you.”

“Okay,” I said. “Clara and I are going to first try to figure out how to activate my home base. Meet us there and try not to get eaten. But if you do die, I can now pick this mouth here as your regeneration spot.”

I pulled up my familiar menu, and I switched Banksy’s respawn to mouth number 422. Each time we visited a new location within the guardian, it would get added to the list of possible regen locations for my pet. It was one of the special abilities of his particular species of worm. He didn’t need a brand to get a regen spot within my associated guardian as long as he’d visited it once before.

Clara and I both chose a BloodBorne drop-off location just outside the exterior of my home base, and away we went, me going first.

Entering Stem Region Three

Warning… Diagnosis is recommended.

The ride took a good twenty seconds to complete, about as twice as long as it had taken the last time. I vomited out of the cell onto a long, wide tendon, as hard as steel. The tendon was as wide as a city street, but it was curved, and I’d slip on the slick surface if I wasn’t careful. If the Shrill decided now was a good time to start moving around, I’d be screwed. The outline of the brain spread directly above me.

I noticed the monster just as I clicked Diagnosis.

Scanning…

Level 8 Toxocarasaurus

Warning: Your Antiparasitic talent is not adequate for this infection.

Recommended Treatment:

Antiparasitic followed by Detoxification and Cleanse. Vaccines recommended.

Warning: due to the strength of the infection you must be in direct contact with the nematode when you administer the antiparasitic.

A long, beaked worm curled around the tendon. It wasn’t quite as big as the train parasites, but it looked much more menacing. The thing had to be fifty feet long and had an enormous frill around its horned skull, making it look like a giant snake with the head of a triceratops. It was curled so thoroughly around the tendon, I thought at first it was a part of the long tube. I jumped back with a surprised yelp. The monster faced away from me, but I had stepped directly on the thin tip of its tail.

It howled at the intrusion and climbed into the air, rising like a monstrous cobra. It twisted to face me, the tip of its head brushing against the underside of the sac that protected the brain.

A glowing red tag blazed over its head.

Clara emerged out of the artery, coming to stand uncertainly behind me.

“That was pretty awesome,” she began. “It was like riding… Holy fuck!” We both jumped back as the head struck. The tendon bobbed. 

My gun had recharged, and I brought it to bear, firing directly into the thing’s screaming jaws. The pulse bounced right off its head. The reflected shot severed through a thin cable of a vein, and blood sprayed into the room.

“We need to cast an antiparasitic,” Clara cried, buzzing awkwardly into the air. The pulsating sac over the brain was a mere foot over her head. Just past the worm was the hexagonal outline of the home base. We needed to somehow get past the thing.

“Mine is only level five,” I cried. I pulled up the surgical talent menu. “Scratch that, level six.” I’d managed to go up a level. I’d been so overwhelmed with announcements when I entered the Shrill, I hadn’t even noticed.

I used my grappling hook to grasp a hanging vein, and I swung myself off the tendon just as the lumbering worm snapped again. I dropped down, landing further back on the tendon while the dino-worm followed Clara’s clunky movements through the air. The tendon curved upward toward the opposite end of the brain like a suspension bridge cable. Beyond that was a wall of muscle.

“We’ll do it together,” Clara called. “I’m level five. Maybe if we cast at the same time, it’ll be enough.”

The spraying blood stopped to a trickle as the cells clogged the hole. Every visible surface dripped with blood.

“Okay,” I yelled back. I shot out my grappling hook, ready to swing forward like Tarzan. “On three, we grab the tail and cast. Ready? One, two…”

“Wait,” she yelled, dodging a bite. “One, two, three, go or one, two, and go on three?”

“The first one!” I yelled back. “Christ, it’s always the first one. One, two, three, now!”

I leaped forward, swinging. I landed on the tendon, and my feet went flying under me, slipping on the blood. In a panic, I grasped directly onto the spongy length of the tail with my right hand. I dangled in mid-air. My surgery menu popped up, and I clicked Antiparasitic just as Clara landed on the worm.

Half my soul power seeped out of me. The monster glowed, screaming in rage. On my map, a circle pulsed, a couple hundred feet in diameter and centered on our position. Literally thousands of red dots suddenly appeared on the map.

The monster unfurled off the tendon and fell with me still clutching onto its tail. I shot my left hand and grasped onto the white meat of a tendon covering a muscle. I retracted, and I rose as the worm fell. It didn’t go far, falling a good twenty feet to land on some unknown organ thing that pulsated below us. The whole worm flashed red. We’d hurt it. But we certainly hadn’t killed it.

I lowered myself back onto the main tendon, more gently this time. I fired my gun once more, aiming at the monster’s mouth. It still did nothing. The parasite screamed up at us and started to rise again.

At the same time, all the blinking red dots on the map converged on our location. Parasites ranging in size from a foot long to bigger than this dinosaur thing started coming out of every direction toward us.

They all blinked red. The smaller ones began to curl up and die as they approached. I felt the blips of their soul power as they died. But many of the others just looked pissed off.

“Screw this,” I said. I pointed at the hexagonal polyp. “To the base,” I cried out.

I didn’t have to ask Clara twice. Swarms of monsters would be on us in seconds. Most were worm-shaped. But not all of them. Some were spider-like. A few were distinctively human-shaped as well, but with exaggerated features, like a realistically rendered version of a child’s drawing.

Clara flew to the bottom of the hexagon. A round portal door appeared, similar to the one within Moritasgus’s lungs. She struggled to turn it. “It won’t let me open it,” she cried. “It says I don’t have permission.”

“It has to be me,” I called. I could barely reach the portal from the tendon without having to use my grappling hook. I grasped and twisted. The door opened outward. I pulled myself up as all the creatures closed in.

Entering The Shrill – Player Base

Activating… Base has been claimed by Player Duke. This area now has restricted access. 

You own this player base.

Additional text appeared, explaining how bases work. I dismissed it, reaching down to grab Clara’s hand.

“No, no, no,” she cried. “Duke, they’re on me. They’re burrowing into me. Pull me up. Pull me up.”

I tried to pull her in, but I was physically stopped.

Other players may not access this area. You may edit the parameters in the permissions tab of the Home Base menu.

“Shit,” I cried. “I have to…”

I fell backward, still clutching the severed half of Clara’s arm.

Chapter 37

Worms and bugs and monsters surged, reaching forward through the open portal. They weren’t blocked by any sort of permissions. I took the butt of my rifle and smashed the head of a round, fleshy thing covered in long hairs. It squealed and fell back. I took that moment to grasp the round portal with my left grabber and pull it shut using all of my strength. An earthworm-like creature managed to pull itself halfway into the room, and I severed it in half as I slammed and spun the door.

The wriggling half parasite leaped at me, attaching itself to the flesh of my hip in the space between my breastplate and my pants. It was about three feet long and six inches thick. It whipped back and forth as it started scrabbling into me. I screamed.

I still had Clara’s amplification knife, and I pulled it, plunging it into the worm. It didn’t faze the monster. I cut the worm in half again. The bottom half plunged to the floor and started whipping about. I stomped on it with my foot and pulled the rest out of me with my left hand. I screamed anew as red meat pulled out of the wound, still attached to the worm’s ravening mouth. The worm thrashed in a frenzy. I squeezed. The remaining quarter of worm in my hand continued to thrash. I threw it to the ground and stomped it with my other foot.

My side roared with pain as I took the amplification knife and cut lengthwise on both remaining pieces of worm, slashing and chopping, trying to kill the damn thing. Both halves continued to fight. I now had several worm pieces thrashing about on the floor.

“Holy crap,” I said. “Die already.” I took a moment to heal myself.

Piece by piece, I picked up the remaining worm bits and crushed them under my claw. Finally, I felt the soul power seep into me.

I fell onto my back and stared up at the flesh ceiling of the large room. It was completely barren with no furnishings except a small sign hanging halfway up the curved wall.

It read Home Sweet Home.

The sign had a crooked nail sticking from the frame, and hanging from the nail was a branding iron. I didn’t need to examine it to know it was a branding iron for my home base.

I laughed.

I laughed, and then I started to sob. It came unexpectedly. I allowed it to overwhelm me before I sat up and wiped my face. I had so much to do.

Before I delved into the mountains of notifications, I pieced together what had happened with the mass parasite attack.

When you cast your antiparasitic talent, it has an area effect. Probably bigger and more powerful with each level. I suspected once it hit level 10, it would cover an entire guardian. All parasites—and this game’s definition of parasite was anything living within the guardian that lived off of its flesh—were poisoned. Depending on the level of the talent and the power of the parasite, they either died or just got really angry. And the angry ones immediately burrowed, dug, chewed, and whatever else they could do toward you as quickly as they could in a rage.

Clara and I had killed thousands of parasites in a large area of effect around us. But the remainders had exacted their revenge. Clara was now regenerating all the way back in Charnel, alone and probably pissed off.

We’d talked about this possibility earlier. She was going to head off toward the south forest on her own to collect a second and third familiar. I could only have one, but she could have three. The village of the fae was gone, destroyed in the original invasion. But she was going to attempt to enter and tame the panther-like Avvinik, her associated kaiju. We would meet back up at Charnel on the next ten, which would be in ten days, or 130 feedings left. That’s how we marked the passage of time. If we missed it, the first one to get there would leave a note saying they were okay, and we’d keep coming back every ten.

The hordes outside couldn’t get into here as long as the door was closed. And looking at the map, it appeared as if they were dispersing back toward wherever they normally lived. The Shrill’s health had taken a small hit, going down to 21% for a while, but it’d just ticked back up to 22%. His strength had climbed to 35% from 30%. If I could figure out how to control the damn thing, that would magically jump another 20%.

I pulled up the controls for the player base. Like the cockpit, I had multiple skins I could choose from. There were three different ones under the worm surgeon tab. One was some sort of dripping sex dungeon. There was a cave filled with weird, angular furniture, and there was the default skin with worm surgeon-sized chairs.

I chose the default skin, and I was surprised to see the room switched to a design remarkably similar to Anatoly’s base and his Seattle apartment. The couch, chair, fireplace, the kitchen, bedroom, the brick wall. That goddamned brick wall. It was all there, just jumbled up a little differently. The artwork was even the same. All except that Manet painting.

This couldn’t be what the default was in the original game. It was just something Anatoly had added. Either way, it was disconcerting as hell. Clara and I had spent weeks in this place, and I didn’t want to look at it ever again. So I scrolled through all the choices. I finally settled on a physicker skin. A white, plain room filled with simple furniture and a fireplace.

I could purchase upgrades using my teeth in the menu. I wanted to buy a food box for Clara, but they were way too expensive. I only had a bit more than 3,000 teeth, and the boxes were going for over 500,000 teeth. Most I could afford were some simple decorations, and I didn’t want to waste the money. 

In the settings menu I could restrict access to just myself, myself and others who are traveling with me, branded individuals, or branded individuals and those traveling with them, or I could open it up to free access. I set it to myself and party members, along with those with brand access. I could also grant my pet free entrance, which I did. I restricted the edit functions for myself.

I could also route a vein straight through the base, allowing me to travel directly here from other parts of the guardian. Anatoly did not have this option turned on. I did. I placed the vein up against the wall opposite the bedroom. That way I wouldn’t have to go through that front door again unless I wanted to.

Sometime in the past several hours I had managed to level up to 20. I tossed my attribute point into durability. With the boost from that disgusting milk, my stats were now:

Strength: 21

Acumen: 15 (+2 from armor)

Durability: 20

Deftness: 13 (+1 from kneepads)

Charm: 9

I had 15 skill points hoarded, but I had been saving five of them for a spell I’d gained access to when I hit level 20. I spent the five on the Heal Familiar spell. Now I didn’t have to rely on Clara to heal Banksy.

I spent some time reading the notifications I’d received when I first stepped into the Shrill. They were mostly about my Gross Anatomy map upgrade, which I’d have received whether I had the skill or not. But it only worked in my own associated kaiju. It went on to explain how the purple, critical action waypoints worked. I could adjust the sensitivity, which is why I hadn’t known I was about to transport myself directly into the lap of a giant worm when I’d come here in the first place. That giant, pissed-off worm that lived right outside my front door was only of “intermediate” concern.

I could also see Banksy’s location. I turned on the tracker. He was a couple hundred meters below me, working his way upward by following the exterior of an intestinal tube. He moved slowly, and the way my experience was ticking up, I knew he was having a good time chomping on things. Hopefully he stayed away from anything too big. I was worried about how he’d deal with the dino worm. But at this rate, it’d take another hour or so for him to get to that point.

The cockpit for the Shrill was attached to the side of the base and could be accessed via a sliding closet door. But when I tried to open the door, it wouldn’t let me in. I needed to find the controller.

I mapped out my next moves. Now that I’d cranked up the Gross Anatomy map all the way, I had dozens of locations where I could easily heal the guardian and gain some much-needed experience. So far my leveling process had been slow due to the lack of level-appropriate prey. I was either forced to grind my way upwards using low-level animals or get large chunks of experience through luck and boss events.

My priority was to get to Bernadette, but I needed another level of Antiparasitic before it would be feasible. I had no idea when it would level up again. The surgical talents leveled on their own upon player level-up, but they didn’t happen at predictable intervals. I’d leveled to Antiparasitic level 6 when I hit player level 20, so I probably wouldn’t hit Antiparasitic 7 until at least level 23 or 24. But I didn’t know for sure. Also, I didn’t know if Clara’s simultaneous cast with me had any effect at all. Or what would happen if I cast two times in quick succession. I would have to experiment.

After I rescued Bernadette, I would try to figure out how to get access to the guardian cockpit, and after that I would fertilize the donkey egg, figure out how to get it to the queen, get that rift key, return to Charnel, meet up with Clara, and get myself into Medina. We’d spend the next couple weeks power leveling, and when we were ready, we’d come back out here and try to break ourselves into hell, kill Baal or whatever it is you have to do down there, and win the game. Clara and I would wake up in some warehouse somewhere, we’d escape, and I would go home. Simple.

I sighed.

Outside, the Shrill calmed. It appeared the fight with King Vinea and his little red assholes was over. The floor bucked as the shape of the beast altered. I watched my map in fascination as the potato shape of the kaiju flattened out to that of an over-easy egg, low to the ground except for the center. The tentacles circled the outside of the egg, and the round brain comprised the yolk portion of the egg shape. The guardian encompassed a much bigger area in this form, but its height was lower than some of the taller buildings of Neo-Austin.

The kaiju could move in this form, and it slurped its way east toward the edge of the map, deeper into its own territory. It slipped between buildings instead of toppling them. This form explained why I hadn’t seen the monster until this point. It probably only reared up when it was being attacked.

Father. I am nearby, but the doorway to your base is too small for me to enter. It is also being guarded by a very angry worm I do not think I can fight. I know you can’t respond, so I will remain in the cavern I now reside until you come and find me. I like this place. It is large, safe and it gives me room to grow.

“Crap,” I muttered, eying the door. I should have realized.

I examined my familiar’s properties. He was now level 22. Just three more levels before he’d evolve again. He appeared to be in a cavernous sinus cavity that encompassed an area a couple dozen meters below and aft of the brain. On the map the chamber was indicated as Frontal Sinus Chamber 3. I pulled open the familiar menu and reset Banksy’s regeneration spot to there. I hoped the chamber didn’t periodically fill with kaiju snot or anything.

I realized with a start that the sinus area in which Banksy resided was within a vast bone structure I hadn’t noticed before. It spread underneath the brain, shaped like a colossal whale jaw. It was the only bone item in the entire guardian. Weird. This whole kaiju really was like a monster made out of pieces of other monsters.

I grasped onto the travel vein to see if I had the option to fast travel to the cavern. I didn’t, but I could to a place just outside of it. This time I thoroughly examined the map to see if I was stepping into another monster lair. I wasn’t. I shuffled my way off.

The trip took less than two seconds. 

The ground heaved as the Shrill lumbered through the city. The movement wasn’t nearly as jarring as the badger or the lion. I spied the large, circular entrance to Banksy’s lair high above. I shot my hand and pulled myself in.

A glowing, green moss filled the cavern. Small mushrooms grew from the floor and curved up the walls. Banksy lay on the moss, writhing back and forth like a dog frolicking on his back.

“Wow,” I said, looking about. I wondered if I could move my base to in here. My voice echoed. “This place is amazing!”

“Father!” Banksy leaped up, as if embarrassed and surprised. He’d grown a couple feet in length, and the hooked nubs along his lower half had gotten longer. The twin fangs that gave him his underbite appearance had grown to twice as long. Half of his body was still splattered with blood. He’d been busy.

“Where’s Clara?” he asked, looking about.

“She got eaten,” I said. “She’s back in Charnel. We will meet back up with her when we’re out of here.”

Banksy hung his head for a few moments. He seemed to sigh. “Okay,” he said.

We sat in silence for several moments.

I sat in the moss, then I lay on my back, looking up at the green glow. This place was like an oasis. I knew to have moss and mushrooms growing inside of you was probably not the best sign of health, but at the moment I was thankful for it.  

“I used to take Ruth to a park where the ground was like this, more moss than grass. We’d go at night and look up at the stars,” I said. “Sometimes she’d bring her telescope. She used to say she wanted to be a scientist when she grew up.”

“I would like to look at stars sometime,” Banksy said.

“I’d take you if I could,” I said. “You might scare the folks out in the real world, though.”

“Is Ruth your child?” Banksy asked.

“Yes. She’s all grown up now.”

“If she is your child, that means she’s my sister,” Banksy said. “Did she become a scientist?”

“No. No she didn’t. But she’s going to get a job and go back to school. Beauty school, not science. But you never know what might happen in the future. I would give anything to go back to that time and place.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time I had seen her. It was a few days after I’d been kidnapped, and I watched through the viewscreen as she lit up a crack pipe. I felt a fresh wave of anger at Anatoly and all the others responsible for me being here.

It’s just as much your fault, though, isn’t it? 

“Clara has a daughter, too. One other than Winky,” Banksy said.

“What?” I asked. “How do you know?”

“She told me,” said Banksy. “She had a son, too. But he died.”

“Did she tell you anything else?”

“Only that she had the girl after she came here.”

Holy shit. “Did she say how that happened?”

“No, only that she’d made a mistake and that she’s going to protect her girl no matter what it takes.”

Jenk seemed to be the one who had her baby. Did that mean he was the father? Or was she pregnant when she came in? If she’d given birth after she’d been tossed in here, and Jenk had the baby… what did that mean?

I suddenly regretted not telling Clara about Jenk. I resolved to correct that the next time I saw her. It really was crazy when you thought about it. Here we were, trapped. All Clara and I had were each other. Yet we hardly knew each other. I didn’t even know what her real name was. How old she was. What her job was in the real world. Nothing.

“Father,” Banksy said a minute later. “What do you want me to do with these?” He vomited a pile of hag heads onto the moss.

I laughed, happy for the change of subject. I’d forgotten about them. I picked one up, staring at the slimy, obsidian-colored heads with the giant eyes and hook noses. Dead like this, their odd cloaking ability was not active. I examined the pile. About half of them indicated I could upcycle their scalp.

“See this black, stringy hair?” I said, holding the head up so Banksy could examine it. I made a circle around the scalp area. “It doesn’t look too different than what I have, other than the dark stripe down the middle of their foreheads.”

“Their heads are a lot bigger. Their hair is grosser than yours,” Banksy said. “There are bugs.”

“Their hair is enchanted,” I said. “It creates a magic cloak about them that makes them almost invisible in the dark. They can turn it on and off. It’s a skill, not a spell, so that means I can always wear it, and I can’t lose it unless someone cuts it off my head. Plus it gives me +2 to my acumen skill.”

Banksy looked at me dubiously. The upcycle had a 70% chance of getting rejected, but Banksy had collected eight heads with compatible scalps. I was no mathematician, but I knew my chances were good that at least one of them would work. My hairline would fall back. I’d end up looking like I had a skullet. But I wouldn’t lose anything else if it didn’t work. Except for my scalp.

Chapter 38

Feedings Left: 112

I cast my Detoxify talent on the small, car-sized gland followed by Reroute for the second time, allowing the blood to flow back into the area. That had been my mistake the last time. The gland glowed. A clear liquid began to swell into the sac. I sighed with relief. An hour of surgery, and it looks like it finally worked this time. I cast Cleanse to prevent infection and to keep the pigs from gnawing on it. 

Behind me, the sounds of battle raged on. I siphoned off the soul energy. Dozens of the pig spiders swarmed, trying to get back to their eggs, which had been planted just underneath the gland. The pig spiders ranged from hamster-sized to, well, pig-sized. One on one, they were more a biting nuisance than anything. But they swarmed and the big ones had fangs, and they got especially cranky when you threatened their eggs. 

I’d already smashed all the eggs. Banksy held them off while I worked. I pulled my cloak tightly around my shoulders. They hadn’t noticed me yet. If they did, they’d surge past him and descend on me.

I’d been damn lucky with the scalp upcycle. Of the eight available scalps, only the very last one worked. When an item was rejected, it brought you to near death. I’d had to send Banksy out multiple times to kill something in order to get enough soul power to heal myself.

I stepped back and examined my work.

Parathyroid Gland has been repaired!

Experienced earned!

Scanning…

Warning: The Shrill remains unhealthy!

Warning: The Shrill’s total strength reduction due to infections, injuries, and parasites: 38.5%

Recommended treatment:

Seek out areas of needed healing for specific treatment plans. Vaccines recommended.

With this gland repaired, I’d be able to administer the fourth of the six vaccines. I had to do it right here, and I didn’t waste time. I pulled out the soda bottle-like vaccine cannister.

I turned off my magical cloak. One of the side effects of wearing the thing was that my voice came out raspy, and three weeks later, it still freaked my pet out. “Okay Banksy,” I called. “I’m gonna do it!”

Banksy didn’t quite need healing yet, but I was topped up, so I cast Heal Familiar. My pet glowed.

One of the larger pig spiders hissed at me, having finally noticed me standing there. I yanked the cloak skill back over my body. It melded to my head and the darkness swirled about me. But it was too late. They scrambled up and around Banksy, boiling at me. They were going to be extra pissed when they found their eggs all smashed.

Every time I administered one of these vaccines, something different happened. I’d had to go to the exterior to administer the first two, traveling to one of several nasal passages and climbing out onto the greasy flesh. The first vaccine was to stop some disease the Shrill didn’t have, so nothing happened. For the second, I’d had to kill all the “fleas” crawling about his exterior, which had required a solid week of constant hunting. There weren’t many, and they hardly gave any experience, and they were hard to find. I’d attempted to ask the Shrill directly if he could tell me where the fleas were. The exterior was covered in eyes and mouths. But other than that first time, he didn’t appear to acknowledge my presence at all. I couldn’t get him to say anything to me. This hunt-the-fleas quest was something I’d probably have had to do early in the game before deep dive became available. When I finally injected the vaccine, the flea corpses all rose from the dead and attacked. And just went I thought I had them beat, the elephant-sized botfly pustules all erupted, vomiting out dying and angry, half-completed monsters. Banksy had died protecting my escape. He could regenerate within the Shrill, but I couldn’t yet. I had the brand, but I needed to find a flesh modder before I could add it. He’d died a least a dozen times protecting me, which was seriously hindering his level progression.

My progress was also maddeningly slow. I was now level 23, on the edge of 24. Banksy was level 24, also on the precipice of leveling up. I prayed he didn’t die now because it was becoming a real slog. The pig spiders weren’t hard to kill, but they swarmed and had already killed him once.

I came to realize that every time I happened upon a new type of injury or area that needed healing, in the normal version of the game there was a cutscene that went into detail on how to perform the surgery. Thanks to Anatoly, I didn’t have that. I recognized the moments where the cutscene was triggered and then skipped. The world flickered, like a blip on the screen.

I’d seen it a few times before. The first I noticed it was when I started the amplification ceremony. Then when I gained the controller for Moritasgus. Then again when the cellar hag told us about Baal for the first time. Now it happened every time I came across an injury type I’d never seen. I had to stumble through each new type of healing. Repairing this gland had taken almost a week to figure out the proper sequence. I had a scratchpad in my menu, and I’d filled pages and pages with the formulas and sequences until I finally came to this one.

The previous vaccine had caused stomach acid to start spraying everywhere, and I’d had to waste one of my healing potions after my face almost melted off. I’d been forced to put every attribute point into durability. It was now my highest stat at 23. I wished I had one of those familiars with the “vaccine administration” ability. I had no idea what this particular gland did. I cringed as I popped the top off the bottle, and the needle appeared. I injected it directly into the now-healed gland.

Vaccination Success!

Experience Earned!

You have gained a level!

You are now level 24!

Warning: the Shrill is experiencing a vaccine-induced Karen seizure! It will last for five minutes.

“Oh fuck,” I cried as up suddenly turned sideways. A wall of screaming, attacking pigs with spider legs rained in my direction.

“Banksy! Back to your cave!” I cried. I leaped at the vein, clutching on with my grappling hook. The Shrill screamed with all his mouths, rolling yet again. I dangled off the vein as the falling pig spiders crashed off the wall and then angled toward me again, their fangs gnashing. I selected my home base on the BloodBorne menu. I would ride out the seizure there. It took a maddingly-long time for the cells to coagulate.

“Duke, something is happening!”

Duke? That was the first time Banksy had called me something other than some sort of iteration of father or dad. Banksy had wrapped himself around a tendon to keep from falling. His body glowed.

Banksy, Hook Slayer is now level 25.

“Oof.” A flying pig spider barreled into me. Its legs scrabbled for purchase. I cried out in pain as it tore a deep gash along my leg, ripping open my pants. I cast Scalpel with my right hand and stuck it in its red, compound eye. It spun away, squealing. 

Your Hook Slayer is evolving!

You must choose between the following:

Lambton Wyrm

Arrackisian Slayer

The Gurt

Warning: Your choice is final.

Warning: You have 60 seconds to make a decision! If you do not choose, a random selection will be made.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Now?” I hadn’t expected the vaccine to give us enough experience.

More pig spiders fell at me like rain. These were mostly the smaller ones. I punted one. The vein opened, and I pulled myself inside.

The ride back to my base took three very bumpy seconds. I spurted out onto the white floor of the much-calmer room. I spun to a stop, streaking red blood across the white tiles.

The level-up notification remained persistent on my screen. I had to hurry. I quickly clicked on the first choice, “Lambton Wyrm,” to read the description.

Descriptions are not available for this evolution until a choice is made! You have forty seconds left to make a choice!

The timer continued counting down, appearing directly below the already-descending “Karen seizure” timer.

Son of a bitch! A couple of days ago Banksy had noted I was swearing a lot more than I used to. I didn’t disagree.

Which choice to make? I looked at the clues. The first one was “Lambton Wyrm” with wyrm spelled with a y instead of an o. That implied a dragon of some sort. The second was “Arrackisian Slayer.” That was most similar to hook slayer. “Arrackisian” sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Especially not now with the timer descending and my leg gushing blood. The third was “The Gurt.” That was an odd name. There were no real clues there other than the “The” part of the name. That implied there was only one. Like there was only one The Shrill. It sounded like a joke. I wouldn’t pick that one.

I was leaning toward the first choice. If it was a dragon, maybe he’d gain the ability to fly. Or at the very least, he’d breathe fire. That’d be pretty cool, too. Then I remembered where I’d heard Arrackisian. It had an extra C, possibly in an ill-attempt to avoid some sort of trademark infringement. Arrakis was the planet from the book Dune. And that implied a Dune-style sandworm. Then again, it might mean “arachnid.” As in a spider. Shit. I didn’t want that. But a giant sandworm? That would be amazing.

That’s when the baby pig spider latched onto the back of my neck and started shaking back and forth in an attempt to decapitate me.

“Not again,” I growled, spinning over and grasping at the little monster. It must have hitched a ride in the BloodBorne cell. That wasn’t the first, or second, time a parasite had wriggled its way into my home. The first was the impossible worm when Clara had died. (I called them impossible worms because they were almost impossible to kill. According to my map they had some long scientific name I couldn’t remember. We avoided those things the best we could.) The second time was when I’d infested my apartment with gore lice, tiny, acid-spraying monsters the size of beetles. It’d taken three days to get them all out. I had wrongly assumed that jumping into a blood portal would get rid of them for me.

A second spider pig latched onto my leg, biting into the already-bleeding slash from earlier.

I pulled the amplification knife and skewered the one on my leg. It squealed and rolled off, its legs curling in on itself. I felt the rush of soul power. The one on my neck was smaller and was doing a poor job of ripping my head off. I grasped with my left pincer and squeezed, popping it like a pimple. I spent a moment sweeping at my clothes, making sure I’d gotten them all.

Okay, now to choose… Fuck!

Time Expired! Rolling for a choice… 1,2,3,1,2,3…

I watched in horror as the numbers spun across my screen, slowing to a stop on number three. 

You have chosen The Gurt.

Duke. My cave…

The world shook.

Your healing efforts have failed. The Shrill has succumbed to his wounds. Regeneration in twenty minutes. 

I fell to my knees as the soul power overwhelmed me.

Chapter 39

Warning! Your familiar’s current regeneration spot is no longer available. A new one must be chosen. Please review your available familiar regeneration options: 

Current regeneration spot: Frontal Sinus Chamber 3 of Guardian the Shrill. (No longer available)

The digestive tract of Player Duke. (Not recommended)

Mirror your own regeneration: Village of Charnel (Not recommended)

Choose a branded location.

Choose a regeneration spot using the map. (recommended)

Like with the death of Bast, it took several minutes for the soul power to finish pouring into me. The power bar turned yellow, meaning my soul power was temporarily unlimited.

I expected to be ejected from the kaiju like I had with Moritasgus, but nothing happened. I guessed that only occurred if it died while you were in direct control. I knew we’d move to the Shrill’s regen spot, but it was only a couple miles or so from where we were if the guardian had been following his normal daily schedule.

The Shrill would regenerate in 20 minutes, and he’d be in just about the same condition he was before Banksy had blown a hole in the side of him. Killing guardians was no big deal as long as they were near their regen spots. I was pretty sure you couldn’t change their spots, though, so it would be a big deal—a very, very big deal—during the end game scenario. But that wasn’t something I needed to worry about just yet.

I saw exactly what happened on my Gross Anatomy map before it turned itself off with the guardian’s death. The moment Banksy had upgraded to “The Gurt,” he’d grown exponentially. He’d literally shot out of the side of the Shrill as if he was a cannonball.

I only saw Banksy’s outline on the map for a quick second. It was difficult to tell his new exact size, but if I had to guess, I’d hazard he was just about half the length of Bast, though not nearly as high. So about 500 feet long and about 25 feet tall.  

I shuddered, remembering when he was the size of my fingernail. I clicked on my familiar menu and examined his new properties.

Banksy the Gurt. Level 25 Minor Guardian. Young Adult Stage. 

This is a unique familiar.

Chosen by the celestials, the Gurt is the final, most powerful, and ultimate form of the gut hook evolution path. The Gurt will become more formidable with each level-up, culminating at the top possible level of 50, where he will cease to be your familiar and will become your associated guardian. The Gurt retains most of his previous abilities and will learn new special attacks at levels 30, 35, and 40. He ceases his sustenance requirements and receives his immortality at level 50. In addition, upon reaching level 50 he will no longer be permitted to approach large population centers such as Medina, Necroshire, and Little Cibola.

For one time only, the Gurt may freely choose an external location as his regeneration spot.

Note: minor guardians may not use deep dive locations as their regeneration spots, even if they are branded. Once the minor guardian hits level 50, his currently selected regeneration spot will become his permanent revival location.

“Holy crap,” I muttered. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that.

I pulled open the regeneration menu. I chuckled at the “digestive tract of player Duke” option. I clicked on Select Exterior Regeneration Spot, and a not-very-detailed map of the realm popped up. Twenty-two small circles populated the chart. These were the existing guardian regeneration spots, and Banksy’s new spot couldn’t overlap. They were not labeled, but I could tell my earlier guess about the location of some of the other guardians such as the Opera and the guardian of the sundered was likely correct.

There were multiple, small islands floating to the side of the diagram. These were hidden locations. The map gave no indication of where they actually were. Just their shape.

At the very south end of the map was a twisting map bisected by a river that ended at a large, castle-like structure that rivaled the size of Medina. I suspected that was the world of hell.

Damn, I wish this game had a screenshot option.

It wouldn’t let me choose any of the hidden locations as Banksy’s regeneration spot. I thought about it a moment. I was tempted to choose the plains outside of Charnel, but I changed my mind. Instead, I picked a location much closer to the rift. A clear spot to the east of the crack in the world, on the outskirts of the town of Little Cibola. It was smack between two other regeneration spots. One was likely the sundered’s invisible kaiju and the other was the swamps just north of there, home to Colo Colo, the slug kaiju of the shade gremlins. 

The game asked me if I was sure, and I clicked Yes. I then had to go back into the menu and manually select this new spot. I wanted to be sure I’d read the description properly, so I changed his spot to see if I still could. To my relief, it allowed me to choose the city of Charnel—with a warning. It would devastate the town. It still let me do it. That was good to know. I could still move his respawn around until he hit level 50, but I had to be careful. Whatever was selected when he leveled up that last time would become his permanent spot. I moved his respawn back to the field outside of Little Cibola.

As if on cue, Banksy spoke in my mind.

Duke, I have outgrown my cave. This saddens me, but I am thankful for the story you told me of your daughter and of you gazing upon the stars. That is the vision I will have when I think back on that warm, cozy refuge. I am going to ground, hunting the great burrowers that live below this world. They beckon me. While you can not talk to me, you now have the ability to summon me to your location. Call, and I will come. I can not teleport like Winky can, but I will come as quickly as possible.

I sat there for a long moment after his message, wishing I had the ability to talk back to him. Jesus, he’s all grown up. I felt oddly empty. Alone.

With Banksy away, a major conduit of soul power was also gone. I would have to be more proactive about killing things. I was slowly working my way through the Shrill, killing everything I could. Soon all that would be left would be parasites I couldn’t handle. And when that happened, I would be in trouble.

I finally remembered I’d gone up a level, too. I tossed my point into strength. I took a look at my surgery talents. Finally. Several of my healing abilities had leveled, including antiparasitic, which was now level 7. I could finally make a move into the small intestine and attempt to rescue Bernadette. My earlier experiments with the Antiparasitic talent had been less than successful. I could cast a level 6 spell at a level 7 parasite a hundred times in a row, and it wouldn’t kill it. It would make it weak, though. But two castings didn’t stack.

The dino worm right outside my door was level 8. His official name was a “toxocarasaurus.” I called him Yoshi. Banksy and I had attempted several combinations of healing and attacks to try to kill him, but all we could manage to do was get him really, really mad. He’d bitten Banksy right in half once.

The worms that lived within the intestine were level 7. According to my diagnosis, they were responsible for 20% of the Shrill’s strength reduction. The intestinal system was built like a giant knot, with Bernadette in the middle. I couldn’t cut my way straight in without having to cut through several layers of the worms and causing all sorts of unnecessary damage to the Shrill. It was designed so I’d have to enter at either end and power my way through, casting as I went. Looking at my area of effect, I’d have to cast at least three, possibly four times before I covered the entire center. And I knew from experience I was going to stir up a whole lot of trouble before I got there.

Even with my skill high enough, going into a tube with no escape veins and casting a spell that attracted every nearby monster was pure suicide. I could cast Invulnerable for almost 19 seconds. That wasn’t enough. Even if the antiparasitic managed to kill everything, it took as long as ninety seconds to finally work.

Damnit. I could really use Banksy for this. Or even Clara.

I had 22 skill points hoarded up. I looked over some of my newly available skills and spells to see if any of them would be helpful. Nothing jumped out at me. I needed to keep at least seven points available to level my Teleport up to level 3 so I could complete the Charnel quest. I really wanted to level my Teleport up to level 4, which cost an additional ten points. If I could manage that, I’d be able to zap around the map almost at will. If I wanted to keep that option open, it meant I could only spend up to eight skill points. I needed to be level 25 for that final Teleport upgrade, and I received three on level-up.

My eyes caught a spell I’d had access to for a while. Miniaturize. It cost three skill points for the first level and three for level two. Upon level two I’d be able to temporarily shrink myself and all my gear to 1/10th my normal size for two seconds of every level of my acumen skill. So 34 seconds.

It’d seemed pointless. Clara had found a ring that allowed her to do the same thing, but she’d hadn’t found much use for it yet. But thinking about it, I realized how I could combine it with my BloodBorne talent to great effect.

While the destinations of BloodBorne were limited, I could use any artery or vein to jump onto the great highway as long as the blood vessel was at least twice my width. That was no problem outside of most of the organs, but when I went into the deeper places, most of the blood vessels were the thinner arterioles and even smaller capillaries. These smaller arteries were everywhere, even along the interior intestinal walls. If I could manage to make myself small enough, I could shrink and use one of these smaller blood vessels to escape once I cast my antiparasitic.

It was a chickenshit way to do, but I didn’t care about that. I needed to cast, retreat while the parasites were in their death throes, and then advance once they were all dead.

The only problem with this was that all three of the required castings: Antiparasitic, Miniaturize, and BloodBorne all took up a lot of soul power. And BloodBorne was inconsistent in how long it would take to open up and let me in. So I’d have to hold them back long enough to kill a few of them to regain my soul power. And if the Miniaturize spell wore off before I could exit the cell pod… I shuddered at the thought.

I sighed. I used six points to buy the first two levels of Miniaturize. This was taking much too long already. I was several weeks late meeting up with Clara. I had to get this done now.

Chapter 40

As I prepared to cut my way into a seemingly unused and empty gland that connected one of two pancreases and the duodenum of the small intestine, I received a surprise.

Level Up!

You are now Level 25.

I threw the point into durability as I tried to figure out why I’d leveled. It was Banksy. Far below the world, hunting and eating other behemoths of the rocky depths. He had leveled himself up to 26 the night before. But I hadn’t realized that he’d been passing so much experience to me, more so than usual. It was likely an upgrade, part of his transformation to the Gurt. I felt a sense of pride for my pet.

I’d already cast my first round of antiparasitic. I brought myself a bit lower than here to maximize the area of effect. I did it while I was on the outside of the intestinal wall, and I cast, quickly fleeing through a normal-sized artery back to my base.

It had killed plenty of the ancylostoma worms, which I still hadn’t actually seen. But doing it while on the outside of the intestine was a mistake. They’d attempted to burrow toward me whilst dying, and I spent the next several hours casting Patch to fix the intestinal wall. Then I had to travel back toward the higher glandular areas to kill some pig spiders to gain my soul points back. I decided to keep the pig spiders alive and would avoid killing them the best I could. They only lowered the Shrill’s strength by less than a quarter of a percent but were a good, easy source of soul power. Not so much in experience. As long as I cut away any infestations that cropped up near the parathyroid gland, it would work out okay.

According to my diagnosis spell, the intestinal worms would regenerate in 24 hours from the moment I killed the first ones unless I eradicated the entire infestation. And I’d already wasted a good five hours repairing the damage done from the first casting.

I squeezed into the tight tube that connected the gland to the small intestine. The Shrill just entered his calm phase for the day. He spent about two hours a day in his potato shape, beating back an advance from King Vinea and his glazers. After, he pulled deeper into Neo-Austin, forming into his egg shape. After several hours of that, he resumed the tall, potato shape and remained still for almost ten hours. That’s where we were now. The shape of the intestines during this time offered the most bang for my Antiparasitic buck.

I dropped to the ribbed floor of the intestine. The hallway was smaller than I thought it would be. About wide enough to drive a car through, but not nearly as enormous as the large intestine of Bast or the esophagus of Moritasgus. As far as I could tell, the Shrill didn’t eat anything despite having hundreds of mouths and stomachs. Still, a knee-deep river of sludge filled the pitch-black chamber. The ribbed interior pulsated lazily, the ribs pushing the effluent in the correct direction. I caught my first glance of the ancylostoma worms, though these were all dead. They were remarkably similar to Banksy when he was about level 10 or so. Their flower-shaped mouths were nothing but triangular, shark-like teeth. Their bodies were everywhere, piled ten high in some places. I had to climb over and around them to proceed.

My Frame Vision made it difficult to discern the texture of the walls, but they seemed scarred and raw and covered in welts. I put my hand against the flexible, plastic-like skin and it came away covered in the Shrill’s blood, which had a distinctive smoky stench. The walls were covered with small mouth-like holes, and they sucked gently at my hand, as if trying to pull me in.

If the small intestine of the Shrill was stretched out end to end, I’d guess it to be about four or five miles long, and I was starting at the entrance. I cautiously moved forward, stepping through the river and over the corpses. It was slow going. I had to use my grappling hook several times to lower myself around a curve.

I could hear them before I saw them. A crunching, throbbing mess of the wriggling worms just around the next bend. I had to do this in the correct order. Antiparasitic, then Miniaturize, and then BloodBorne. I found a suitable capillary, low on the curved floor of the intestine, but above the line of sludge. I didn’t have enough soul power to cast all three, so I had to rely on killing some of the worms before I left. I had potions and my Invulnerable ready in case of an emergency, but if I did this right, I wouldn’t have to use any of those.

I crept forward and peeked around the corner, praying my cloak would help keep me unnoticed.

All the worms were attached directly to the intestinal wall with their mouths, waving back and forth, entranced. It reminded me of the worms within the oblation chamber. They all pulsated red, enough that my Frame Vision deactivated. They were feeding on blood. Their normally pale-white bodies glowed as the red blood of the Shrill filled them.

Jesus, I thought. No wonder these things weakened the guardian so much. They were probably making the damn monster anemic. I thought I remembered what type of parasite these were. I could picture that gross poster I’d once seen at a vet’s office. The one that showed all the different types of parasites that liked to feast on dogs and cats. Hookworms. That’s what these were. They seemed so intent on their task, of sucking blood from the intestinal wall. Would I be able to just walk right past them?   

A low growl answered for me. Despite my shadow cloak, the closest worm dropped off the wall and faced me, rearing up. Then another. And another.

Shit! I retreated back up the corner, waiting to see if they’d follow. A couple minutes passed. Nothing. I relaxed and prepared my spells.

I cast Antiparasitic. My map flared red. I’d done this enough to know how it worked. I counted to ten, and then I cast Miniaturize, which drained my soul power almost all the way. The world around me got even bigger, and I struggled to remain on the high rib. If I fell in the river, I’d be screwed. I would get hopelessly mired. The sludge was a soupy mud that kind of slurped in a specific direction whenever the intestine decided to contract and push, which it did sporadically. At 1/10th the size of before, I was now about seven and a half inches tall. 

I stood by the capillary, waiting for that first jolt of soul power. It should’ve come a second after I cast Miniaturize. Come on, come on. Ahead, the worms surged up the tube, searching for me. Their entire bodies blinked red. They would be dead soon.

So would I if I didn’t get a refill. Come on!

Whoosh. The first few worms died, and I immediately cast BloodBorne. During my trial run, the transport cell formed faster when it didn’t need to be so big. But the trip through the veins took much longer. As a result, I had my destination pre-planned to an area between here and the closest heart, giving me the shortest travel time possible.

The worms howled, catching sight of my tiny form. I pulled my rifle and fired at the lead attacker. To my utter astonishment, the blast killed the parasite. It hit him straight on, and his entire body peeled back, opening like a flower.

“Huh,” I said. I fired again, and again. The range was lower, and the pulse was much smaller, but the power behind each blue pulse wasn’t affected at all by my size. Good to know. Dying worms started piling up.

A hiss and scream echoed behind me. I looked up in time to see some sort of roly-poly type demon I’d never seen before barreling down the tube at me from the direction I’d just come. It was upside down, attached to the ceiling like a spider. I spent a precious second gaping at the thing. I’d never seen anything like it. A bug centaur. It had the body of a pill bug but the torso, arms, and head of a very angry human. It gibbered at me in a language I didn’t understand. It held an angry-looking club made of polished bone.

I realized after a moment that the creature was probably only two feet tall, but he seemed huge while I was in this state. It had a yellow tag over its head that blazed between the red, I’ve-been-poisoned pulses. I suspected the little guy was going to die at any moment, but probably not before he got here.

A whole herd of those things trailed behind the lead centaur bug.

The Shrill rumbled, shifting position as the creatures within stampeded toward me.

The transport cell slurped open, and I jumped into it just as the centaur bugs and the hookworms converged. More soul power sluiced into me as I was whisked away.

I was unceremoniously ejected onto a curved wall of tendon just outside the area of effect with less than four seconds left on my Miniaturize spell. I sat, breathing heavily as my body resumed its normal size.

It had worked! Barely. But it had worked. I looked down. If I squeezed my way through a couple areas, I could return back to where I started before without having to spend soul points on BloodBorne to get back.

Two castings down.

***

The final casting of Antiparasitic ended up being anticlimactic. I expected some sort of boss battle with the head hookworm. I thought perhaps Bernadette would be in the middle of the mess, and she’d be attached to one of the worms, shouting threats or quests at me like Madame Throb. But instead, I cast that fourth time, and I turned and ran back the way I had come. The hookworms gave chase, but they did not catch me. They died, clearing the area around the missing quantum mechanic. There were still a few hookworms at the far end of the intestine that I hadn’t quite reached.

Bernadette’s home was an empty gland sac that could be entered through a small orifice in the wall of the small intestine. If I didn’t have the marker on my map, I’d never have noticed it.

I decided to take care of the remaining parasites before I approached Bernadette. I traveled further down the path toward something called the ileocecal valve, which was apparently the junction between the small and large intestines.

Several of the giant, level 10 train worms lived in there. I made sure I didn’t get too close to the large intestine when I cast this last time.

I cast, and the last of the hookworms died. I didn’t even have to run. Nothing attacked. I cast Cleanse while the soul power still flowed into me. Anticlimactic.

Ancylostomiasis infestation has been eradicated!

The Small Intestine area has been healed!

Experienced earned!

Scanning…

Congratulations! The Shrill’s strength is greater than 80%, thus it is no longer in poor health. However, healing is still recommended in several areas.

The Shrill’s total strength reduction due to infections, injuries, and parasites: 18.5%

Recommended treatment:

Seek out areas of needed healing for specific treatment plans. Vaccines recommended.

“Oh hell yeah,” I said. I trudged back toward Bernadette’s secret hideout. I was already 2/3’s the way to level 26. I paused at the entrance to her gland.

I tried knocking before I entered, but it was like trying to knock on a slab of raw meat.

“Hello,” I called. Nobody answered. I sighed and squeezed my way in through the fleshy orifice, getting myself drenched in blood and kaiju poop.

A quick pop, and I entered the bright room.

“Oh my god, I hate this fucking game,” I muttered as I took in the scene around me. 

Chapter 41

Bernadette was dead. Recently dead.

Son of a bitch. I stared at the lifeless, open eyes of the worm surgeon. Now what was I going to do?

I had to make a search of the place. It was a small, round apartment. There was a couch, a shelf with dozens of books, multiple potions scattered about, a chest, and a brass lantern. The walls were covered in notes and photographs and diagrams. In the lantern was a glowing caterpillar. The lantern was the size of a coffee can, and the light filled the chamber with a blazing, yellow luminescence. The green and gold caterpillar appeared to be wearing a bowler hat. It gave off so much light it was hard to look at.

“You killed her, lad,” the caterpillar said. I yelped with surprise.   

I examined the bug more closely. Holy cow. This was a demon. He had a flaming name over his head. You could only see it on close inspection because the light from his body burned the same color as the tag.

Count Fronz.

He had a small, three-point crown after his name.

“Hello Count Fronz,” I said, turning back to examine my dead aunt. “How did I kill her?”

“She was infested,” the small demon said. “When you killed the parasites out there, you also killed the creatures infesting her. Blast grubs. A couple dozen of them. Nasty buggers, that lot. They get into you and make themselves a part of you. Now be a good lad and let me out of here.”

I turned back to the caterpillar. I noticed an emblem painted on the base of the lantern. A triangle within a circle with several arcane-looking symbols surrounding it. As I examined the symbol, an unexpected notification appeared.

Seal of Fronz added to library.

A new menu is available: Demonic Seals.

“Maybe I will let you out,” I said. “Maybe not. But I need some information first.”

The demon reared up. His tiny feet wriggled. “Look, mate,” he said. “It’s clear you recognize me for what I am, so I won’t beat around the bush. Your worm surgeon friend was trapped in here. She had the grub infection and didn’t want to spread it around. She evoked me and trapped me in this lantern because she was lonely and needed a night light. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and it won’t be the last. Everyone knows poor Count Fronz is good for nothing but as a lantern. Never mind Baal himself trusts him to track down the crown’s greatest enemies. Never mind he led six legions in the first war. Boo fucking hoo.”

“Do you know why she was here?” I asked.

The caterpillar waved about angrily. “She was studying something. I don’t know what. Something to do with Zagan the traitor. I think maybe she was trying to track the treacherous demon down. All she would do is write and write and write on that magic piece of paper. She was going to claim the bounty for herself. That’s what I think.”

“What?” I asked, confused. “Trying to track down what demon?”

“Zagan, of course. Oh yes, you call him the Shrill. He betrayed our lord. I have been tasked with hunting the demon and reporting his location back to King Vinea. Once I find him, I’ll make my report to the general, and I will join him and his legions into battle against the treacherous demon.”

I leaned in close. “Where do you think you are right now?”   

The caterpillar paused, looking at me like I was the stupidest creature he’d ever met. “I am in a lantern.”

“I know you’re in a lantern. Where do you think this room is?”

“Well I don’t know, mate. How would I know? The worm surgeon lady is dead, isn’t she? She wasn’t the most talkative summoner, you know. All I know is that I got evoked, and I can’t get out.”

I turned my attention back to the notes on the walls. They were all in a language I did not understand. So were all the books. I couldn’t take all the books with me, but I did grab a couple of the older-looking ones and tossed them in my pack.

I examined the piles of potions on her table. There were eleven healing potions, a pair of the soul power ones with the tiny demon inside, and several other odds and ends.

Next, I pulled open the chest. Inside was almost 2,000 teeth, an amulet that glowed with an enchantment, and a scroll. I examined the amulet.

The Evoker’s Eye

+10 to Acumen

+1 level to Evoke

“Oh wow,” I said. I immediately put on the amulet. My soul points bar stretched, giving the impression I’d just lost a ton of soul power. But in reality, my soul power storage had increased by almost 50%. Just like that. 

I next examined the scroll.

Quest Item.

Reading this scroll will transport the holder and party to the hidden city of Necroshire. One use only. This item cannot be sold or discarded.

The corpse of my aunt clutched onto a pen and a sheet of yellowed paper. I gently pulled the paper from her fingers. Written on it was a note:

Friend:

I have sensed you out there for some time now, working your way through the Shrill and healing our guardian. I suspect and trust you are a fellow worm surgeon. I also suspect that in your attempts to heal, you will slay me. I am infested with a particularly insidious form of grub, one that ties their survival into mine.

There is a demon trapped in my lantern. His name is Count Fronz. He has a good heart. But he is also a liar, and you must not trust anything he says. Keep him within his seal, and he will be of great use to you.

This demon will pretend to be an imbecile, but he is in fact one of the greatest minds of demon kind. He is a brilliant quantum mechanic in his own right. It is he who broke our transport gazebos during the initial invasion into this world. He did so by capturing a gazebo and infecting the system with a virus.

DO NOT LET HIM FREE.

You are his owner. He must obey your commands. He will not appear to be under your control, but he is as long as he remains in his lantern.

If he is freed, he will return to his work, which is to further hack the transport gazebos to his own dark purpose. He wishes to use the system to invade Medina. So far, the protective magic has held the demons at bay. Even though they don’t deserve our mercy, Medina is still our home.

I have written a program that will reset and repair the damaged transport gazebos. Every gazebo repaired using this method will resume normal function and will also forever lock out the demons. I have transferred the program to a chip in my brain. You much remove my head and bring it to the city of Necroshire. Within this city is a shop called Necroshire Mystical Upcycle Emporium. Bring my head there, and they will do the rest.

Make haste, brother or sister. The fate of the heavens is in your hands.

Bernadette.

I read the note again.

It was clear was I was supposed to do. I was supposed to lop off Bernadette’s head, use the scroll to get to Necroshire, and then upcycle parts of Bernadette’s brain. After that I’d have the ability to repair any transport gazebo I came across.

However, this quest was designed to be used by someone who didn’t already have the Upcycle spell. I turned on my Wicked Meat skill and examined Bernadette’s body.

A moment later, I loaded up my scratchpad and wrote down the 15 different body parts I needed to cut out of my late aunt.

I pulled out the amplification knife and went to work.

***

“What the hell is wrong with you, mate?” Count Fronz said from his cage, looking down at me with horror. “Are you some sort of crazed butcher? By Baal’s left tit, you’re worse than Beleth.”

I had my aunt’s left kidney, her right eye, her liver, her stomach, and multiple small glands and random muscles all lined up on the floor. The room looked like someone had put half a stick of dynamite into a corpse and let it blow. I also had her brain. The brain had added itself to my quest inventory the moment I touched her head. No cutting required. Everything else came out the hard way.

Of all the treasures in the room, it turned out her body was the greatest one. I went through each item, all with a 0% chance of rejection. I would have to go set myself up outside of the upper glandular area and do each upcycle in turn. I’d heal myself by killing pig spiders. Once I was topped up, I’d repeat.

It wouldn’t let me use my Upcycle on Bernadette’s brain. I had to follow the quest path, which meant I had to use the scroll. I’d do that last.  

“All right, buddy,” I said to Count Fronz. “You’re coming with me.”

The small demon protested and swore as I stuffed the lantern into my bag. I’d had to remove a couple books and a couple other odds and ends I’d collected on the way to make it fit. But once I was all packed up, I set out toward the upper areas of the Shrill.

Chapter 42

Upcycle complete!

Operation: success!

Congratulations! Your body did not reject the upcycle!

Race trait Life Tap has been removed.

I sighed. That was the last of them. I grasped my Epiviper, turned the corner, and killed three of the pig spiders. The soul power leeched into me. I healed, then shot one more to refill my bar. The remaining pig spiders did not pursue me.

I’d received multiple attribute level-ups from the array of items in Bernadette’s body. I only chose ones with 100% success chances and ones that didn’t remove any of my skills. My pack was now covered with the “I was a good boy!” patches.

After all of that, my stats looked like: 

Strength: 26

Acumen: 30 (+2 from armor. +10 from amulet)

Durability: 25

Deftness: 15 (+1 from kneepads)

Charm: 10

In addition, I gained Darkness Vision without losing my Frame Vision, I gained a very useful skill called Lemegeton, and best of all, thanks to the replacement of my liver, I removed Life Tap. Life Tap was the race trait that caused me to be constantly losing health. The liver replacement actually cost two durability points, but I’d net gained one durability point thanks to the replacement of both thigh muscles.

Lemegeton allowed me to examine the traits, skills, and abilities of demon royalty. Upon obtaining the skill, I pulled Count Fronz from my pack and tested it out.

Count Fronz

Rank 46 in the demonic hierarchy. A vassal of King Vinea.

May be evoked to perform Brightness, Repair, and can identity ingredients for alchemy. Requires Evocation level 1.

Has two forms: Hackberry Emperor Caterpillar or Thorn Carcass.

Interesting. I wondered what a “thorn carcass” looked like.

The next part of the quest required me to use the scroll to travel to Necroshire. But first there was something I needed to do.

I had to wait several hours before I could safely travel within the guardian. I finished my last Upcycle at the end of the Shrill’s calm phase. He returned to the edge of his territory to once again fight against the glazers just as I dragged myself into my base.

To my surprise, something different happened this time. While I had no sense of where we were, I could tell right away that the fight outside had ended much more quickly than normal. The Shrill changed to his egg shape and started moving a full hour earlier than usual.

I wasn’t certain, but I believed with his added strength, he’d managed to thoroughly trounce King Vinea’s glazers and was now moving off toward the rift to join the rest of his kaiju friends.

I realized something else, then. It was probably obvious, but for some reason my brain just hadn’t registered it. That was what we were supposed to be doing all along. The missing kaiju and guardians who weren’t already near the rift were supposed to be healed, rescued, whatever, in order to line them up for the final assault on the world of hell. You needed at least four to beat the final boss, but the more, the better. And most, if not all, of them needed to be in the area when the assault began.

Anatoly, Jenk, and that Frankenstein’s Monster guy had managed to somehow pull it off once with three guardians. But as Clara had repeatedly reminded me, that was a next-to-impossible task. They’d done it because they needed to reset the game, but I had the sense that Anatoly wanted to do it just to see if he could. And according to Clara, they only won because they’d utilized a cheat.

Once the Shrill moved to his egg shape, I left my base and struck out toward the end of the distant tentacle. When he moved like this, his interior bounced around like the bed of a pickup truck with no shocks. It was still better than Bast or Moritasgus.

BloodBorne took me most of the way. The bulk of the tentacles were a thick tunnel of muscle surrounded by a fluid-filled sac. The long shaft constantly changed diameter, sometimes tight to the point where I feared I’d be squeezed to death. Safe pockets appeared every ten meters or so. Lines of nerves spread throughout the muscles, in, above, and below like some sort of nightmare tangle of computer wires. 

The testicles were a pair of glands at the very tip of the tentacle, nestled on one side of a fatty pocket. Each sac was actually a multi-chambered organ, unlike anything I’d ever seen before in my limited experience with human anatomy. The system called it the “testicular-prostrate-bulbourethral gland system.” While I knew this game supposedly featured hyper-realistic anatomy, I vaguely suspected they had taken a few anatomical liberties with this one.

Each sac was a quivering mass about ten feet in diameter. I zoomed in with my Gross Anatomy map and saw the tip of this particular tentacle had a penis-like protuberance within a sleeve at the end. The Shrill could extend the spike and spray his sperm into something remarkably small. I had visions of some of the weird Japanese anime that one of my roommates was always watching.

I shuddered. I wasn’t going to extract the sperm using the penis lance thing. I was going to tap directly into the keg.  

I approached. With my newly acquired darkness vision, the interface combined both of my low-light vision options into one highly-adjustable system. So instead of the green and black line art style, I now had a color overlay that I could adjust on the fly to give more detail.

The interior of the sacs was a complicated system of tubes and glands, all leading to a bottom, fluid-filled chamber. This section of the pulsating sac was filled with thrashing, eel-like sperm. Each sperm was about the size of my finger.

I didn’t know the safest way to do this. I decided simple was best. I pulled the heavy Lamashtu egg from my pack and placed it on the ground outside the sac. I cast Numb and then Incision, creating a small hole in the bottom part of the round gland. I cringed, remembering the amplification ceremony.

The moment I made my cut, the sac ripped even further. With a mighty gush, I was suddenly over my head in bloody Shrill semen. The egg glowed and washed away back down the tube. The world turned upside down as the Shrill began smashing his tentacle against the ground in apparent pain. I bounced, shooting my grappling hook, grasping onto the egg before it could get washed away forever.

Thanks to my Breathless ability, I did not drown. The writhing sperm smashed against me in an attempt to get inside of me. I didn’t know if they were dangerous, but I quickly cast Patch on the rent in the sac. The hole healed, but the giant ball remained deflated. The semen and sperm and blood slowly started to abate, getting absorbed by the muscle and bloodstream.

The egg pulsed with a yellow glow. I pulled a single, wriggling sperm from my teeth. I grasped the egg and tossed it back into my pack.

I was eternally grateful that there was nobody around to have seen that. I pulled out the travel scroll to Necroshire, and I activated it.

Chapter 43

Entering Necroshire.

You have discovered a hidden location! You may now travel to Necroshire using an active transport gazebo.

World Map is back online. Necroshire added to map. 

I emerged standing within the town’s transport gazebo, and I stepped out into the bustling activity of the town, gaping at the electric, neon buildings and crackling atmosphere. It was not nighttime out in the main world, but the sky here showed nothing but pitch black. It was like I’d stepped directly out of the game and into some cyberpunk vision of a futuristic downtown Las Vegas. Flashing lights, electric vehicles, pink and blue flashing neon. It was overwhelming.

The pounding bass of distant heavy metal reverberated throughout the city, adding to the sense of chaos.

I probably should have waited a few minutes before I came here. My entire body was soaking wet. I sniffed myself. I smelled like the garbage bin at an adult video store.  Finger-sized kaiju sperm fell off of me and hit the tiled ground, thrashing about like fish out of water. They bounced about for a few moments before dying. I did not receive any soul power when they died.

The gazebo itself appeared to be offline. The round platform snaked with neon tubing. When the thing was powered up, it would be lit like any casino sign.

I pulled up my map. It only showed the town, surrounded by a sizzling, static-filled haze. Sure enough, it showed the transport gazebo being offline. That meant I wouldn’t be able to leave until I fixed it.

The city wasn’t very large, smaller even than Kinnegad, but it appeared to have multiple levels. Dozens of shops populated my map.

Thousands of people lived here, shuffling by shoulder-to-shoulder.

The vast majority of them were the octopus-headed leechers. Dozens of the humanoid robot sundered also strolled about. As did multiple humans and shade gremlins. I caught sight of a pair of mole men and a smattering of other races, including the snake-bodied midwives and the lizard-headed caduceus, and a pair of lycans, the first ones I’d seen other than Jenk. I even saw a solitary worm surgeon pass by, walking with purpose.

While I’d seen a handful of the leechers before, this was my first chance to really examine them. They stood about my height and preferred robes, giving them a wizard-like appearance. Their beady eyes seemed to look right through you. Their tentacles cascaded off their faces like beards. Most had five facial tentacles, but not all. Some had six, some four.

Not all leechers wore the standard robes. I didn’t see any mechs, but a few leechers here and there walked about in glowing power armor.

Out of curiosity, I examined my Upcycle options with the leechers. Sure enough, I had the ability to replace the lower half of my face with the appendages, though there was only a 10% chance of success. If I did succeed, I could add a litany of psionic-themed spells ranging from Mind Control to Instant Insanity. Each leecher was different.

But most of their limbs were much weaker than my own. Almost every body part came with a strength debuff.

I moved my vision toward the sundered. The expressionless humanoids moved by with humming servos and glowing joints. Not one of them had anything I could upcycle. Strangely, the opposite wasn’t true for them. Multiple sundered had mismatched, organic body parts of their own. A human leg here, causing the android to limp, a nerve agent arm there. One had replaced his entire lower half with a midwife snake body. Another, surprisingly, had the ant-like head of a zipper.

I switched off my Wicked Meat.

Despite the town’s relatively small size, cars and motorcycles zipped about on the ground and above in the air. These were the first working vehicles I had seen. I followed the path of a flying car as it sped across the coal-black sky. It turned at a floating, neon buoy, and then it disappeared into a tunnel I hadn’t noticed before. The tunnel appeared to be made from the same material as my cloak. A black darker than pure night. A nothingness. I wondered where it led to.  

I found the Mystical Upcycle Emporium on my map. It wasn’t too far. I had to find a sewer grate, go down two levels and then walk two blocks over. It was a small shop in an alleyway between a ramen shop and a place called “Superior Sigils.” I took note of several shops I wanted to visit after I was done there.

A fountain bubbled merrily next to the gazebo. I unabashedly used it to clean my hand and head, trying to wash the sex stink off of me. After I felt as presentable as possible, I headed out.

The lower I traveled into the city, the louder the music became. A nightclub of some sort took up the majority of this second sublevel. The ground here shook.

I found the shop, advertised with a small neon sign. I pushed open the unassuming door and entered the dusty, red lobby of the Necroshire Upcycle Emporium. The door jingled with a bell.

Entering Necroshire Mystical Upcycle Emporium.

A group of the surgery imps scattered like rats when I entered. They fled down a tight set of stairs that delved into a brightly lit room. A familiar shriek of laughter and then a clatter emanated from the room. I knew what was down there. This would be my first time coming to this place through the front door.

“Ahh, hello, hello. A return customer. Yes, yes. Welcome, Duke. You are most welcome,” A soft voice said. The words tingled oddly against the back of my neck, almost like the speaker was saying them out loud and in my mind at the same time. An alienist came from around the corner and grasped my hand, shaking it. The bug-headed humanoid only stood up to chest level. He had three fingers on each hand. I knew these guys were technology and wind-based. And their associated guardian was a giant, fire-breathing beetle. But that was pretty much it.

The name over his head was:

Shu – Flesh Merchant (Level 44).

“It is good to finally meet you face to face,” the bug man continued. “My boys have told me much about you.” When he spoke, nothing on his face moved. It was like I was speaking with someone wearing a mask. He poked me in the breastplate. “How is the new liver? It isn’t giving you trouble, is it?” He lifted his finger and touched it with one of his antennae.

“No, no, it’s working great,” I said. I pulled Bernadette’s brain from my inventory. “I have this. It’s from…”

Shu snatched the brain from my hands, bringing it close to his face. Both of his antennae crawled over it. “Bernadette! Oh, no, Bernadette!” the alienist cried. He paused, examining it more closely. “She has left instructions.”

“She was my aunt,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

“She has left instructions,” Shu repeated. His antennae continued to probe the brain. “Yes, yes, many instructions burned in here. I gave her the upgrades myself years ago.” The bug looked up at me. “You can flash the transport gazebos. Turn them all back on. So many villages have been cut off.”

He looked back and forth, suddenly serious. “Who saw you come here? Who else knows?” He shoved the wet brain back into my hands and rushed to the door. He slid a ridiculously small slide shut, locking it.

“You can flash the transport gazebos,” he said again, looking at the ceiling as if he was thinking. “Not just transport gazebos. Anything infected with the demon virus.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan,” I said.

“They will never let you. The sundered. If you fix the gazebos, refugees will come. They will come to Necroshire. And they will come to Little Cibola.”

“So?” I said.

“When the demons came, Epsilon ousted all non-sundered from their city. At first they just pushed them off the edge, but we fought back. So they opened the tunnel to here, to Necroshire. If you’re not sundered, you can’t enter Little Cibola. All that space, but it is only for them. They can come here, but we can’t go there.”

“Who is Epsilon?” I asked.

Shu ignored the question. “But if you open the portals. The refugees will come. They can control outgoing access, but they can’t stop incoming. They will not like that. Refugees will find their way to Little Cibola. Too many for Epsilon to control. The singularity will not allow that. No sir.”

“That’s a bit douchey of them,” I said.

Shu nodded. “Yes, yes. If they know you have this ability, you will be disappeared. Your only hope is to get the surgery, get to the Necroshire transport gazebo, and repair it. Once it is repaired, and all the citizens see, there will be nothing they can do. Nothing. They will stop hunting you, then. They are a logical race.”

A new quest chimed in my vision. A compulsory quest.

“And here we go,” I said.

Chapter 44

Unlike the last several times I’d been given Upcycle surgery, I didn’t teleport away at the end of it. Nor did I awaken with my health almost drained. The ceiling did not have the dripping tentacles, either. But other than that, it was all the same.

Upcycle complete!

Operation: success!

Congratulations! Your body did not reject the upcycle!

Storage Chip added to your memory.

A new menu is available: Programs

A new program has been added to your memory: quantum transport 2.4 patch.

A new program has been added to your memory: stuxworm.fuck.epsilon

I sat there for several moments, waiting for the headache to pass. I exchanged a look with one of the hairy surgery imps who still held onto a bloody drill. I sighed and pulled my pulse rifle.

“So,” I said. “What are the odds that nobody knows about this surgery, and I can just casually walk back to the gazebo and fix it?”

The imp screamed with laughter. It squeezed the drill a few times, making it roar. 

I jumped down from the table.

“We are here for the worm surgeon!” a mechanical voice boomed the moment my feet hit the floor.

A warrant has been issued for your arrest in the towns of Necroshire and Little Cibola!

“Yeah,” I said to the imp. “I didn’t think so, either.”

“No, no sir,” I heard Shu say. “I do not know of what you speak.”

“He was seen teleporting in and then he went straight here. The CEO wishes to have a word.”

“This is Necroshire, not Little Cibola,” Shu said. “The CEO has no rights here.”

“The leechers have given us police authority over this town.”

“Since when?” Shu asked, incredulous.

I heard the distinctive thump of a pulse rifle.

“I think they just shot your boss,” I whispered at the imp.

The small, fur-covered monster responded by swooping around the room a few times, screaming. The bit dropped out of his oversized drill, and he replaced it with one twice as long with a jagged edge. He gave the drill a test squeeze, and it squealed. A dozen other imps appeared, all carrying surgical equipment. The drill imp screamed and zipped up the stairs on his wings, followed by his friends.

Screaming, shooting, and more screaming followed. It sounded as if the entire building was about to fall in on my head.

That was my cue. I pulled up the map, laying out the fastest path back up to the gazebo.

I burst up into the main lobby of the shop just in time to see one of the sundered explode.

None of these guys bothered with any semblance of human skin except in the face. These were white and blue androids, each about six feet tall, armed with pulse rifles a bit shorter than my Epiviper. Their bodies were made of a plastic-like composite. Only the front half of their heads were human-like.

A second android fell to the floor, sparks bursting from where his head once was. I ducked as a pulse crashed into the ceiling above me. Splinters shattered.

Christ, I’m fighting my own people more than I’m fighting the demons.

A third sundered aimed at me and fired. His name was Sixty-Two.G – Little Cibola Loss Prevention Sentry (Level 25). His shot went wide as he was tackled by a screeching horde of hairy imps. The imp with the drill placed the tool against the android’s eye socket. Sparks started to fly.

I glanced down at Shu. He wasn’t dead. The bug struggled to get back to his feet.

“You need to get downstairs,” I said.

“Wait,” he said. “Bernadette had another program in her memory. Something she was working on. She had help making it, I think. Help from a demon scientist. It’s an access…”

A sundered sentry burst into the room, and I fired, killing him as the imps swarmed.

“Go,” Shu said. “Hurry.” He waved weakly at me. The front door of the clinic had been kicked in. I burst into the alley, facing two more sentries. Both of these guys were level 18. I took them out with a pair of shots.

My exit to the alley was blocked by a sleek, white and blue police vehicle that hovered a foot off the ground. It looked like something straight out of a 1950’s sci-fi comic. Long and finned, the convertible rumbled like a muscle car. Blue and red lights pulsed on the undercarriage. The driver and passenger door were open, and the car was empty. I was pretty sure I’d just shot the car’s previous occupants.

The odd vehicle didn’t have a top, but it had a black-tinted windshield that swooped up like a ski jump. The car also featured a mounted gun in the back seat. The tall, black pulse rifle glinted in the neon light. 

“You,” I said, pointing at the drill imp floating behind me. The flying horde of imps had followed me into the alley. These creatures appeared as NPCs on my minimap, but they didn’t have names floating over their heads. “You want to have some more fun?”

The imp squealed, revealing two rows of tiny, sharp teeth.

“You think you can fire that thing?” I said, pointing at the mounted pulse laser.

The imp tossed the drill over its shoulder and zipped into the car. I was dubious the small guy could work the trigger, but he hauled himself behind the gun and started firing it indiscriminately into the main street. People screamed. The neon ramen sign of the shop next door exploded in sparks.

I rushed to the car, slipping into the driver seat. I prayed it would let me drive.

The moment I sat down, a menu popped up.

Flash Ep-12 Cruiser?

I had no idea what that meant, but I clicked Yes.

A quick loading bar appeared, and the engine roared to life. 

You have gained control of this vehicle.

“Only shoot the sundered sentries. And anyone else who shoots at us,” I cried. The imp saluted then turned back to the gun. I watched with horror as he aimed and fired at a random—and elderly—shade gremlin. The old woman hit the deck, screaming in horror.

“Don’t shoot the good guys!” I yelled again.

The imp shrieked with laughter. But he stopped shooting.

The controls on the car were simple. It had a U-shaped control yoke, reminiscent of old jet planes, though it more reminded me of the steering wheel from the 1980’s Spy Hunter upright arcade game they had at my favorite bar. There were two pedals and a shifter that controlled forward and reverse. That was it.

Before I allowed myself to think about the pure insanity of jumping into a flying car less than an hour after I was squishing around inside of a kaiju, I pushed forward on the shifter. I applied the gas. The car eased smoothly onto the neon street.

Four new status bars appeared in my vision. Speed, altitude, vehicle energy, and mounted gun energy. I also had an Eject and Blow Core button.

The “Blow Core” button was in a different font and color than the rest of the text on the screen. It seemed added on, a product of the program that gave me access to the car, and not a button most drivers regularly had. I assumed it was a self-destruct button. Hopefully I wouldn’t find out. 

There weren’t too many cars down on this level, but there was a street of sorts. Most of the traffic down here was scooters and hoverboards. I had to reroute my escape. I’d come down to this level via a grate and stairs. There appeared to be a ramp about a quarter mile down the street.

Three police vehicles ripped around the corner, barreling toward me. A sundered stood at the mounted gun on all three, and they poured fire at us.

The imp made a squeaking noise that sounded like it might have a question mark at the end of it.

“Yes,” I said. “You can shoot at those guys.”

My imp gunner returned fire with glee, and I jammed the pedal. I pulled the yoke, rising about seven feet in the air, allowing the scooter and hoverboard riders the chance to dive for cover. The low ceiling streaked by above me, close enough that I could reach up and touch it.

I smashed through a neon sign advertising battery packs. The whole vehicle bucked again as a blast ricocheted off the bottom.

“Hold on,” I screamed as we approached the circular ramp to the next level. I pulled a hard left and had to jerk up higher to avoid a pair of emerging scooter riders. But at the last moment, I saw these were more loss prevention officers. I pushed down on the yoke. They crumpled against the front of the car.

I realized belatedly this was a one-way ramp, and I was going the wrong way. But it did go all the way up to the top level of Necroshire. I pushed forward.

Another police car turned the corner, coming down the ramp. I cringed, preparing for a head-on collision.

At the last moment, I pulled up, and the other car pushed down. More sparks flew as my car crunched directly over the other one, metal screaming against metal. The driver ducked in time. The gunner in the back did not. The top half of the android smashed against the windshield. Blue fluid gushed from his shattered body.

“Halt,” he screamed. “You are under arrest!”

My windshield shattered a moment later, glass exploding against my face.

“Gah,” I cried, surprised. I instinctively slipped right, and the front of the car shrieked as it scraped against the wall. An ominous whine emanated from within. Several lights blinked on the dash.

The android was gone, a liquid blue smear on the hood.

I realized the imp had shot him. The pulse had whizzed by my ear. He’d shot him directly through the windshield.

“Let’s try not to shoot me in the back of the head,” I said.

The imp cackled gleefully.

We burst out onto the top level. I pulled up higher, rising into the night.

Above and to my left multiple, military-style vehicles poured out of the black tunnel. There had to be at least 15 of them. Each one was covered in guns. These were tanks, each about four times the size of my police car. Other cars scattered at their approach. They turned in my direction, glowing barrels coming to bear.

Shit. The gazebo was directly below. I circled down. A cannon boomed, and a blue pulse ripped over my head, sizzling as it passed. It hit the street, detonating with a deafening explosion, killing people and destroying buildings.

Holy crap. This was a bit overkill. These guys weren’t playing around anymore.

“Jump,” I cried at the imp as I jammed on the Eject button. I vaulted away. The chair didn’t go with me. Suddenly I was in the air, and then I was falling. Oh fuck.

The imp ignored or didn’t hear my command to abandon ship. He poured fire into the oncoming tanks. The armored fortresses shrugged it off. The police car exploded before I even hit the ground.

I slammed to the ground, bones shattering. I screamed. I cast Reconstitute.  

Shrapnel spun through the air. A burning hunk of metal buried itself into my arm. I cast Reconstitute again, zeroing out my soul points. Smoke obscured the entire street. It was pure chaos. People ran amuck, cars squealed away in every direction. Charred bodies littered the street.

“You morons,” I cried as I scrambled toward the gazebo. I fell onto the platform, my whole body screaming in pain. I’d gotten up too soon. Not-yet-healed bones slipped as I attempted to run, breaking all over again. I grasped a heal potion from my belt and downed it.

I had no idea how to administer the program and whether it took soul points. The moment I pulled myself onto the platform, a notification appeared.

Flash Gazebo?

I clicked Yes.

A loading bar appeared. It raced across the screen.

Success! Gazebo is now active.

I blinked. It had taken less than five seconds. The entire gazebo lit up, a pink neon tube snaking around the edges. The word “Necroshire” appeared above the stand.

Experience Earned!

You are now level 26.

“How do you like that?” I screamed at the tanks. I could barely see them through the billowing haze of the smoke. I flipped them off with my good finger.

The last thing I saw was the barrel of a tank blooming a bright blue.  

Chapter 45

You have died 14 times.

Due to your wanted status, your regeneration location has been overridden.

Entering Loss Prevention Security Office.

I sat at a desk, facing a female sundered. I shook my head, trying to clear the jitters. Fourteen times. It didn’t get easier.

This was the first time I had seen a woman android, I realized. I stared stupidly at the name over her head.

Nine.B – Assistant Vice President of Loss Prevention (Level 47)

I’d been arrested. It was an ages-old feature of games. If you’re wanted, and you’re killed by the guards, you end up in jail. That’s the way it was. I cursed Shu. He’d said the moment I repaired the gazebo, it would be over.

“Duke,” she said. Like the sentries, she wore no clothes and had only the human face, surrounded by the plastic composite. She had an odd, electronic lilt to her voice, like she was talking through a fan. “You were charged with multiple violations, including failure to heed a summoning by corporate, 11 counts of unauthorized disassembly of Epsilon property, attempted hacking of Epsilon Holdings, three counts of domestic terrorism, and multiple traffic violations. You have been tried and found guilty.”

“What?” I said. “I don’t get to attend my own trial?”

She ignored me. “You have two options. You may pay the fine or you may serve your jail sentence.”

“Okay. What’s the fine?” I asked.

“9,999,999 teeth,” she said.

I just stared at her. One less than 10 million teeth was the most amount of teeth a person could carry on them at one time. “I have a couple items that might be worth that much if you let me sell them, but I don’t have nearly that many teeth on me.”

She picked up a tablet and tapped away at it. “Since you can’t afford the fine, you must serve your full term. You have been sentenced to the maximum allowed jail term in the city of Little Cibola.”

I realized with a start I wasn’t in Necroshire anymore, but on the other side of the tunnel. In Little Cibola. I tried to pull up my map, but it wouldn’t load. Horror rose as I’d remembered something Anatoly had said to me.

“What is the sentence?” I asked.

“You will serve 90 days,” she said.

Panic overwhelmed me. Ninety days? “No, no,” I said. “I can’t be in jail that long.”

A pair of composite hands grabbed me from behind.

Anatoly’s words echoed in my mind. You serve your sentence in real-time. There’s nothing anybody can do.

The screen flashed. I recognized what that meant. A cutscene had just triggered.   

This is too much. This is too much.

I screamed as I was dragged away.

Part 4 – Medina

Chapter 46

Feedings Left: 14

Warning: Your feeding apparatus is running low on sustenance. Administration has been notified.

I squinted as I stepped out into the bright lights of Little Cibola. My Epiviper and pack magically returned to my shoulder the moment I stepped outside. I almost buckled at the surprise weight.

Three months. Ninety days.

I’d had books, at least. And television. This was something Anatoly had programmed in as a mercy. More likely than not he’d added it for his fellow clients in case they found themselves locked up. It was inconceivable a lowly consumable such as myself would ever find himself in a situation where they’d get arrested. The cell had been relatively large, about the size of my first apartment. It had an actual worm surgeon food box, which disgorged a small, fuzzy creature on demand that choked and died and then dissolved the moment it was let out. It gave me a jolt of soul energy.

I didn’t need it anymore thanks to my Bernadette upcycle, but the game allowed me a single spell, Reconstitute. Everything else from skills to programs to the rest of my spells was blacked out.

In all, the existence was much more comfortable than I could’ve hoped for. I’d read about people going insane after just a week of solitary confinement. I’m sure I would’ve, too, if I hadn’t received access to all that media. Anatoly or whoever programmed in the books had a thing for old science fiction novels. I read the entire Honor Harrington saga and all the spinoff books by David Weber. That alone took half the time. Then came the Commonwealth Saga books by Peter F. Hamilton.

I also caught up on several television shows. The world was going to complete shit, but most channels still played their shows like nothing was going on. One channel played the entire Simpsons run back to back. It took something like three weeks, though it had already started when I got in there. I found myself watching it more than was healthy. I watched that entire miniseries on the moon colonization that won all those awards. And I watched a lot of really old shows like Matlock and Gunsmoke.

The news channels documented one disaster after another. A series of earthquakes had rattled up and down the Pacific Rim, throwing tsunamis in every which direction. Japan was talking about relocating their capital like Indonesia had done a few decades back. India and Pakistan were shooting at each other. A terrorist attack had leveled Notre Dame in Paris right after they finally announced it had been fully restored. Russia was shedding states and eating others. Again.

I hadn’t seen anything—not a thing—about Anatoly and Frank and all the others.

Until a few days ago.

Several stations had breaking news stories about a new development in the case. Police were in a desperate search for something, a possible victim of “The Frankenstein Facebook Conspiracy” who was still alive. They didn’t give details on how the victim could still possibly be living after all this time or how they knew this now. But literally thousands of law enforcement agents from the United States, Canada, and Mexico were mobilizing.

Frank was dead. Paulo was dead. SmashSouth was dead. All of them were dead except Anatoly.

I watched in horror as a newscaster breathlessly recapped the drama from a few months back. It had all happened just after we’d first fled Bast. Every player in the conspiracy who’d been arrested was found dead in their jail cells from apparent suicides. Hamish “Frankenstein’s Monster” Yeltsin. Tito Hernandez, a mass killer from Tucson who made chorizo from teenage boys and served it to the family of the missing. Gramm Blaine, used car magnate and a mass killer and rapist from Omaha. A woman killer from Melbourne, Australia who exsanguinated girls and then turned their bodies into dolls. A man from New York City. Several others. All arrested. All dead in their cells. The man from Tucson and the man from Omaha were Paulo and SmashSouth. The woman was Princess. There was no mention of anybody arrested in Toronto.

All dead except Anatoly, whose real name was Lucas Jansen, a Dutch citizen. Anatoly was described as a “low-level” player who probably didn’t know enough to be of use to the police. But he was currently in protective custody in a federal prison somewhere in Pennsylvania. Jansen was “cooperating with the investigation.” But there were no details on what, if anything, this man knew.

The media knew none of the real details. I wasn’t so sure the police knew, either. They believed the Frankenstein Conspiracy was some sort of online message forum and VR chat where sociopaths and serial killers met up and traded videos and secrets of their escapades. That was it.

The sensational story had faded from the eye of the breaking news cycle because of everything else that was going on in the world. But this new development had stirred up a hornet’s nest of activity. Would Clara and I be found? And what about Jenk? It’d been almost four months since I’d last seen or heard from him, and I had no idea if he was still around.

Also, if there was someone going around and killing off the clients, what did that mean for us? Nobody believed that there were really that many suicides, which indicated there was still someone out there, controlling things. Whomever that was had to know where we were. The whole project had obviously gone to shit with the arrests. Clara and I were loose ends. How were we still alive?

I looked at my map now, taking stock of all the guardians. They all remained in their normal locations with a few exceptions. The Shrill was now hanging out near the rift with most of the others. Kanaloa, the leecher kaiju had been missing before. It now joined the others near the rift. The same with the Opera, the dagon guardian.

Avvinik, Clara’s panther kaiju had moved from the rift to the woods outside of Medina. That suggested Clara was successful in her attempts to take control of her guardian.

Banksy also appeared on my map, and he remained near Avvinik. So Banksy and Clara had probably found each other.  

I wondered for the thousandth time what Clara must be thinking. Because of the indicator over Banksy’s head, she had to know I was still online. Was she looking for me?

Two-headed Orthrus remained back near his regen spot, west of Medina. Moritasgus remained buried where I put him, just north of Bast. 

I knew from last time that Banksy couldn’t see my location while I was in jail. As far as the familiar was concerned, I’d appear to be offline. Before, he couldn’t send me a message at this great distance. But I didn’t know if that was still the case, not at his level.

During my confinement, Banksy had risen to level 47.

Because of Banksy’s leveling, I had risen to level 33. I hadn’t been able to allocate skills while I was incarcerated, but I pulled up my stats now. I tossed my points equally between strength and durability.

I called up my familiar menu, focusing on Summon to My Location for Banksy. But I paused before clicking. Banksy was probably pretty big now. I looked around, examining the city of Little Cibola for the first time. If I summoned him here, I’d end back up in jail.

A timer in the top right of my view continued to count down. Upon release, the stern-faced sundered told me I had two hours to leave town. No shops would sell to me. I’d received a quest to investigate the Epsilon Corporation. Winning would likely open the city up. I didn’t have the time. Not anymore.

This town was a stark contrast to the cyberpunk vision that was Necroshire. Little Cibola was a utopian landscape. Clean streets, towering buildings made of mirrored glass. Everything was white, blue, and sterile. I did not see a single NPC who wasn’t a sundered. Shu had said they were the only ones allowed within the city limits. The androids moved through the streets all at the same speed, moving like automatons, all moving with purpose.

A colossal, needle-thin tower pierced the sky at the center of the large town. The words “Epsilon Holdings” glowed vertically down the glass. Looking at the sign, I realized that was part of the strangeness of Little Cibola. That sign was the only one I saw in the entire town. I looked at my map, and there were several stores spread out across the city. But none had signs on the exterior, or anything else that indicated what was inside. Weird.

But I wasn’t surprised. My 90 days of confinement had been a study in antiseptic predictability. My large cell had a single exit, a forcefield-protected doorway. The guards at the prison had a patrol schedule that never, ever deviated. I was caught in a loop. If it wasn’t for the television and books… I shook my head.

“Hey,” I said to a passing sundered. Only nothing came out. My voice. I hadn’t used it in three months. I tried again, and this time I managed to cough out the word.

The sundered stopped and turned to look at me. This one’s name was 644.E. A level 13. He didn’t have an occupation. “Duke,” he said. “You are not welcome here.”

“Yeah, how do I get out of here?” I asked.

“You have two options,” the android said. “You may rent transport through the tunnel back into Necroshire. Or you may step off the edge of the city limits. The gazebo is closed to your kind.”

All the sundered as far as I could see had stopped in the street. They all looked directly at me, some of them with their heads turned all the way around, like owls. I felt the skin on the back of my neck prickle.

I could now pull Necroshire up on my map. It appeared as a secondary location, and I had to click a tab to pull it up. The transport gazebo remained open, but it had a red marker over it, similar to the one here in Little Cibola. Access Restricted to Epsilon Corporate Business only. I wouldn’t be able to use it. That meant I needed to hoof it out.

I’d walk out of town, hunker down somewhere safe, and call Banksy to me. That was my only choice. Either way, I needed to get out of here as soon as possible. If I got arrested again, I would literally starve to death in my jail cell.

I pulled up my map and found the closest town edge, which was north. It bordered a swampy region of the map, home to Colo Colo. I remembered Clara had said that particular kaiju was constantly giving birth to giant rat monsters. So I wouldn’t get too close.

It took a good ten minutes to walk to the edge of town. Like Neo-Austin, it was a line of buildings and then nothing. I had to find a tight alley and squeeze my way through.

The whole time as I walked, every sundered turned toward me and chanted “You are not welcome here.” They only said it when I passed close by one, but when one said it, all the sundered within earshot said it at the same time. I shuddered.

A five-foot wall closed off the brink of the alley. I came to the wall, and only then did I realize what Shu had meant when he said they had thrown people off the edge.

Little Cibola was a floating city. A thick cover of clouds surrounded the town. I could not tell how high we were. But I had the sudden sense that we were very, very high.

Of course. That was why this town was intact. It was high up in the clouds, out of reach of all but the flying demons.

I would have to rent passage back to Necroshire. Hopefully I’d be able to figure something out there, maybe buy a transport scroll. Maybe I could find a place to upgrade my teleport to level 4. If I could, I’d be able to just zap myself to Charnel. I’d already asked Shu, and I knew he couldn’t do it. Certain high-level upgrades could only be done at certain locations. I didn’t see anything on the map, but there had to be something.

A pair of loss prevention officers appeared at the end of the alley. They stood, blocking my way out.

“Hey guys,” I called. “I still have an hour and a half to get out of the city. I decided to go to Necroshire instead.”

“Request denied,” the sentry said. “You have committed to this exit. If you make any further movement in this direction, you will be arrested for trespassing.”

“Really?” I said, backing up. I peered over the precipice.

I pulled up my skills menu. I could use my grappling hook to dangle off the edge, but I suspected that would do me no good. I did have one possible spell. Hinder. It was the equivalent of Feather Fall. But it only lasted .2 seconds per level of acumen. So six seconds. And it used almost all of my soul power. Level two of the spell was much better, but it required a bionic upgrade.

If I couldn’t see the ground, and I cast too early, I’d go splat.

I also had Invulnerable. I’d learned from drinking the donkey milk that it didn’t blunt pain. It didn’t stop me from getting injured. It just kept me from dying. Dropping from this height while I was invulnerable might work. Or it might not. I’d have to be in one piece in order to heal myself before the spell wore off. 

I suddenly regretted my commitment to a tank build. It seemed I needed the acumen more than anything. I knew I would’ve been dead a hundred times over in multiple situations if I hadn’t worked on my durability. My acumen was 30, thanks to my amulet and armor and some of the Bernadette upgrades, making it my highest stat along with strength. But I could really use another ten or more points in it right about now.

I’d probably see the ground before I crashed. I’d pull through the lower level of clouds and be able to gauge the best time to slow my descent. Probably.

I spent five skill points on Hinder.

I scrambled up to the top of the wall, turned toward the sentries and saluted. They stared at me impassively. I loaded up the spell screen, and I stepped backward off the edge of Little Cibola.

The guardian came into view the moment the city tore away.

Ohh, I thought. Of course. And before I knew what I was doing, I shot my grappling hook, grasping onto the mechanical edge of the giant robot that bore the town of Little Cibola on its back.

Chapter 47

Entering the Hinterland.

My claw grasped onto a metallic tube snaking along the lower leg of the colossus. I had to keep from crushing the metal with my overpowered hand. I swung, bracing myself as I crashed hard onto the side. I cried out.

What the hell are you doing? I thought as I retracted, pulling myself up. If the guards above saw me, they’d surely throw me in jail again. I pulled up my map. The red icon of Epsilon the guardian was now visible, directly under the city. Just like Moritasgus.

The guardian was a human-shaped robot. The white and blue monstrosity was almost Voltron-like in appearance, which made me wonder if it could separate into smaller pieces. It wasn’t the largest of guardians, though size was relative with these things. I’d guess it was about as tall as Moritasgus was long. I couldn’t see anything biological at all in the guardian, which made me wonder how different the gameplay must be for those who chose the sundered race. If they didn’t heal, what did they do? Mechanical repairs? Weird. 

The guardian floated in an Atlas pose with the round disc of Little Cibola borne upon his back. The robot’s posture gave the illusion he was kneeling on the ground instead of floating thousands of feet in the air. Blue jets of flame burst from its legs and feet from dozens of locations as it balanced the city on itself.

I’d managed to stop myself on its left leg. Wind ripped through my hair. The air here was significantly colder than it was above in the city, but I could still feel the punishing heat from the jets below me. Like driving in a car with the window rolled down and the heater on full blast. If I hadn’t shot out my hand and grasped onto the edge of the guardian, I’d have been roasted alive. Those assholes, I thought, looking up at the underside of the city.

But what could I do now? I needed to crawl around, find a part that didn’t have a jet bursting underneath it. Then I could resume my descent.

But it seemed the entire underside of Epsilon was aflame. My eyes caught a round entrance portal about fifteen feet up the leg. If they catch you, you’re fucked. I didn’t have a choice. I grasped on with my right arm, shot up to the portal with my hook, and I ascended, reaching for the entrance.

Unlike the twisting wheel within the previous guardians, this door had some sort of electric lock. There was no handle.

Shit. A panel in the wall blinked red. There were no buttons. I put my hand against it, and to my surprise, the light turned green. The door buzzed, and it dilated open like a camera shutter. I swung inside.

Entering Epsilon – Anterior Knee Piston Service Bay 3.

Deep Dive activating! World Map is not available during a deep dive! Gross Anatomy map activating! Surgery menu activating! Frame Vision now available!

Performing scan…

Warning: this is a technology-based guardian. System Diagnosis talent is required to perform a scan.

I’d entered an airlock. The round portal closed behind me, steam hissed, and another door opened. I entered into a large, metallic room that glowed with white light. My feet echoed on the metallic walkway. Gray, riveted metal comprised the walls. A hydraulic piston as long as a cruise missile rose through the room at an angle, coming up from the floor and out the ceiling. A rubber seal of sorts covered the piston’s entrance and exit into the room. A stark metal ladder was affixed to the wall of the chamber, mirroring the angle of the piston. The whole setup reminded me of the interior of a battleship, only with a higher ceiling. A short walkway led to the only other feature of the room, a computer terminal. There didn’t appear to be any way out of the chamber except the way I’d come.

I looked, and I didn’t have any sort of system diagnosis talent, skill, or spell. I didn’t have access to the technology school of magic, so there probably wasn’t anything I could do here. This was some sort of service access hatch to the kaiju’s (Was it still a kaiju when it was a robot? I didn’t think so.) knee area.

I shouldn’t be in here at all. But where else could I go?

The computer terminal beeped and turned itself on as I approached. A round circle glowed on the floor, and I stepped within it.

Words appeared on the terminal screen.

Access Granted. Citizen User.

System working within acceptable parameters. No maintenance required at this time.

I had no other options.

“Citizen user?” This had to be the result of that weird, second program Bernadette had passed on to me.

Shit. It made computers think I was a member of the corporation. Of course. The whole quest path made sense now. I went to the Shrill, got Bernadette’s brain, went to Necroshire, got the upgrade, got arrested by the Little Cibola goons, and I was released with a sundered access code in my head. It didn’t fool the actual androids, but it did fool their cop cars. Damn. I should have just gone back to Necroshire. I bet I could’ve walked directly into the transport gazebo and used it before the security guys stopped me. That was probably what I was supposed to do. Not jump off the side of the city.

Still… I had managed to get into this room. I thought for a moment. I opened up my pack, pulling out the lantern of Count Fronz.

The little caterpillar coughed angrily as I pulled him free.

“Do you know how long I have been in that bag?” the demon cried. “You have a groundling ear in there. What kind of sick motherfucker walks around with a damn ear in his bag?”

The demon stopped ranting as soon as he noticed where we were. The caterpillar looked about, his antennae nubs twitching as he took in the room. “Lad, are we inside of Epsilon?”

“Yes,” I said. “I used the program I think you and my aunt wrote to gain access. There’s a terminal here, and it recognizes me, but I can’t do anything else. Do you think I’ll be able to turn off one of the jets on the feet from here? I want to temporarily disable one of them long enough so I can jump away.”

Count Fronz was silent for several moments. “Do you know who my father was?” he finally asked.

“Uh, no,” I said. “I thought all of you were just fallen angels or something.”

The angry little caterpillar was suddenly and unusually serious. “Only the kings and queens,” he said. “My father was named Sytri. He brought me into existence. He fought in the original war. He was murdered by Epsilon.”

“Well, it’s not really murder if it’s in war,” I said.

“We had surrendered. We had agreed to withdraw,” Count Fronz said. “Your radiants and your sundered led us back, along with their guardians. The flaming bird and the metal man. They led the withdrawal back into the rift, and they slaughtered us, even after we surrendered. All we wanted was an audience with our creator. We wanted to speak peace. But instead we found this middle world, this stopgap. We had to fight our way through. But we couldn’t, and after a great war, we surrendered. And during our retreat, after you had accepted our terms, Paskunji burned my people and Epsilon turned on the great lords and killed several, including Sytri. The two guardians waited until they were on the other side of the rift, so the deaths of my people were permanent. It took a millennia for us to regain our strength.”

Paskunji was the guardian of the hawk-headed radiants. They were the celestial-only class, the sworn enemies of the worm surgeons, and I avoided them the best I could. Their guardian was one of the few flying ones, I knew. It was a phoenix-type creature.

“Okay,” I said. “So you got a thing for Epsilon. Does that mean you can do as I ask? I’m pretty sure you gotta do what I say.”

“I don’t need to,” Count Fronz said.

“What do you mean?”

“How long ago did you use that program to access this bay?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It was about five minutes before I pulled you out.”

The caterpillar nodded. “I don’t suppose you got a flying spell?”

“No,” I said. “I have a good falling one, though.”

“You should probably stick me back in your bag, go outside, and get ready to use it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Well, lad. Because in about two minutes, Epsilon here is going to come down with a very nasty cold.”

Chapter 48

The jets started sputtering mere seconds after I went back outside. I didn’t wait. The moment the blue flames directly below me went off, I jumped. A blast of heat threatened to crisp me as it spat back on moments after I passed. But I made it.

As I predicted, I spent a few chaotic seconds falling through wet, gray clouds, and then I emerged over the hinterland. I was still pretty damn high. I was thousands of feet in the air. I’d played enough games that involved skydiving that I knew how to position my arms and body.

At this height, I could see a few guardians spread out in the distance. I could see Tem the beetle kaiju of the alienists. It breathed fire at a black horde of something that attacked it on the battlefield. Further west was the Shrill, its tentacles swirling about angrily.

North and a little east and much closer floated multiple, beige-colored balloons. I knew this was the top of Colo Colo, the half slug, half rat kaiju of the shade gremlins. The corpulent guardian was held alight by the balloons, but they didn’t actually grant the creature flight. They were more of a method of keeping the monstrosity’s weight from crushing itself. I steered away from the swamps the best I could.

To the south, the rift itself glowed a deep orange. It was a jagged crack in the world. Paskunji circled above it, the flaming phoenix screaming something at the void. In seconds, the bird kaiju was higher than I was.

The last thing I wanted was to be directly below the area of Little Cibola. I angled west the best I could, aiming for the hills that represented Banksy’s regeneration area. The ground there was a grassy plain with sparse trees to the west. I still wouldn’t be safe there. I’d have to hit the ground running.

I cast Hinder when I guessed I was mere seconds from slamming the ground.

Whoosh. I coughed as I slowed to a parachute-like descent.

I’d slowed down too early. You idiot. Being three seconds from splattering over the hillside did not translate to three seconds of gentle fall. This spell was not meant for use at such a height.

I cringed as the time ran out while I was still a good thirty feet off the ground. Much too high. I yanked the menu back open and cast Invulnerable, my backup spell.

Crack. I screamed as both my legs shattered on landing. More durability. I needed more durability.

I bounced, then rolled, scrambling for my Reconstitute spell. The pain knocked the air out of me. My health stayed at the top thanks to my invulnerability, but I still needed to heal the physical damage. I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten the pain. Fuck this Invulnerable spell. I didn’t have enough soul points left. I pulled a healing potion and downed it. It worked much more slowly than Reconstitute.

Dozens of green and yellow-tagged weasel things popped out of the ground, inspecting me as I gasped for breath. I looked up into the sky. Nothing yet. But any second now…

The weasel creatures started chattering, but they didn’t attack. I didn’t have time to wait and see what would happen next. I turned toward the woods, and I ran.

Above, an explosion echoed across the sky. Epsilon had succumbed to Count Fronz and Bernadette’s virus. The guardian had fallen offline, and he now tumbled toward the surface.

Along with the entire city of Little Cibola.

That’s right, assholes.

I still had ten seconds of Invulnerable left. I had wanted to save it for when Epsilon hit the ground. It would run out before that happened.

The weasels decided at that moment to attack. I pulled my rifle and shot one point-blank. It screamed, flying back. It did not die. Each furry monster was about two feet long and was a fast, long tube of angry teeth. I focused my fire on the yellow-tagged ones as I ran. They eased back, but they continued to chase me at a distance.

I slung my rifle. I shot my hook, reaching a tall tree branch as I approached the woods. I tried a Spiderman move, retracting and swinging my way forward. It didn’t quite work how I hoped, but I knew with practice I could probably get decent at it.

Still, the move gave me just enough momentum to pull away from the weasels.

These woods were nothing like the thicker forest to the north. This was more like an apple orchard with widely disbursed trees.

The whining shriek of incoming artillery pierced the air. I glanced over my shoulder to see the descending meteor plummet toward the earth.

I stopped, then, seeing the size of the fireball.

A wave of the weasel monsters poured at me. Hundreds of them. A few in the back of the crowd were red-tagged. It didn’t matter.

They didn’t get to me before the shockwave did.

Chapter 49

You have died 15 times!

Entering Charnel.

You earned experience while you were offline.

You are now level 39

What the hell? Six levels? Additional experience notifications poured in and slowly trickled to a stop, but not before I hit level 40.

I’d been given credit, or at least partial credit, for the meteor strike. I wasn’t sure how experience was calculated with this sort of thing, but I knew in other games you received a fraction of what you’d normally get if you’d killed something face-to-face. Still, based on the size of that fireball, I’d probably wiped out every living creature in a ten square mile radius, including the guardian Colo Colo.

Renault approached as I stood, brushing myself off.

“It has been some time,” he said. “Your fae friend has come looking for you several times, but even she has given up hope that you would return.”

“How long has it been since you’ve last seen her?” I asked.

“It has been a long while. Multiple weeks. Perhaps two months.”

I nodded. I stood, looking about. The town appeared exactly the same as last time. I approached the campfire in the center of town where withered old Fiona always sat, warming her hands.

“Did you manage to find Bernadette?” the mayor asked, looking up at me.

“I did,” I said, bringing myself back to the now. “But she is dead.”

“That is unfortunate,” Fiona said, looking up into the sky.

At that moment, a distant, resounding boom washed over us. The walls shook. All along the forest, birds took flight.

“I have heard that sound before,” Fiona said, looking south.

I realized we’d just been hit with the shockwave from the Epsilon and Little Cibola crash. I mentally calculated. Two minutes and twenty seconds for the death sequence, and I hadn’t been back very long, maybe three minutes. So about five and a half to six minutes since impact, and the sound wave still traveled. That was one big-ass explosion.

“That was the guardian Epsilon falling from the heavens,” I said.

Fiona nodded. “Your aunt did not trust or like that guardian. She never told me why. It is fitting it shall fall on the day I learned of her death.” She threw a stick into the fire. “Without the transport gazebo, we are truly lost.”

“Before she died, she passed on the knowledge I need to fix the gazebo,” I said.

“Demons approach, more than ever before!” a voice called from the tower. “In the air and on the ground,”

Damnit. Of course they’re going to attack now.

“Okay,” I said, jumping up. “Fiona, get everyone lined up. I’m going to fix the gazebo.”

The transport pavilion was right there, ten feet away. I stepped in, and like last time, it asked if I wanted to load the program. Less than thirty seconds later, it was all lit up and ready to go.

As it was loading, I finally spent the seven skill points to give me level 3 of the Teleport spell. I then quickly allocated my seven attribute points. I tossed one into durability, three into strength, and three into acumen. 

A quest notification chimed.

Protect the escape of the citizens of Charnel.

Fiona grabbed my hand as worm surgeons lined up at the gazebo. “I have something for you,” she said.

Above, the guns started to clatter.

She produced a small potion vial. Within was a miniature demon similar in size to the ones in the soul power potions. But this was nothing more than a tiny eyeball, the size of a button. Three tentacles swayed underneath the eye.

I quickly examined the potion’s properties.

Control Parasite for the Shrill.

Infecting yourself with this parasite gives you permanent control and access to the Shrill’s cockpit and commands within the Guardian Control menu. Once consumed, this parasite can not be removed.

I didn’t need to think about it. I popped the cork and sucked the little bugger down.

You’ve been infected with a parasite!

I fell to my knees, pain wracking my head. But it quickly passed.

Notifications scrolled by, telling me I now had control of the Shrill.

Finally. I had assumed Bernadette would’ve had this thing, but it had been Mayor Fiona all along. It made sense. This was the finale of the worm surgeon-only quest, and the parasite was the prize.

I tossed open the Guardian Control menu to make sure it was there. To my surprise, I had three guardian icons listed, not two. I had Moritasgus, the Shrill, and I also had Epsilon.

What the hell? I clicked on Epsilon, and the normal menu popped up, but all the options were grayed out. All except one:

Blow core.

I couldn’t control the robot, and I didn’t have access to its cockpit. But by infecting the guardian with the virus, I’d gained permanent access to a single ability. “Blow Core.” Just like with the cop car. A self-destruct button.

“You must cast Teleport,” Fiona said. “I shall lead the retreat while Renault guards us.”

I nodded. I put my hand on the gazebo, and several options popped up. It selected Transport Group for me, and a bit less than half my soul points leeched away. For the location, it selected Medina (Main Square). There were a few other Medina locations on the list. The only other option was Necroshire. But for now, the quest auto-selected everything for me.

The gazebo glowed, and the townspeople surged forward. I jumped out of the way and watched as my people fled their village.

A defensive tower blew in a shower of brick and wood. It was the same tower Clara and I usually used. A rock ricocheted off my head, and I stumbled. Renault was above, firing the auto gun in another tower. He yelled something down at me.

I stood, wavering for a moment. I had a thought. I popped open my familiar menu and clicked Summon to My Location. It was hard to scale distances, but I guessed Banksy was a good ten miles west of here. It’d take him some time to home in on me. But he would come.

A single blood wyvern smashed into the middle of town, alighting on top of a pair of buildings. It faced us, screeching as the worm surgeons panicked, pushing forward toward the small portal.

This was the biggest of the vulture demons I’d ever seen, easily three times larger than normal. Renault could not twist his gun to fire directly into town. As I pulled my gun, my eyes caught the tag and flaming crown. My Lemegeton skill activated. This was yet another boss monster, a member of the demonic court.

Lord Murmur

Rank 19 in the demonic hierarchy. A vassal of King Paimon.

May be evoked for binding purposes only. Requires Evocation level 3.

Has two forms: A large Blood Wyvern or as a stately Human.

I fired two shots into his vulture-like head to see if it had any effect. It had an effect all right, but not one I wanted. Lord Murmur screamed in anger, turning his focus on me.

My quest was to protect the escape of the worm surgeons, and at the moment I stood in the midst of the retreating villagers. I had to lead him away. I darted toward the back of town. The giant vulture thing screeched again, lifting off to pursue.

I twisted back and cast Leaden at the flying monster. It was my first chance to use the spell I’d purchased long ago.

Lord Murmur blasted against the ground as if a giant hand had grasped and slam-dunked him. Dirt and cobblestones showered. He leaped up from the crater, screaming even more loudly, apparently uninjured. He attempted to take back to the sky, but he couldn’t. The spell worked for .5 seconds per level of Strength—not Acumen—which meant the effect would last a total of 16.5 seconds.

Above, Renault and a few other defenders continued to lash fire into the invading demons.

The demon fell forward, crawling on the tips of his segmented wings. He moved terrifyingly fast. His vulture beak smashed into a hut, caving it in. I aimed and fired again. Again, it had no visible effect other than pissing him off further.

The townspeople had all escaped except for Renault and three guards who continued to shoot at the invaders. Another defensive tower exploded.

I reached the back wall of Charnel. Lord Murmur hissed in triumph, thinking he had me trapped. He approached more slowly, his head bobbing.

As I prepared to shoot my grappling hook, which would take me over the wall, the vulture thing glowed, his form shrinking until he was that of a man wielding a thin, black sword. Obsidian droplets of oil floated in the air, rising off the blade.

The swarthy lord wore a lavish, purple surcoat over glittering silver armor. A small, silver crown adorned his head, sitting upon gleaming, black hair. A coat of arms adorned his jacket, depicting a horn crossed with a griffin. 

Behind, I watched as Renault and the remaining worm surgeons slipped off the towers and ran into the blinking transport gazebo. Behind them, zippers swarmed through the gates, hot on their tail. The demons screamed in frustration as their quarry evaded them. But they spied me and the lord. They screamed anew and charged.

Quest Complete! Evacuate Charnel.

The human form of Murmur grinned, revealing black, sharp teeth. “I am going to enjoy taking you apart, churl.”

“What the fuck did you just call me?” I asked. “A churro?”

He stopped, cocking his head. He suddenly looked more puzzled than angry. “No. I called you a…”

If he finished the sentence, he did so within the mouth of Banksy.

Chapter 50

The behemoth burst from the ground, rising and rising. Banksy’s pink and segmented body swallowed the entirety of the town center, save the wall behind my back. He consumed the buildings. The transport gazebo. The zippers. Lord Murmur. In a few quick seconds they were all gone. Soul power surged into me.

I pressed my back against the wall as Banksy slammed back to the earth. The remaining perimeter structures crumbled underneath the earthquake, and I was thrown off my feet. Behind him, the rest of the defensive wall that surrounded the former village of Charnel collapsed, leaving nothing but rubble. Only a small portion of the back wall of the town remained.

My pet twisted several times, coiling himself so that he faced me.

He hadn’t gotten much bigger between levels 25 and 47. In fact, he looked more like a giant version of the worm that had emerged out of me at level 5. The nubs that had been growing along his flank were gone. Just a pink, segmented, cone-headed monster. Only now his head was about as high as a three-story house. I thought it had said he’d get bigger with each level-up, but reading the description again, it said he’d get more “formidable.” I wasn’t sure what that meant. He was still much smaller than any of the guardians. But at this moment, it was hard to tell.

“Duke,” Banksy said. Each of his teeth were as big as me. His words boomed. “Father. You have been gone for a long time. Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was arrested and thrown in jail in the town of Little Cibola. I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t send word.”

“What?” Banksy asked, rearing up. I scrambled back in fear. “I thought you had left these lands. Clara said you weren’t gone, but I couldn’t feel you. I thought you had left without saying goodbye.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. I took a tentative step forward, raising my hand toward Banksy. He lowered his head so his lower mouth flap touched my palm. He wasn’t nearly as squishy as before. His skin was as hard as concrete.

“No, I am sorry, Father. I should have rescued you. I should have known. I did not see you.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m back now. I need to find Clara. Also, I was hoping to use that transport gazebo to get into Medina, but it looks like you ate it.”

Banksy raised his head into the air, shook it twice and then hurled the slime-covered gazebo back onto the ground next to me. It landed on its side, crunching ominously. One of the arm supports was broken, but the gazebo still glowed.

“I can not consume this,” Banksy said. “Or this.”

He hacked the mangled and chewed-up body of Lord Murmur onto the ground. It landed with a splat. A regeneration countdown timer appeared over the demon’s body. The timer was at 17 minutes. As I stared at the body, a round symbol appeared in the air, similar to the one at the base of Count Fronz’s cage.

Seal of Murmur added to library.

It seemed that’s how one obtained demonic seals. You killed or defeated them in battle, and you learned their seal, allowing you to summon them.

I eyed the gazebo. “I don’t suppose you can just bring that thing with you?”

“No, father,” Banksy said. “It must stay here.”

I sighed. I eyed the countdown timer over Murmur warily. “Do you have anything else locked away in there? In your stomach vault?”

“I do,” Banksy said. “Clara said to give this to you. I think it’s a letter.”

He horked up a single scroll. I picked up the sopping-wet paper and unfurled it, reading.

Duke,

Today is 45 days left. I don’t know where you are. I think maybe they got to you, turned off your rig, and the system thinks you’re still online. Maybe you’re free. Maybe you’re stuck in a hole somewhere. Or maybe you’re just dead. I don’t know.

I have completed the fae quest. I have the controller for Avvinik. As I write this, I am level 50. After level 50, it becomes very difficult to level up further. During my quest, I also received the controller for the Opera. He’s a giant salamander.

Jenk is alive and still in the game. I had a short encounter with him, but I escaped. He mentioned you. I understand why you didn’t want to tell me about him, but you can still go fuck yourself. Not cool.

God, I hope you’re okay. I knew I would like you.

There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about your daughter. And your son.

Come to Avvinik. Bring a guardian so I know it’s you.

Clara.

“Banksy,” I said. I slowly folded the paper, thinking hard. “What did you tell Clara about my daughter?”

“I didn’t tell her anything. She has never asked.”

Jenk must have told her something, then. But what could it be? Chris was dead. I’d been gone for almost six months. Mary was probably just now picking up the pieces, figuring out how to move on. And Ruth… I hoped she had found help. But if Jenk knew something and passed it on to Clara, it couldn’t be anything good. Did I even want to know?

I had two choices right now. I could head straight to Clara to find out what she was talking about. Or I could go to Medina.

I gazed west. There’s something I need to tell you. I sighed.

“Banksy, can you go over to Clara and try to talk to her? Tell her I’m back?”

“She doesn’t come out of the panther very often. Not so much nowadays. Not after the wolfman went in there and she fought him. The panther and the two-headed wolf fought after that. Both guardians died.”

“Did you fight them, too?”

Banksy seemed to hang his head in shame. “I did not. Not that time. I stayed underground. Avvinik doesn’t like me. He killed me when we first met. I stay back now. Sometimes he growls at me.”

I patted him on the side of the head. “Have you tried any of your new attacks yet?”

That perked him up. “Yes, yes. I have three attacks now. But one of them kills me, so I haven’t tried that one yet. I don’t want to. Clara said all guardians, even minor guardians like me have three attacks, and one of them is very powerful. I have an attack named Descending Angel that makes everything fall down out of the sky. You have the same spell I remember, so we’re like twins. I can do that every five minutes. It hurts my head, though. The second one I can only do every five hours. It’s called Green Hell. It’s kinda gross.”

“Green Hell? Is it a poison attack?”

“I wish it was, father. It’s a vomit attack. I just start spraying puke everywhere. And it melts everything it touches. It’s a lot of vomit. I mean a lot. I don’t know where it comes from.”

“Ahh,” I said. “An acid attack.”

“The third one I can only do once a day, and it kills me. I haven’t tried it yet. It’s called Ghoul Night Out.”

“What does it do?” I asked. The new attacks were listed in my familiar menu, but they didn’t have descriptions. 

“I don’t know,” Banksy said. “I’m scared to try it. When I die, I come back to a place that’s very far from here. There are small monsters there that bite me. I don’t like it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said. “I wanted your regeneration spot closer to the rift. I think we’ll need you there. I can change your spot until you reach level 50, but it’s the only open-area spot I’ll be able to pick.”

“Okay,” Banksy said.

“Hey, can I go inside of you now? Like how I go inside of the Shrill?”

“No,” Banksy said. “Deep dive isn’t available until I hit level 50. If you go inside of me, you will die.”

“Hmm,” I said. “What about your saddle? I suppose that’s long gone, but can I ride on you?”

“If you give yourself the Freeriding skill, you may while I am above ground. Otherwise you will need to purchase a proper saddle or howdah. Then you must return to Crust Sock in the nerve agent town of Yelm so he can install burrowing protection.” My pet did not look like he approved of the idea. He never liked being a mount. “I mostly travel underground now,” he added.

“Shit. I’m going to need a way to move around quickly.”

“What about this?” Banksy asked. He lifted his head in the air and made the throat-clearing noise I knew meant he was about to hurl. I jumped back.

He vomited a tracked vehicle onto the ground. It crunched to a stop in front of me, groaning as if it was going to fall apart.

This was the same derelict vehicle that had been sitting by the town’s gate. Banksy must have swallowed it when he killed the zippers and demon.

I walked around the truck. It was like a rusted-out short school bus but with tank tracks instead of wheels. This wasn’t a flying car. Not at all. Multiple guns covered the bus, pointing out in all directions. A wedge-shaped plow covered the front grill. The thing was so old it looked like I could stick my finger right through the rusty skin.

“I thought you said you only had that note in your stomach.”

“The note was in my storage. That’s different than my stomach. I ate this. I was about to digest it, but I thought you might want it instead.”

I touched the door, and a window appeared. Flash Chaser?

“Chaser?” I said. That must be the name of the vehicle type. I clicked Yes.

A status bar pulled across the screen. The truck flashed.

A moment passed. Then a status popped up.

Vehicle Drivetrain has been repaired.

The rusted, broken down hulk didn’t look any different. I looked at the chaser dubiously. I pushed at the school-bus-like door, and it squeaked open on rusted hinges. I had to pull myself up to step in, and once inside I was assaulted with the earthy stench of must. It appeared someone had used the driver’s seat to host a campfire. The backing was intact, but four rusty springs were all that remained of the seat part.

I sat in the seat, which groaned and poked uncomfortably against my ass. The engine roared to life, and the whole vehicle vibrated. The door fell off. Multiple status bars appeared in my interface. The first two were Vehicle Power and Vehicle Integrity. The rest were weapons status indicators. The power was 100%. The integrity was at 17%. The weapons all said Offline.

Unlike the last vehicle, whose controls were more like that of a small airplane, this was a more traditional truck. I wanted to test it, so I eased the gas.

The chaser chugged forward, moving more smoothly than I would expect. I tapped the brakes, and the truck squealed to a stop, taking much longer than I anticipated to stop rolling. I cringed as the front wedge crunched up against the last still-standing chunk of Charnel’s back wall.   

The barrier fell over in a heap.

Warning: the town of Charnel no longer exists. As a result, you may no longer use your currently selected regeneration spot. Your previous location: Bast – Player Base has been selected.

“Oh hell,” I said.

I had a bag full of branding irons, but I couldn’t use them until I got back into Medina. That clinched it.

“Banksy,” I said. I slipped out of the seat and jumped back outside. The engine stopped humming the moment I left the vehicle. “I have to go to Medina right now. I can’t take you with me. Can you… Can you swallow this thing back up and keep it for me? I might need it again.”

“I have plenty of room,” Banksy said.

“Great! Keep it for me. Also, try to talk to Clara. Tell her I will be there tomorrow.”

“Okay, Duke,” he said. He paused. “I missed you, father.”

“I missed you, too.”

Next, I pulled up my Guardian menu, thought for a moment, then clicked on Moritasgus. I summoned him to an area just south of Avvinik. It would take him a good day to walk there.

I waved goodbye, and I stepped into the overturned transport gazebo.

Chapter 51

Entering Medina – Main Square

I slammed onto the ground. The gazebo of Charnel was knocked over, and it translated me into Medina in a position relative with the bottom of the gazebo, making it so I teleported in on my side.

I stood, brushing myself off. A light drizzle fell. It was a downpour the last time I was here. I eyed a familiar stall. I approached the proprietor. A shade gremlin named Well Done.

“Hey there, remember me?” I asked. “You gave me my first brand.”

“Yes, yes,” the angry-looking gremlin said. He gave me an appraising glance. “You’ve grown a bit. You’re under-armored, but you are much more powerful than the last time I saw you. What can I do for you today?” He produced a gleaming knife with a serrated edge. “Do you want me to remove that defunct brand on the center of your back?” He waved the knife hopefully.

I pulled two brands out of my pack. “I got something even better for you.” I pushed the Shrill brand forward. “I want this one on my neck. And this one,” I tapped the Moritasgus oblation chamber brand. “I want this one on my chest. I also have two old brands from cities that don’t exist anymore. Do you buy them?”

“If it’s a defunct brand, it’s junk. But I’ll give you five teeth each. I can always melt ‘em.” The shade gremlin rubbed his hands together. “So for the two brands. The first will be your third brand, and that will be 500 teeth. The next will be 1,000 teeth.”

I nodded. “How much if you throw a third brand in? One for Medina.”

The gremlin could barely contain his excitement. He leaned forward. His breath smelled like turned mayonnaise. His entire body trembled. “That’ll be 2,000 more. Plus 100 extra teeth for renting out the brand. So with everything it’ll be 3,600 teeth. 3,590 if you want to sell me those two old brands.”  

I had just over 5,300 teeth on me.

“Let’s do it,” I said.

Well Done squealed with delight.

***

I set my respawn to the Medina main square. I poked gingerly at the sore spot on my neck. I’d gotten the other two brands on my chest. They burned, but the neck brand had hurt the most. I could still smell the burning flesh. The sadistic little gremlin had held the branding iron down for several seconds longer than necessary. I could feel the little bastard’s erection pressing against my side as he burned me.

The original plan was to come here, find some quests, and then work on leveling up. We were well past that stage now. My food was going to run out in two weeks. I needed to get some shopping done, and then I needed to go out to Clara. I needed to get the key, and then we had to make our move on the rift, ready or not.

Medina was much as I remembered it. I spent some time exploring, getting the lay of the city. It was arranged in haphazard neighborhoods segregated by race. The worm surgeons lived in the poorest part of town. It seemed the practitioners of resurrection magic were the lowest class of citizens, followed by the steampunk folks. The bird-headed plague doctorers were the very bottom of the social ladder, followed closely by the worm surgeons and the menders, a race of clockwork humanoids who looked like poor imitations of their elite cousins. The technology and celestial-based citizens dominated the more affluent areas of the city, though I didn’t see any of the sundered walking about, thank goodness. The lizard-headed caduceus dominated the richer shops and neighborhoods.

Regular humans were everywhere, by far the largest population of the city. They didn’t fall into any specific socioeconomic category. Most were merchants or just random, wandering NPCs who seemed to be going about their days. 

A sprawling temple stood on a hill in the very back of the city. The gold and white towers glittered with a magical aura. This was the Temple of the Chained Gods. It was where people like Clara had to go to get her supply of blood nuggets for her spell ability. I wasn’t sure how the whole process worked, but it seemed like more of a pain in the ass than my method of just getting soul power by killing stuff. A constant cloud of demons hovered above the main temple, unable to descend further thanks to the protection spell that surrounded Medina. The hawk-like radiants dominated this area, and I steered clear.

I was almost shanked by a group of groundlings after I inadvertently wandered into one of their neighborhoods. A group of teenager groundlings saw me and started throwing rocks. A few brandished knives and approached menacingly. I turned away and after that I decided I’d had enough exploring.

My first stop was a potion shop. I walked in, eyeing the physicker merchant. The ghost-like proprietor waited patiently behind the counter. I tried to see any emotion in the twin eye slits on the smooth, white face. There was none. These guys freaked me out.

I pulled one of my two Colo Colo Menses potions. “How much will you give me for this?”

The physicker’s name was Hito. He picked it up with long, alien fingers, examining it. He moved slowly, sloth-like. 

“Hmm,” he said. He sounded tired and bored. “This is an interesting potion. I think I can give you 40,000 teeth for it.”

That was a lot, but I wondered if I could get more.

“Hey, do you have any of those charm potions? The pink ones?”

“Yes. They are 1,000 teeth each.” He waved his hand, and the shop’s stock appeared in a floating window. “Be warned, they do not work on me. They perhaps might work on other merchants who are not physicker or others of the wind.”

This was the slowest-moving creature I’d seen since I’d come into this damn game. I didn’t know how the hell he could possibly be wind-based.

“Okay,” I said, studying the list. The variety here wasn’t nearly as good as what Stolas had in his shop out in the woods, but Hito had loads of the basics. This was a potion shop for lower-level players. Stolas the owl demon had something called “full-healing” potions for 1,000 teeth. Hito only had “Healing” potions, but they were much cheaper, only 100 teeth each. These were the same ones I already had. I didn’t know what the difference was for sure, but I suspected the full healing ones cured things like poison and paralysis in addition to your basic health. Either way, Hito didn’t have any. “I want twenty of the health potions, five of the resurrection point potions, two of the charm potions, and two of the deftness potions. And I want to sell this Colo Colo potion.”

“Very well,” Hito said.

I walked out of there with just under 35,000 teeth. It seemed like all the money in the world, but in most games, I was usually a multi-millionaire by now.

I picked up a few hundred extra teeth by completing quick delivery quests. During one of these, I discovered a small shop called “Sigils.” It was listed on my map under miscellaneous.

The shop sold gear for evoking demons. The shopkeeper was a female viceroy, the resurrection and celestial-based race of goat people.

In order to evoke a demon, you needed a special container filled with salt. You used the container to draw an unbroken circle on the ground and then cast the evocation spell which burned the demon’s seal within the ring. Doing so allowed you to temporarily summon the demon whose seal you cast. The seal would quickly degrade, so if you didn’t use that time wisely, you were in serious danger of getting ripped to shreds by the demon you evoked.

You also had to make sure you made the circle the correct size. Most demons took multiple forms, and you could force them into certain incarnations based on the size of the circle. But if the circle was too small for any of their forms, the summoning would either fizzle out or worse, the demon would come to you untethered. If you made the circle too big, they could easily escape. So you had to know what you were doing when you called them.

Once evoked in this manner, you could create a contract with the demon. The demon would complete one task of your choosing, depending on their abilities. Once the task was completed, the sigil would erase from your library, and you wouldn’t be able to evoke them ever again.

These supplies were fairly inexpensive.

If you wanted to keep the demon around longer, the prices went up exponentially. Permanently bound demons were very valuable. A lamp similar to the one I had that contained Count Fronz cost 150,000 teeth, not including the wax-coated evoking plate that needed to be placed at the base of the container. One placed the plate into the magic container and cast the summoning, which trapped the demon indefinitely.

The problem was they sold larger evoking plates, but not larger containers. According to the proprietor, using a plate without a container was much the same as just using the salt. Certain race path quests involved building these larger containers, but it wasn’t something that worm surgeons regularly did. Evocation was more of a celestial thing than a resurrection thing.  

The store sold a short array of seal scrolls. They were all of lesser demons. Fronz was one of them. It cost 5,000 teeth to learn his seal.

The demon Andras was also listed. It cost 7,500 to learn his seal. This was my target in the Stolas quest. After a moment of debate, I decided to purchase it along with three skins containing enough salt to attempt several evocations.

Andras required Evocation level 3 to bind. I spent 10 skill points to bring myself to level 2. With my necklace, it automatically brought my skill up to 3. The top level for the skill was 4, but both level 3 (without the necklace) and 4 required something called a “Blessing” to get. It seemed like it was the celestial version of a cybernetic upgrade. One had to visit the Temple of the Chained Gods to get those upgrades. Level 3 costs an additional 20 skill points, and level 4 was 40, the most expensive thing on the whole list. That made me wonder how valuable my necklace was. 

I was hoping the donkey queen Lamashtu would be available, but I guessed she was too high up on the hierarchy to be sold in a store like this. I would have to venture back out there to give her the egg.

“Tell me what you know of Andras,” I said as I packed up my purchases.

The goat creature looked thoughtful. “He is quite dangerous. He takes the form of an owl-headed angel, but he is actually a shapeshifter, a master of disguise. He is an assassin and a brilliant swordsman. He can be used to sow discord. You can evoke him to cause one camp to attack another, even if they are allies. Or you can enlist his aid to slay or even kidnap a powerful enemy. But beware his true heart. He will always try to trick you. If you create a contract with him, be sure to make it as simple and full-proof as you can.”

“I just want to kill him,” I said.

The viceroy looked at me like I was out of my mind. She didn’t offer any sort of tips on how I might do that. Stolas had told me to cut off his head and stick the black sprout flower bud in him. I still had the black sprout sitting in my quest inventory. I assumed Clara did too unless she’d managed to complete the quest.  

At my next stop, I purchased a pair of pants that increased my strength by two. The rest of the armor was prohibitively expensive.

My next stop was a Chicken and Waffles and Upgrades location in the technology center of town. I used most of my remaining funds to upgrade my Teleport to level 4.

Next door to the surgery center was a showroom for mech power armor. It seemed they only sold and carried armor that was compatible with technology and steam-based creatures. I browsed anyway. They sold groundling mechs similar to the ones the guards of Kinnegad rode for 900,000 teeth.

That gave me an idea.

I had 2,500 teeth left when I approached the mercenary market.

Chapter 52

“You,” I said to the first low-level groundling mercenary I saw. She was a scowling woman named Janzig. She reminded me of a younger Madame Throb. She was a level 14 mercenary. “I want to hire you for a day.”

“And I want to amplify every inch of your body,” the groundling said, looking me up and down. She spit at my feet.

I didn’t know if the groundlings knew why they hated me, but boy did they like to show it. The few radiants I’d passed by on the street just glared at me with mild disdain. The groundlings actively showed their animosity. They brandished their weapons. They made obscene gestures. They hurled insults.

“Just one day. Really, just one hour. But you’ll get a full day’s pay.”

“There is not a thing in this dying world that you can offer me that’ll make me want to spend another moment in your presence, demon.”

I leaned forward. “How about the ultimate pilgrimage? A trip to the inside of your god?”

***

Less than an hour later, I used my level-4 Teleport ability to clank back into Medina and to the mech dealership. I dismissed the starry-eyed Janzig after ordering her out of Madame Throb’s old mech. I sold the battered machine to the nerve agent dealer for 400,000 teeth. Apparently, this was a special edition of groundling war armor, so it was much more valuable.

I hadn’t lingered in the oblation chamber. But I looked. I couldn’t help it. Gulch was still there, screaming in agony.

It’ll be over soon, I thought. I’m going to win this game, and your suffering will end.

My next stop was a shop that sold upgrades for my grappling hook. The owner was a black female human with an eyepatch. All four of her limbs were cybernetic. For just over 50,000 teeth I bought a gloved hand that looked and acted like a normal hand, a flamethrower attachment that could shoot blue flames, and a gripping upgrade for my four existing pincers. A swiss-army-knife-like add-on to my wrist magically stored all three hands at once, and I could quickly cycle through them.

“You sure you don’t need one more?” the shop owner asked as I figured out how to quickly change between the extensions. “That selector can store four attachments. No use wasting the slot.”

I wanted to save some money for Clara, but the shopkeeper had a point. Most of the choices were guns, but none were even close to matching the Epiviper. I was about to choose a flechette upgrade when my eyes caught a category I hadn’t yet explored. I remembered what Well Done had said to me. You’re under-armored.

“I’ll take this one,” I said, clicking on the interface.

She nodded. “It’s the most powerful shield I have. It’ll require a battery upgrade in addition to the fuel tank upgrade. It recharges the same way as your rifle. So it’ll be another 5,000 teeth on top of the 15,000 for the shield. Is that okay?”

I sighed. “Sure.”

Five minutes later, I practiced deploying the power shield. It didn’t work as I anticipated. It wasn’t a traditional attachment. I could still use one of the other four add-ons while it remained in effect. I turned it on, and my arms, chest, and head glowed a translucent blue. It covered everything on my head, including my eyes, so the world had a tint. Two new status bars appeared while the shield was active. Shield Integrity and Shield Battery Power. The integrity decreased as I received damage, and the power decreased slowly over time. Integrity slowly healed itself once I stopped taking damage. Battery power also recharged, but only while the shield was turned off.

It could only be used as protection against stabbing and high-velocity weapons. It wouldn’t protect me from fall or even crush damage.

According to the merchant, the battery lasted about 15 minutes if it didn’t have to heal the integrity of the shield. During a heated firefight, it could last as little as two minutes. So I had to use it sparingly. Once the battery died, it took a full half-hour to recharge.

And finally, I visited Pets Plus, the same shop I got Banksy. The dryad shopkeeper sold me a simple pet carrier. I couldn’t use it to actually hold Banksy, and I couldn’t use it as his regeneration spot. They didn’t have anything that could accommodate his bulk. But owning the carrier gave me a very important upgrade. It allowed me two-way communication with Banksy over great distances.

The carrier took the form of a keychain-sized fire hydrant. “Cute,” I said, stuffing it in my bag.

Normally, this same carrier would allow my pet to teleport to my location. I could click summon, and after a short countdown, he’d appear at my side, no matter where in the world we were. Unfortunately because he was now labeled as a “Behemoth-Class Familiar” I could no longer use that ability. The shop owner said such an upgrade wasn’t possible. It sucked, but I guess it made sense.  

The moment I stepped out of the shop, I pulled up my map to see where Moritasgus was. The badger kaiju was moving more quickly than I anticipated and had already arrived at the location I sent him. I moved him a bit closer to Clara’s guardian.

I tried out my new chat feature. I had to physically type the words into a floating keyboard that only I could see.

Duke: Banksy, can you see this?

Banksy: Father, yes. I hear you.

Duke: Okay, good. Have you talked to Clara?

Banksy: I don’t know how to get her to come out. I haven’t seen her in a long time. I’m not even sure she’s in there. Winky and the others sometimes fly around the outside, but they don’t talk to me anymore now that I’ve gotten big. It’s very lonely.

Duke: Okay. I’m going to come to you. I will be inside of Moritasgus, so don’t be afraid.

Banksy: He will attack me. He will kill me, father.

Duke: I will make sure he doesn’t. Stay buried until I say it’s okay.

Banksy: Yes, father. I will see you soon.

I pulled up my Teleport menu. When I was within the city, I couldn’t randomly teleport away even though I was level 4. You could only use the transport gazebos to zap yourself out. I’d forgotten. 

But it didn’t matter, I realized. I was running low on soul power. I had enough to get into the kaiju, but I wouldn’t have enough to BloodBorne myself out of the oblation chamber.

The soul power potions were 500 teeth each, and I didn’t want to waste them. I needed to find an alternative. I needed to kill something and not raise the ire of the town guard.

The worm surgeon neighborhood held a race guildhall, called a mausoleum. It was a ten-minute walk. It was actually closer than that, but I made a wide berth around the groundling neighborhood.

In most games, the masters at the guildhalls acted as guides and helped when you had questions. I figured it was worth a try. The building looked like an old-school, stone church. Someone had spray-painted “Worm Surgeons go to hell!” on the wall, but it had been poorly painted over. Trash littered the streets of this part of town.

Entering Worm Surgeon Mausoleum of Medina

Welcome, Fellow Worm Surgeon!

Jobs available! See the guildmaster!

“Hello, Duke,” a familiar voice said.

“Mayor Fiona!” I said in surprise. “What’re you doing here?”

I noticed then that the tag over her name had switched from “Mayor” to “Guildmaster.”

“I see this is your first visit to the guildhall,” she said. “If you had come here when you were younger, like you were supposed to, you would have learned all about how I have always been the guildmaster here. About how I went to Charnel to check up on my sister, the mayor. And how I have disappeared. And you would have been sent to the city to find out what was going on. But you skipped all that and went straight to Charnel instead.”

“Ahh,” I said. I’d gone about the main Charnel quest backward. Oh well.

I took in the expansive room. The stone walls were adorned with a scattering of torches that gave off a flickering, red-yellow light. There was no electricity. Long tables stretched down the hall. A fireplace made of bones dominated the far wall where the altar would be. Above the fireplace was a colossal painting of the Shrill. The ornate, golden frame stretched to the ceiling of the hall. The portrait depicted the tentacled guardian pulling himself out of the rift, fighting another, unfamiliar kaiju. This was a winged, obsidian demon with a flaming crown. Twin horns curved off the guardian’s head. The monster would be home on the cover of a black metal album. Kind of like the Balrog from Lord of the Rings mixed with an especially pissed-off goat.

The guardian was easily twice as large as the Shrill, and I could only see the top half of his body in the painting.

“Who is that?” I asked, pointing at the image.

“You mean Emperor Baal?” Fiona asked.

I gulped. “I hadn’t realized he was so large.”

“Zagan and Baal are brothers,” Fiona said, coming to stand next to me. She looked up at the painting. “Zagan’s betrayal is the only thing that saved this world during the first war.”

“Why did he do it?” I asked.

Fiona gave me a side-eyed glance. “If you came to the guild as a child like you were supposed to, you would know these answers.” She sighed heavily. “But I guess your aunt didn’t come either. Zagan wished to be married. He had a betrothed.”

“Queen Lamashtu,” I said. “The donkey.”

“So you aren’t hopeless after all,” Fiona said. “Yes, Queen Lamashtu. In the beginning, Baal’s intentions were good. He wished to make peace with the Creator. Zagan and Lamashtu both opposed the action. They wanted to permanently sever the bond that connected their world with the heavens. But Baal is the emperor, and what he says is law. Baal had the rift opened, but when the first emissaries came through, they found this world instead of the heavens. The emissaries were attacked and killed by Paskunji before they could even speak. Enraged, Baal ordered the demons to attack.”

“And Zagan and Lamashtu wanted him to let it go?”

“Almost correct. Zagan knew that many of his fellows would die, that all the fallen would suffer if they brought war to this place. Lamashtu saw the war as an opportunity to overthrow Emperor Baal. She yearns for power. Zagan wishes for peace. Baal is bitter and wants revenge. He is willing to sacrifice everything if that’s what it takes.”

“And somehow that all translated into Zagan coming here and turning into the Shrill?”

“Yes. Lamashtu attempted to assassinate Baal. She failed, and when she was caught, she blamed it on Zagan. Zagan was set upon by his brother’s legions. He fled here, and now he fights against those who would invade this world.”

“But Lamashtu wasn’t killed or banished?” I asked. “Why not?”

Fiona shook her head. “I do not know. She is slippery. She lies. Her motives are never clear. She has likely convinced Baal that it was all Zagan’s plan.”

I was now wondering how good of an idea it was to bring that fertilized egg back to the donkey. Did it really matter? If she gave me the key to the rift, then what difference did all of this make? As long as I could trigger the endgame, then that’s all that really mattered. Right?

Still, I suddenly had a very uneasy feeling about the egg in my pack.   

“Are you looking for work?” Fiona asked. “We have much that needs to be done.”

“I’m looking for advice, actually,” I said.

“Oh?” the elderly ghoul asked. She crossed her arms. “How can I help you?”

“Soul points,” I said. “Now that Banksy is all grown up, he’s not around so much, and it’s getting harder for me to keep my power topped up.”

Fiona looked me up and down.

“Do you know what you are?” she finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

She poked me in the chest. “You are a worm surgeon. You are a legion of the Shrill. You are the embodiment of resurrection magic. No other race can say that. When your familiar reached level 40, he obtained a spell that exemplifies his master, did he not?”

She looked at me expectantly.

I had no idea what she was getting at. “He got a spell called Ghoul Night Out, but he doesn’t know what it does. Neither do I.”

She smacked me on the head. “If we manage to survive this invasion, and you have children, you better promise to bring them straight to the guild for training. Honestly, Duke. I don’t know how you survived this long. You never obtained your guild skill, did you?”

“What the hell is a guild skill?”

She sighed. She waved her hand around the air, muttering angrily. “You should have gotten this when you hit level 20. Moron. I don’t know how you managed to rescue us.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“When Zagan came to this world, battered and on the verge of death, a small group of humans went out to render aid. These were our ancestors. They knew that this horrific demon was the key to our redemption. But do you know what happened? While they rendered aid, Zagan died. They tried every magic skill they knew to resurrect the demon. But even these spells didn’t work. So that group of humans tried one last spell. A forbidden spell. Led by Guildmaster Charnel, the humans cast Sacrament of Eternal Blood. He and every member of his bloodline from that point forward would sacrifice their very soul essence from the moment they were born in exchange for this demon’s life. Only then was the demon brought back to life, and a new guardian was born. The wrenching of the life force from every human and every member of their family at that moment caused such an outburst of pain, Zagan was called the Shrill from that moment forward.”

“Jesus,” I said. I involuntarily looked at my withered and zombie-like right hand. “That’s so gruesome.”

“Like I said,” Fiona continued. “You are the embodiment of resurrection magic. Your body is always dying because you are not truly alive. You are resurrection magic incarnate. You are made of soul power.”

I didn’t tell her that thanks to aunt Bernadette, I’d managed to beat that “always dying” part.

“So how does that help me with my original question?”

She touched my shoulder.

You have learned a guild skill!

Consumption!

You have learned a guild skill!

Resurrection!

“What just happened?” I asked, astonished. I looked up the descriptions. They were listed as skills, but they appeared in my spells menu under a separate column.

Consumption allowed me to gain soul power by draining it from my own life force. It was a one to one ratio.

Resurrection was a necromancy spell. But like Consumption, it cost life points. Not soul points. It allowed me to raise the dead. When the reanimated monsters died for the second time, I received soul points equal to the amount of life I’d put into their bodies.

“I could’ve been doing this all along?”

Fiona shrugged. “Consumption at level 20. Resurrection you would’ve just learned at 40.”

“Resurrection,” I said again, turning the word over in my mouth. “I know our magic school is called that. And I know how we gain power. But necromancy has always seemed like an evil skill.” I shuddered.

“Evil?” Fiona said. She chuckled softly. “Resurrection is a skill of the creator. It is the celestial magic users who are the true companions of darkness. They are the evil ones, and most do not even know it.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Why do you say that?”

Fiona pointed north. “Have you seen the temple? The Temple of the Chained Gods?”

“I’ve seen it, but I haven’t gone there.”

“No, you wouldn’t be allowed to enter. No practitioners of resurrection magic are allowed anywhere near the chained gods. Even the viceroys, who use both schools aren’t allowed past the gates. They must gain their celestial power in alternative ways.”

“The blood nuggets,” I said.

“Yes,” Fiona said, shaking her head sadly.

“How does that make them evil?”

“This world is not what you think it is,” Fiona said. “The creator made this world, and he sent three of his angels to oversee it. This world’s original purpose wasn’t just as a bulwark. It was also supposed to be a place of negotiation, a table of equal footing where representatives of the heavens and the fallen could sit down together and discuss their differences.”

“You said when the emissaries first showed up, they were immediately attacked by Paskunji, the radiant guardian.”

“Yes,” Fiona said. “But Paskunji is no mere guardian. She is one of the three angels sent to protect this place. She is the warrior, and it was she who originally ruled over the guardians, all but Zagan, who is her brother.”

“Wait, so the Shrill, Baal the head bad guy, and Paskunji the giant bird are all siblings?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Fiona. “Zagan and Baal were cast out of the heavens a millennia ago. But all three were once angels. All three, even Paskunji, have been twisted by time.”

“So where are the other two angels? Are they also guardians?”

“They are the chained gods,” Fiona said. “The two other angels were the emissaries of the heavens. While Paskunji had to prepare in case of an attack, they had to prepare in case of peace. But Paskunji disagreed with the idea of an armistice with the fallen ones. So she captured her two brethren, placed them in a state as close to death as angels may come, and she chained them. As the centuries passed and the twenty-two races formed, the radiants emerged as the leader class of this world. They are the caretakers of the two chained gods. They bleed the gods in the temple. They create these so-called blood nuggets to distribute amongst the other classes. They drain the angels of celestial power just as we drain soul power from the fallen.”

I remembered something that the groundling cleric had said to me.

“The groundlings told me there’s a prophecy about worm surgeons. That’s why the celestials hate us so much.”

The mayor paused, and then something very odd happened.

A cutscene triggered. And this time, it played.

Chapter 53

I peered at Avvinik from a distance. Unlike all the previous guardians I had spied, this one blended well with the tall trees of the forest. Its black coat shined, a picture of perfect health.

The panther demon was much smaller than Bast. She was maybe a shade bigger than Epsilon. But easily smaller than Orthrus. And a lot smaller than the Shrill.

Moritasgus had managed to knock down every tree in his path, creating a wide rift of destruction from the fields to his hiding spot a quarter-mile behind me. I had him burrow himself, but he wasn’t truly hidden, not with that path of devastation behind him. Banksy was also buried. He kept himself out of both guardian’s range, especially Moritasgus.

The panther could easily be mistaken for a large hill in the middle of the forest. He somehow managed to prowl through the area without knocking hardly any trees down. I suspected it was because of his long, lean legs. The kaiju’s lower bulk likely rose above the top of even the most enormous of trees, and he was careful where he stepped. My badger kaiju, on the other hand, had much shorter legs and had a haphazard, stumbly way of walking. So he bulldozed his way through the trees and everything else in his path.

I wasn’t sure the best way to get Clara’s attention. My first idea was to get inside of Avvinik, hunt down Clara’s base, and knock on the door. Unless she’d altered the permissions, I wouldn’t be allowed inside. But would she hear me there at the door? The bases filtered out most exterior noises. I wasn’t so sure she would.

After thinking about it some, I went for the second option. I was to have Moritasgus smack the panther around a bit. She’d notice that for sure. But as I loaded up the guardian menu, I spied something that gave me pause.

Winky. She fluttered near the panther’s flank. She appeared to be hunting fireflies as they blinked off and on in the forest.

I emerged from my hiding place and waved, calling to the bat. The moment she heard me, she popped away in a panic. But a moment later she popped back into existence a few feet in front of me. She started squeaking at me.

“Hi Winky,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but can you tell Clara I’m here?”  

Winky squeaked again.

I felt the barrel of the gun against the back of my head. I engaged my shield, dropped, and twisted, aiming up. A moment later I grinned and dropped the gun.

Clara. She had changed. Oh boy, had she changed.

I pulled the floating fairy into a tight embrace. She let out a slight, “Oof” as she retracted her wings, allowing me to hold onto her. For several seconds she didn’t embrace me back, but then she grasped me tightly, hugging me so hard I took a small amount of damage.

“You’ve been working on your strength,” I said, easing her to the ground.

“It’s the new armor,” she said. “It gives me a plus 15 to my strength. It’s the most powerful fae armor in the game.” The black power armor was made of the same composite as sundered skin. The slick, light armor was a full-body suit designed for her kind, complete with a helmet that covered her head. Her face and her hands were the only parts of her body left exposed. That armor had to be worth at least a million teeth, maybe more.

She’d also upgraded her gun. It was identical to my own Epiviper, though hers was the standard edition that shot red pulses instead of blue.

“Did you manage to get to Medina?” I asked.

She didn’t answer for several moments. She looked at me almost hesitantly, as if she wasn’t expecting this enthusiastic of a reaction from me. Eventually she nodded. “I did. Cone of Silence plus Invisibility plus flying very high, very fast, and I managed to barely get in. They still sensed me. The blood wyverns, they have some sort of radar, I think. Once I got into town, I upgraded my Teleport to level 4, so now I can freely jump to Medina, to my base, to Bast, and to the cockpit of the Opera. That one is a long story.”

Her demeanor changed once again as she put her hands on her hips. “So, where the hell have you been?”

***

She teleported us both to her base inside of Avvinik. She had decorated the base with the default skin. This room looked even more like Anatoly’s base than the worm surgeon equivalent. In fact, I suspected she was using the human default skin and not the fae one.

The apartment was littered with garbage and equipment. Candy wrappers and popsicle sticks lay strewn about. She’d purchased multiple upgrades for the space, including a television that took up the entire brick wall and a level-5 fae food box that I knew cost over five million teeth.

She’d left the television on to a Korean channel. Even though I didn’t speak a word of the language, I’d watched so much of the show when we were in Bast that I actually recognized some of the characters. This wasn’t her favorite soap opera, but it was one she mildly followed.

For the next several hours we recounted our stories. I told her what had happened. Her reaction was similar to Banksy’s when she learned about the jail.

“Damnit,” she said. “I should have known! I hadn’t even thought of that. I looked everywhere for you. You weren’t in the Medina jail, and when I approached Little Cibola, they wouldn’t let me in. So I figured you weren’t there, either. I even went into the Shrill, thinking you were stuck in your own base.”

Clara told me of discovering a hidden tree camp occupied with fae. From there, she’d received a quest that involved getting to the bottom of the large lake just west of Medina. In doing so, she ended up raising the ire of the fish-like dagon race. It ended with her getting control of the Opera. There was some long, convoluted story about how Avvinik and the Opera were made at the same time and shared some sort of guardian DNA. The head of the dagon clan in the end decided Clara was worthy, blah blah blah. It was all typical game stuff. With the salamander guardian, she attacked a pavilion owned by a mid-level demon lord who transformed herself into a giant pig thing. They fought, the Opera won. And somehow after that Clara also got the controller for Avvinik.

I decided my quest was cooler.

After that, Clara spent the rest of her time building herself up. She was now level 52. She would set both guardians to attack large enemy encampments and pavilions while she approached by air. The three of them would tear through encampments, wreaking absolute destruction.

The only thing she couldn’t yet handle were the pavilions closer to the rift and the army camped outside of Medina. She’d attempted her three-pronged assault on the pavilion of Andras, the demon we were supposed to kill for Stolas, and both her guardians were dead in moments, and she’d been blasted out of the sky. She claimed she was “gearing up” to attempt the assault again, but based on the condition of her apartment, I suspected she was more likely just catching up on her soap operas, waiting for that timer to run itself out.  

At Clara’s current level, she had risen to well above the point needed for one to win the game in single-player mode. But I could see it in her eyes. As happy as she appeared, there was something there under the surface. A deep well of defeat. She had given up, and she was ready to die.

“We can still do this,” I said. “It’s not too late.”

She looked at me, long and hard. “For a while there, I thought we could actually pull it off. I have control of two guardians, and so do you. Plus I thought we might be able to level Banksy up enough. That gives us five. But it’s not going to work. I’m sorry, Duke. It’s not. I learned a little bit about the endgame from the fae guildmaster. She told me only directly controlled guardians can get through the gate. That means the Shrill and Avvinik only. No Moritasgus, no Opera. No Banksy, either, if he hits level 50 before we want to go in there. Two guardians against all of hell. And once they die, they regenerate back on this side of the rift. So you have to start over again. When Anatoly did it with three players, it took them two days. And he’d used a cheat. He never said what the cheat was, but knowing what I know now, I have a pretty good idea. He’d told me that Bast had died at least 20 times in there. Do you know what that means? He made it so the guardians could respawn where they fell. That made them basically immortal. They chipped away at Baal, over and over. It took them two days to do it. Two days, Duke. It took three guardians with three experienced players with OP, immortal guardians two whole fucking days to take down this same boss you want us to attempt to kill.”

This is too much. This is too much.

“We can try. We have to try.”

“If we try, he’ll know. He’ll do something to mess it up.”

“You mean Jenk,” I said.

“Yes. He’s here. And you knew he was here, and you didn’t tell me.”

And that led me to the next topic.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let me explain what happened.”

She stiffened, but I didn’t pause. I proceeded to tell her the full story of the amplification and of how I’d been “rescued” by the lycan. I told her of what he’d said. Tell her ‘You-know-who misses her mommy. But not to worry. She’s in great hands.’

Clara was silent for a long time. She’d long since dismissed the television screen. The fireplace crackled.

“He’s talking about my daughter,” she finally said. “I was pregnant when I came here.” She paused, looking at me, afraid. It was the first real emotion I’d seen from her since we’d reunited. “It’s how I met Anatoly, actually. He promised me he could take care of the pregnancy. He’d said he was an activist. They called it the New American Underground Railroad. He was going to get me into Canada.”

Washington state had been the last holdout when the abortion laws in the United States had reversed. For several years, the state had defied the federal ban. And as a result, the Seattle area had, for a while, boasted the highest concentration of women’s health clinics in the country. The feds finally cracked down a few years back. I shivered, remembering the news from that day. There’d been a protest, and a gun battle. Arrests were made during a procedure, resulting in the death of the mother. Both sides of the debate called that day Bloody Wednesday. But after that, most of the practitioners of formerly legal and safe abortions fled over the border into Canada.

That made Vancouver, British Columbia the new safe abortion capital of North America. But getting there for the procedure was next to impossible. It was illegal to leave the country while pregnant. A new criminal enterprise emerged. They called them coyotes. Some were legit. Most were not, and they preyed on desperate and scared pregnant women attempting to get over the border.

Clara continued. “So I told you before, I was a test subject for these guys. I could take it. Paulo liked fucking boys while slicing their throats. Then he cooked them up. Princess—she played a midwife, by the way—she liked making girls dress up in doll clothes, and she’d sew buttons on their eyes and zippers on their backs. Then she’d drain their blood and stuff them with goose down. She was a weird one. Frank also liked sewing. He chopped people up and sewed them back together, turning several people into one. All boys except the heart. Then he’d sleep—not fuck, but actually sleep—with the body for a few days. SmashSouth liked bringing people to the edge of death and then jerking himself off. Or fucking them. He was different than the others. Not as smart, not as consistent.”

She grasped my knee. “There were others, too. All of them sick. But none of them. Not a one was anything like the Canadian. Jenk.” She spoke slowly, matter-of-factly, each word a nail she was hammering down. “His thing is torture. Not just physical torture. Cruelty. He learns what you fear the most, and then he makes it happen. It’s not sexual. Maybe it’s a power thing. Maybe he is so utterly devoid of emotion that this is the only way he can make himself feel. I don’t know. He looks at something, and he instantly knows how to break it in the worst possible way. He is the devil. The literal devil.”

I swallowed. “What did he do to you?” 

“I had another child, from before. A son. He died in a car accident.”

I felt a pang at that. It was as if she’d stabbed me in the chest.

“That loss, it hung so thoroughly on me that I didn’t think I could feel anything again… And when I found out I was pregnant again, I… I…” She stopped, then. She put her face into her hands, and she sobbed.

I rubbed her back, feeling helpless. Christ, she’s wearing armor. She can’t even feel your hand. She had lost a child. She was just like me. “You don’t have to continue.”

“No, I need to,” she said. She sniffled. “So I was pregnant when I came in here, but I’d been here so long I didn’t know what was happening with my real body or the baby. When I was given to Jenk, the first thing he did was show me what I’d missed. He played a video of me giving birth while I was passed out in the rig. There was a doctor, and he cut the baby out of me. It was a girl. A beautiful, baby girl. Anatoly was there along with two other men. One of them had their face blurred in the video, and it was Jenk. Anatoly called him that in the video. He’s tall and thin. I remember his wrists were so slim, almost like he was anorexic. Then it showed the doctor giving the baby to him. To Jenk. He switched off the video then.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “So he has your baby. He’s kidnapped your child.”

Clara nodded. “He showed me more videos. Of me breastfeeding my baby while I slept. Of him changing her diapers. He would whisper to her, ‘Your mother tried to kill you, little one. But don’t you worry. I have you now.’ He would show me videos of her playing with two women with their faces obscured. I don’t know who they are.”

“That’s awful,” I said. “But as awful as it is, at least she’s being taken care of.”

“No,” Clara insisted. “No. He is the devil. He knows what’s in my head. They were going to take Solomon from me. I had nightmares about him being raised by others. Screaming nightmares. I’d dream about the new home, about them telling him, ‘Your mother didn’t want you.’ Don’t you see? Jenk knows this. He knows. They couldn’t take Solomon. But they took my daughter, and they’re telling her I didn’t want her. Just like my dad said to me about my mom.”

Clara began to sob once again. Her entire body trembled.

There was a lot to unpack there. Solomon was her dead son. He’d died in a car accident. But it sounded like she was about to lose custody of him. Clara was mentally ill, terribly so. Her son had died, and when Clara got pregnant again, she found Anatoly who had promised to get her an abortion.  

Some of the dots started connecting. “How long has Jenk been in the game?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He was here when I first arrived. He was one of the originals.”

I was starting to suspect he was more than one of the first ones. He was one of the game’s creators. Not a client, but one of Anatoly’s partners. If he’d been there, physically there when Clara’s child had been born that meant he knew where they kept us.

That was a problem. A big one.

Clara was right. He would mess it up one way or another. He could stop us on either side of the veil. He could prevent us from winning the game. Or worse, he could possibly do something to our physical bodies. He’d know when we were going for the final boss. Apparently, the whole realm went nuts the moment a player stepped foot into hell. And if Jenk even suspected we might be about to wake up in our rigs… I didn’t want to think about it. This guy had possibly engineered the fake suicides of a dozen people in jail cells in different countries. And if he could manage that, two people in his basement wouldn’t be a problem.

I fingered the amulet around my neck, thinking. I thought of the cutscene I’d watched after I asked Fiona about the prophecy. It had offered a glimmer of hope. Something had to be done with Jenk. The first tendrils of an idea started to form in my mind.

“So what happened?” I asked. “Banksy said you got into a fight with Jenk and Orthrus, but you beat him.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t beat him. I did the same thing as you. I used Avvinik’s fatal attack. It’s called Hail and Kill. It forces the target to cast their most expensive spell, whatever it is. The attack kills Avvinik, but it forced Orthrus to cast Crab Cakes, which is his fatal attack. It’s the same one you described before. He split in half and then all his guts leaked out of him. After that, Jenk hasn’t been back.”

“You’re avoiding my question,” I said. “All that is what happened when the two kaiju fought. What happened when you were face to face? Before the guardian fight?”

She looked down. “He went inside of Avvinik, started cutting him up from the inside. I went out to meet him, and we fought.” She glared at me suddenly. “I thought it was a demon boss. If I’d known it was him, I would never have gone out there. Still, he wasn’t expecting me to be so powerful. He’s probably the same level as me, maybe one higher or lower. Once you’re around level 50, it doesn’t matter so much. He tried to cast Deceleration on me, and that was his mistake.” She held up a ring I hadn’t noticed before. It held a sliver of blue jade on a silver ring, “I knew that was his go-to, so I bought this in Medina. It protects against bindings, and it reflects the spell at the caster. So he ended up frozen, not me. I tossed him into Avvinik’s stomach. It was better than he deserved. Still, it’s a very painful death. The meat on your body melts right off. He didn’t log out though. Most of these guys usually eject the moment the consumable fights back. Jenk and I talked for a bit as he was dying. I watched him sink below the surface, his body consumed. A couple minutes later, Orthrus attacked.”

I suspected the “talked for a bit” part was more involved than that, but I wouldn’t be getting more out of her on that particular subject. She’d gone from hysterical and sobbing Clara to matter-of-fact Clara in a blink. This version of Clara was the one I was most familiar with. This particular personality was always light on details.

I mentally prepared myself for this next part. “You said you had something to tell me in your note. What did Jenk tell you?”

She looked at me, confused. Then it was as if a lightbulb flashed.

“Oh, your kids. Ruth and Chris. No, that wasn’t Jenk. Thankfully for you he doesn’t seem very interested in you. He didn’t even know you were missing when we talked. He doesn’t think it’s possible for only two people to win, so you’re a non-entity to him. You’re like a backup toy to him, sitting on the shelf and getting dusty. He’ll only play with you if his favorite one breaks.”

“If the Canadian didn’t say anything, then what’s going on? What is it you’re trying to say?”

She looked for a moment as if she wasn’t going to answer. I could see her gathering up the courage. But then she continued. “So, remember before when SmashSouth told you that I had selected you and you had asked me about it? I’d told you they had thrown a bunch of pictures at me, and I was forced to pick one. So I picked yours.”

“I remember,” I said. I suddenly had a very uneasy feeling. She could do that. Clara was the human version of an unstable fault line. Fine one moment, terrifying the next.

“That was a lie,” she said. “I follow you on Instagram. I have followed you for a long time. Your Shattered Heart mural in Georgetown? I cried when I first saw it.”

That mural adorned the side of the South Seattle Nar-anon space. It depicted a heart made of glass cracked and covered in tire tracks. It wasn’t a subtle message, but sometimes these things weren’t meant to be subtle.

“Okay,” I said hesitantly. I felt as if I was standing on a precipice.

“SmashSouth had a thing. He wanted people to watch. It’s really fucked up. Before, he had a poet in here. A woman. He made her write couplets and shit about him torturing people. I think I told you about her before. They gave that one to Frank and then Princess. After that we’d had an artist, and SmashSouth was almost happy with the results. But he wanted another one. He asked me if I knew anyone. He was joking, but I answered anyway. I said yes, I knew someone. I told them about you.”

I felt cold. “You asked them to bring me in here?”

“They were going to bring someone in anyway. He asked me, and it just came out. At the time, I didn’t think they’d really pick you. But yeah, now you know. He asked me if I could think of anybody, and I blurted out your name.”

Fucking Instagram. I didn’t even know how the ancient social media platform worked. Ruth had set it up for me. Insisted it was important for artists to have a presence on there. I had an AI running that picked the best photos from my portfolio and posted them for me. I knew I had several thousand followers. Tens of thousands, actually. But I rarely looked at it or the comments.

“But why?” I asked. “You immediately thought of me? There are millions of better artists out there. You didn’t even know me.”

Clara had changed once again. She did this rapid cycling when she was angry or stressed. And now she was angry. “I picked you because I saw your mural. Don’t you understand? I saw it, and I knew you were just like me. You lost a child. You lost a son. Yes, I know exactly who you are. I know the whole story. I followed it since the beginning. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You have that hole in you. The dark place. The emptiness. You and I are the same. You don’t want to go on. How could you? How could anybody go on after that? I knew this, and I knew you because you are me. You are already dead. We both are. So I picked you before they could pick someone else.”

I sat there in stunned silence for a very long time.

How does one react to something like that?

“Clara,” I began, but then I shut my mouth. I didn’t know what I felt. I knew I was supposed to be angry. Enraged. She had lied. She was the reason I was here. She was just as culpable as Anatoly and Jenk and SmashSouth and all the others.

But I wasn’t mad at her, and it took me a long while to understand why.

How could I be mad? She was right. By god, she was right.

I was already dead. I’d been dead this whole time. If this was going to happen to somebody, and I’d been forced to make a similar choice, I’d probably do the same thing.

But now I had a purpose. That darkness, that deep well of pain, that empty place. It was not a burden, not anymore. It was a tool. Yes, I was already dead. But there were others who needed to be that way, too. And I would use every last breath to make sure it happened.

“This is what we’re going to do,” I said.

Part 5 – The Temple of the Chained Gods

Chapter 54

Feedings Left: 7

Level Up!

You are now level 46!

I threw my new attribute point into durability. My health bar inched a hair longer. It was now the same length as my soul power bar. The pavilion was a shattered mess. It had taken almost a half hour to take the boss down. I sniped him from the top of the hill from the armored protection of my chaser while Clara swept down on them from above.

The legions had been mostly zippers and a few of the larger, flaming minotaur guys called taurisians. The half-bull/half-human monsters were armed with double-headed axes that flung wind blades at you. But their range was shit, and they couldn’t easily get up my hill, not with the combined effort of my mounted pulse gun and Clara’s continued fire from above. We’d slaughtered the legions in minutes. It was just the boss who’d taken forever to kill. He only took noticeable damage when we shot him in the head and neck. And he spent most of the time under cover, throwing wind blades at Clara and ignoring me.

This was the home base of the demon lord Morax. He was level 21 in the hierarchy, and the highest demon we’d taken on so far without the help of Banksy or any of the guardians. Morax’s main form was also that of a blue taurisian. His secondary form was a bull body with a human head. Not like a centaur, but a bull with the head of a person, which was weird as shit.

I’d used my resurrect skill to raise the zippers. That had helped. The zombified ant monsters had unnerved the demon lord, and he’d fled his cover. Clara had taken him out with an aimed pulse that hit him right in the eye.

But then the giant, dead asshole had fallen backward and tumbled down the sloped hill, disappearing into the smoke. He’d been in mid-transformation between the minotaur form and the bull body/human-headed form when he died and disappeared.

I didn’t know what shape his corpse would take. I hoped and prayed it would take the taurisian form, but I wasn’t optimistic. His horns imparted an additional three points of durability with a low probability of rejection. I really wanted them.   

So I needed to find the demon’s body before he regenerated. The wooden pavilion had collapsed halfway through the fight and then caught on fire. His body was in there somewhere. I abandoned my armored vehicle and approached the battlefield on foot, meeting Clara at the base of the hill. Debris and bloody bodies were strewn about.

Banksy: Did you get them? Do you need me to join the fight? I’m going to level up to 48 really soon.

Duke: They’re dead. Remember what I said. The plan won’t work if you hit level 50 before we start the endgame. You’re on reserve for now. Only kill to eat.

The ground rumbled, and Banksy emerged to our left, a vast form that showered rocks and dirt. He cast a dark shadow across the whole battlefield. Despite his enormous size, he somehow managed to make himself look like a petulant child.

“Clara,” Banksy said, his voice booming. “Tell my father to let me fight.”

“It took me a month to go from level 49 to 50,” Clara said as we poked around the wreckage. “I don’t think you have to worry about him accidentally leveling up to 50. He’s not even 48 yet.”

“It’s not just that. He’s an experience hog,” I said.

Even though I gained experience when he did, the fractional amount I received when he just swallowed everything made these raids an inefficient use of my time. I leveled much faster when I was the one doing the killing.

But that wasn’t the real reason I didn’t want him leveling. Once he hit level 50, he would cease to be my pet, and he would replace the Shrill as my associated guardian. I really didn’t want to lose that status with the Shrill. But more importantly, I was afraid I’d lose my friend. Would he cease being Banksy? Would he still be able to talk? I didn’t know, and I was afraid to find out.

Clara looked up at Banksy. “You are an experience hog.” She turned to me. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I think 46 is the best you’re going to get in the time we have. If we do the Andras thing tomorrow that’ll give us six days.”

“Six parts in six days,” I said. Neither of us knew how long our bodies would really survive after the feeding stopped. I’m sure it wouldn’t be immediately. When I was two or three, my great-grandmother had her feeding tube removed when she was in a vegetative state. My mother talked about it often, about how awful those 10 days were. So it had taken an elderly woman 10 days to die. I didn’t know if we would be in better or worse condition. Either way, I knew the process of waking up after being asleep and untended for six months was going to be horrific. Six months for me. For Clara it had been much longer. The last thing we needed was to be extra weak from starvation. So we needed to do this now. 

I’d spent every second of the past week power leveling. I’d died twice, which was a huge blow at these higher levels. Clara and I worked our way across the map, wiping out every pavilion and encampment that she hadn’t already cleared. And some she had. Before, she’d enlisted the aid of two guardians to smash through the camps. We were more surgical, hitting the smaller camps.

In addition, Clara and I worked together to heal Moritasgus and the Shrill as much as we could without having to rely on complicated surgery. The Shrill’s health had deteriorated greatly in the six months I’d been gone. But I also now boasted a full set of healing abilities, including Antiparasitic level 10.

The 10th and final level of the talent added a few more options. Upon casting, it listed every group of parasites within the guardian. From there I could select them and choose which to kill. It was extremely helpful. It automatically unchecked the heartworms, for example, which no longer had a negative effect on any kaiju.

I killed almost everything within the Shrill. I kept the pig spiders alive in case I needed them for soul power. And I kept Yoshi the giant worm outside my door alive because I had grown fond of the angry mob. I’d taken to capturing and feeding him a small pig spider every time I visited. He no longer attacked me on sight. Now he waited to see if I was going to feed him. And then he attacked me. Everything else had to go.

The Shrill’s strength before the +20% bonus was now at 91% and his health remained steady at 100%. Moritasgus was at 82% strength with 75% health. He had some sort of flu that required a complicated healing process I didn’t have time to figure out. Clara didn’t have a strength bonus for Avvinik or the Opera, but she kept both of them over 95% strength and 100% health.

I also spent the time learning to use and preparing the Shrill’s cockpit. This took much longer than I anticipated. The moment I stepped inside the first time, I received a cockpit branding iron. My base was literally next door, so it wasn’t necessary, but I’d had Well Done burn it onto my shoulder, next to the defunct Charnel brand.

When I first put Moritasgus under direct control, I had trouble adjusting to his quadruped form. My brain rebelled at the idea of my physical body changing in such an odd fashion.

That was nothing compared to putting the Shrill under direct control. Nothing.

I sat into the chair and hit Direct Control.

Warning: Direct Control of Guardian Shrill is not recommended using this build. Use at your own risk.

“That’s ominous,” I muttered before hitting Confirm.

I lasted about five seconds before I blacked out. I’d thought the game crashed. I hit direct control, and I had the sensation that I was being probed by hundreds of appendages. It was like the amplification ceremony, but instead of everything being split into two, every inch of my body was split into a thousand raw pieces. Visual cues came from all directions. My entire form was covered inside and out by taste buds. My human brain simply couldn’t deconstruct all the inputs. I felt like I was spinning, falling, vomiting, choking, shitting, bleeding, and screaming all at once. And then suddenly everything went black. I awakened a minute later, ejected from direct control and vomiting on the floor. 

I growled, angry at myself. I pulled myself back into the chair and tried again. And again.

It took almost two whole days to train myself to feel and control all my individual tentacles. Then to learn how to focus on individual eyes while monitoring the input from all the others. And finally, how to control my shape and move. I could feel my brain adjusting, learning to accommodate the new inputs.

From there, I learned to fight. Clara fought by my side, sometimes using Avvinik, sometimes using the Opera. The salamander could take significantly more damage than the panther. Plus it could breathe fire. But Avvinik was clearly the superior guardian. The sleek, black panther was the fastest of all the kaiju, and he could leap a mile at a time, soaring through the air as if he was a rocket. He had a penetrating special claw attack that would sheer through anything biological.

Clara and I swapped brands. I received a brand to her base within Avvinik, a brand to the West Air Sac of the Opera, and she received one to my home base, along with the brand to the oblation chamber within Moritasgus.

The last part of my Shrill training was learning to deal with my own three unusual special attacks.

The first attack was called Xura. I could cast it once every five minutes.

After using it multiple times, I still wasn’t 100% clear on what it actually did. It was some sort of charm attack over a wide area. The first time I tried it was on a horde of zippers who were attempting to swarm up my side to burrow and kill me from the inside. I cast Xura, and they all stopped their attack. Then they just sort of turned around and wandered off. Some of them sat in the grass and stared off into the sky. I didn’t have time to see what they did next or how long it lasted before the Opera burned them to a crisp. I tried the spell again, this time on a group of spider demons called venomites. That time, half the spiders rolled over onto their backs and the other half proceed to fuck and then devour them.

The next special attack was a little more straightforward. I could only cast once every five hours. It was called Hypnos. It knocked everything out. It was a massively powerful spell with a wide area of effect. The problem was it also affected Avvinik and any other good guys in the area, so I had to be careful with it. Also, it didn’t appear to work on flying creatures. Clara, it turned out, was immune to the spell. She said the guardian whimpered like a scared kitten while he was out. It only worked for about two minutes, but in a tight spot, that would be a huge advantage.

The Shrill’s fatal attack was called Shoggoth. Clara and I set aside an afternoon to figure out what it did.

If a guardian died while you were in direct control, you got kicked to your respawn. If it died while under managed control or if you were just bouncing around inside, you stayed put, which could be just as dangerous depending on how the guardian died. You had twenty minutes to abandon ship before the guardian teleported back to his own regeneration spot.

With Moritasgus’s fatal attack, the badger’s inside-out special attack killed him before I could even see what was really going on. So I had Clara post up a half-mile away, observing from a hilltop inside of Avvinik while I tried this for the first time, just in case I couldn’t see what was happening. I moved my own regen back to Medina as I was afraid whatever it was, it would end up killing me. 

When I cast it to see what it did, it came with two warnings, not just the usual Are You Sure?

The second warning was odd, popping up in a type of message box I had never seen before. Even the voice that read the warning was different than the usual system narrator.

Warning: FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY. Casting Shoggoth while under Direct Control has been found to have serious, detrimental, and psychological side effects to employees in early alpha testing of Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon. The ability to initiate this special attack has been removed from the commercial release of Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon. However, it appears this developmental build of the game has reinitiated the ability for players to cast while under direct control. IT IS HIGHLY RECOMMENDED YOU DO NOT PROCEED. DO SO AT YOUR OWN PERIL. EMPLOYEES OF SIGMA TAU VR, INC ARE NOT PERMITTED TO PROCEED.

I couldn’t just wave the warning away. I had to check a box saying I UNDERSTAND THE DANGERS.

“Yeah,” I said, backing off. “We’re not going to try that today.” I switched over to managed control. The seat eased back up while the joystick rose into the room. The video windows flickered to life.

Managed control was odd, much more difficult to use than direct control. The nuances required to control individual tentacles were lost here. I pushed the stick, attempting to lead the kaiju to the top of the hill. He didn’t respond. While Moritasgus was sluggish, this was downright petulant. I pushed the stick again, and he jerked forward.

I sighed, pressing down on the Shoggoth button. I clicked Yes on the Are You Sure? There was no secondary warning this time.

A tentacle descended into the room, surprising me. The pink tentacle was only about two feet long. It featured a single, cat-like eye and a round mouth filled with stubby teeth. Octopus suckers with small hooks dotted the other side of the appendage. The eye glared angrily at me.

“No Shoggoth,” the mouth said. It retracted into the ceiling with a slurp.

“Hey!” I said, calling up at the roof. “Now you talk to me?”

It didn’t answer. “Can you at least tell me what it does?” No answer.

I clicked the Shoggoth button again anyway. And again. Nothing happened. “What the hell?” I called. “This isn’t how it works!”

Silence.

I sighed, giving it up.

***

By the time I was done training myself, it was my worm surgeon body, not the body of the Shrill that felt incomplete. I found myself trying to complete tasks with limbs that simply weren’t there.

Experience gained using the guardians was next to nothing, so we spent most of our time power leveling with the guardians in reserve.

In just a week, I’d gained six levels and amassed several million teeth. But my returns were diminishing. It’d taken two whole days of fighting and healing just to get from level 45 to level 46. Clara, who’d been at my side this entire time actually had fewer experience points than when we started thanks to her death at the hands of an exploding cyclod. I shuddered, remembering.  

In the single-player version of this game, I suspected one needed to be about level 40 to successfully slay Baal and win the game. Clara’s 52 and my 46 was about as good as we were going to get using traditional leveling methods.

I still hoped to level a few more times before the end. This last week was going to be eventful.

Winky zipped around the carnage, picking up teeth left and right. The bat dropped a ring in Clara’s hand. She examined it, then grunted. “It’s an artifact. Worth a fortune. But it’s only useful to those who use steam magic. We need to make another Medina run to sell all this crap.”

“I’ll do it while you sleep,” I said. “I’ll probably hit the ten million teeth limit, though.”

“Might as well open a bank account and put the extra in there. Or spend some of it. Buy yourself something pretty.”

I grunted. We’d scoured the hell out of the city looking for additional items to purchase to help with the plan. We’d spent millions already on equipment and upgrades. I had 99 of each type of potion. I’d upgraded my Epiviper with a scope and a retractable laser bayonet. Most of the really good stuff one could get had to be obtained via quests, and the time for quests had passed.

Clifford the Big Red Slug emerged from under the fallen pavilion. He made an unusual hissing noise followed by a trio of pops.

“The demon is over there,” Clara said, pointing at her slug. “Good job, Iffy!”

Clara had obtained two additional familiars in the time we’d been separated. One was a cherry-red, level 22 slug the size of a golden retriever. The thing couldn’t fight, but he had the ability to go deep dive and use BloodBorne to zip around the interior of a guardian and to administer trauma-based healing. She’d named him “Clifford the Big Red Slug” which had been shortened to “Cliffy” and then eventually just “Iffy.”

The slug smelled like a steaming pile of horse manure. He liked to curl up in Clara’s lap and make farting noises while she stroked his head.

Her third familiar was a purple and green dragonfly the size of a horse. His name was Dickinson. He was content to fly well above the action. He was technically a mount, but she didn’t use him as such. If he was nearby, he gave Clara a mapping improvement similar to my cybernetic enhancement, though his upgrade added all the mobs to the map, whether they were hidden or not. He was level 16. Clara said he was one of the most expensive familiars in the game, even pricier than Banksy had been.

The problem with Dickinson was that he got killed by the flying demons. A lot. Sometimes he’d regenerate at Clara’s side, fly back up into the air only to get ripped apart again minutes later. The process would repeat. In the week I’d known him, he’d died at least 70 times. The bug had developed a twitch in the front right leg that hung underneath his bulbous eye.  

None of the three familiars could speak out loud like Banksy.   

We approached the popping and farting slug. A green glow buried underneath a flaming hunk of wood caught my attention. I shot my four-pincer forward, shattering the wood. Iffy burped in annoyance and slurped away, coming to ooze next to Clara’s leg. Winky landed on Iffy’s head.

Seal of Morax added to library.

I now had over 20 demons listed in my library. I had yet to use my Evocation spell. That would change tomorrow.

“Damnit,” I said, coming to stand over the dead demon lord. His corpse had finished the transformation to the bull body, human-headed form. The horns weren’t there. It was rare for the demons to have body parts I could upcycle, but when they did, they usually came with a low rejection chance. But most demons had two forms, and they’d almost always switched to the one without the upgrades just before death.

I had still managed to snag two upcycles in the past week. One was a nub of a tail that imparted +3 to deftness. I’d received it from a ravening, slobbering demon thing that was a cross between a bulldog and a giant, jumping flea. I regretted giving myself the tail almost immediately. I’d been forced to cut a hole in my pants, and sitting down on most normal chairs was now awkward. I’d had to rip out the back spring on the newly repaired driver’s seat for the chaser.

The second upgrade was a pair of long incisor fangs I’d received from a vampire-like demon named Flauros. She’d turned into a leopard thing just before death, but the fangs remained. The upgraded teeth gave me +25% damage when fighting demon lords. Clara said I sounded like I was talking with rocks in my mouth after I got the upgrade, but I got used to it after a while.

Necroshire Mystical Upcycle Emporium didn’t look any worse for wear when I received my upgrades. The only difference was the drill demon who performed the surgeries now wore a red headband, Rambo style. He also insisted on high-fiving my forehead before the surgery started.

Morax’s countdown was at seven minutes by the time I managed to loot and examine him for upcycles. Unlike every other creature in this game, demon lords regenerated where they fell. To my surprise, he did have an upgrade. He had a pair of balls the size (and probably the weight) of a pair of lead shotputs. If I switched out my own testicles with the bull’s balls, I’d gain a spell called Charge and +1 to my charm. There was a 95% chance of a successful upgrade. But the testicles would hang down to my knees. I considered it for a half-second before moving on.

“I think we’re done here,” I said. We prepared to head out.

And just like that, it was time.

Chapter 55

Feedings Left: 6

The plan to win this game and get our about-to-starve asses out of here consisted of six equally important parts. And the success of each element depended upon the completion of the component before it. One part a day. Parts one and two were intrinsically tied, and if the next two days didn’t go well, we were dead. Literally dead.

We parked Nipper on the edge of the ruins of Charnel. We cleared out a large circle next to the still-functioning but knocked-over transport gazebo. Banksy positioned himself underground in case of an emergency. I started drawing the Andras sigil on the ground in salt while Clara manned the mounted gun on top of the newly repaired chaser.

We’d managed to get the tracked vehicle repaired at the Yelm garage several days earlier, just after Clara and I took out our first pavilion. We’d gone to the city to complete the repair-the-gazebo quest and earn some free experience. When we were there, I’d discovered they had a mechanic’s garage. I’d used the rusting hulk as cover during the earlier firefight, and it’d taken several shots, bringing its durability down to a mere 5%.

The cost to repair the armor and install my upgrades was ridiculous. Almost two million teeth. I really wanted to trade it in for a flying vehicle, but they only had one, and it was fifteen million. A person couldn’t even carry that much teeth on them at one time. You had to pay in installments. Plus that thing was a death trap. The nerve agent proprietor told me if I really wanted quality flying machines, I had to make my way to the city of Little Cibola. I’d laughed bitterly at that.

So instead, I had the garage fix the armor up all the way back to 100%. I even had the ability to choose a paint job. The default skins were all lame, but the system allowed me to hand-draw a design using a palette of spray cans.

I didn’t have too much free time, so I did a quick and dirty job. It was my take on one of Banksy’s—the real Banksy’s—first murals. The chaser’s default was a rusty black. With a white can, I painted out a white dog with a bazooka on his shoulder. I painted one on each side.

The system also allowed me to pick a name for the vehicle. I named it D.C.A. Nipper. Nipper was the name of the dog portrayed in the original Francis Barraud “His Master’s Voice” painting that Banksy prime was parodying in his mural. D.C.A. stood for The Duke and Clara Army.

Clara had rolled her eyes at that, but then she had laughed. She’d been distant since her revelation about how I’d really gotten here. I wasn’t exactly thrilled with her either, but I needed her to think I had forgiven her. We had to work together, and we couldn’t with a wedge between us. The name was stupid, but its intended effect worked.

Nipper now looked brand new and ready for war. I’d had all the busted guns removed and replaced with a single gun emplacement on the roof, all surrounded with concertina wire. The gun was a smaller version of the manned turrets that Charnel had once used to protect itself. This was basically the pulse version of a .50 cal. It didn’t pack as much punch as the brass-shooting option, but it also didn’t require ammo.

And then I added my favorite upgrade ever. With a press of a button, three separate, fat, chainsaw blades surrounded the equator of the bus and started hula-hooping around it. The first blade appeared about ankle level, controlled by a steam magic spell that grew straight out of the tracks. The second blade emerged just below the windows, and the third surrounded the circumference of the roof, just below the concertina wire. The blades screamed like a real trio of chainsaws when I turned it on. It was useless as an offensive weapon, and the chains traveled underneath the front plow, but any demon crawling about the exterior of Nipper would immediately regret it. 

When we traveled now, we did it in the chaser. I drove, and Clara manned the gun. Banksy followed underground while Iffy bounced around on the inside. Winky blinked back and forth and Dickinson flew high above, warning us about demon movements until he inevitably got eaten by something.

Clara could move more quickly if she flew on her own, but we were all safer in the tank. Battered, half-assed dirt trails crisscrossed the map, and we stuck to them until we approached our target. The roaming demons usually left us alone unless they were in larger groups. A couple shots from the mounted pulse usually chased them off.

I kept the Shrill near the rift, and Clara also positioned the Opera near the giant rent in the world. We retained Avvinik and Moritasgus nearby in case we needed them. Guardians were worse experience hogs than Banksy, so we only used them in absolute emergencies.

For now as I prepared the Andras sigil in salt, we kept both guardians in the middle of the forest. They couldn’t get this close to the edge of Neo-Austin, and even if they could, they’d be useless in the first two parts of the plan.

For the binding sigil I had two options. I could just draw a circle of salt and allow the spell to draw the sigil itself. Or I could draw the circle and hand draw the sigil myself using the salt. If successful, this second method offered much greater control over the summoned demon. But if I screwed up the symbol even a little bit, the results could be disastrous.

I chose the second option.

I took Count Fronz out of my bag and placed him on the side while I worked. I’d been taking the caterpillar out more and more often, chatting with the little demon. Ever since we’d managed to crash Epsilon, the little guy was downright personable toward me. He stopped asking to be freed. That didn’t mean I was going to let him go, and I would take his advice with a grain of salt, but I enjoyed his company.

“Have you ever met this guy?” I asked as I drew. The symbol looked like a circuit board with a pair of facing fishhooks. I had the library version of the symbol floating in midair while I worked.

“Andras?” Fronz asked. “Yes, lad. He’s very… intense.”

“Why does Stolas hate him so much?”

“The potion dealer?” Fronz said, incredulous. “Stolas hired you to kill Andras?”

“That’s right,” I said.

Fronz laughed and laughed. “Stolas pretends to be all high and mighty, but he’s a right proud little bitch, isn’t he? There’s only two of us who take on the owl form, and when Stolas learned that Andras could also appear as one of those big-eyed birds in this realm he wouldn’t shut up about it. He went on and on and on. Andras is a shapeshifter, you see. He can take any form he wants. But he keeps the owl form just to make Stolas mad. If that whiny bastard hadn’t made such a big deal about it…” Fronz shook his tiny head. “Wow, lad. I knew Stolas was mad, but hiring you to attack another demon? Oh mate, wait until Beleth hears about this. He’s going to pluck that little asshole until he’s bald. Asmodeus, too. It’s a pointless quest, too. Killing him while he’s on this side of the rift isn’t going to do anyone any good, anyway. He just comes right back.” 

I pulled out the black sprout Stolas had given me. “Do you know what this does? I’m supposed to stick this in his body.”

Fronz’s demeanor instantly changed. The worm pushed to the back of his lantern. “Mate, be careful. Where did you get that? Did… did Stolas give that to you? And he wants you to stick it into Andras?”

“Yeah, what does it do?”

Fronz looked like he wasn’t going to answer.

“Look, Fronz,” I said. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to obey me.” I tapped the lantern. “You being bound and all.”

The caterpillar sighed. “Lad, that’s a black sprout. They’re very rare. They grow at spots of treachery. The last ones I know of appeared on our side of the rift. Where Epsilon and Paskunji killed my da and the others. Baal had ordered them burned and destroyed. Even he fears them. You throw that into a body, and it permanently binds them. Not like how you have me bound. I mean bound in place. Tied down. The roots come out of it, go into the body. It puts them in a fugue state, one of constant pain. They look dead, but they ain’t dead, mate. They can’t go home, can’t talk, can’t move. They just start bleeding from their eyes. It’s awful. Just awful. So if Stolas wants you to stick that into Andras, then his hatred runs even deeper than I thought. By Baal’s left tit. Stolas is fucked when they hear about this.”

I looked up at Clara who had been listening. She nodded. We knew all this already. We’d learned about the fabled flower from both Fiona and the viceroy guildmaster whom I had discussed this with a few days before. But it was good to get confirmation.

I finished drawing the sigil. Next went the circle around it.

“You’ll be happy to know, my friend,” I said to Fronz, “I won’t be using the black sprout today. That’s not why we’re summoning Andras.”

“Wait, I thought you had a quest to… Oh never mind. Just do me a favor and put me away so he doesn’t see me in this thing. It’s embarrassing.”

I stowed the lantern in my pack. I looked up at Clara. “We ready?”

She gave me a thumb’s up.

Duke: Banksy, I’m going to evoke the demon now. If I say the word, come up and eat him. Hopefully we won’t need to.

Banksy: You have this terrible habit of repeating the plan when I already know it.

I cast Evocation. Almost all of my soul power leeched out of me and seeped into the circle of salt, which pulsed blue.  

Lightning cracked across the sky. Smoke billowed from around the circle. The ground rumbled. I popped open one of the soul power vials on my belt.

“Fuck you!” the small demon in the vial cried before falling over dead. The vial and demon poofed away. The potion filled my soul bar to about 90%.

The smoke coalesced into a form. A slight man appeared, dressed in a fine cloak. He wore a thin, black sword around his belt. Unlike the great horned owl visage of his enemy Stolas, Andras had the round head and heart-shaped countenance of a barn owl. It gave him almost Asian features. I examined his properties:

Marquis Andras

Rank 63 in the demonic hierarchy. A vassal and personal bodyguard of King Asmodeus.

May be evoked to assassinate or kidnap entities. In addition, may cast Glamor on an entire encampment, causing it to attack another. Requires Evocation level 3.

Warning: Any attempt to use Andras to kill another demon will result in him hunting you after the evocation has expired.

Has two forms: an Owl-Headed Angel or a Hell Guardian. Note: Andras also has the ability to temporarily take on any form he pleases. These illusions are not his true form, and if killed, he will revert to his base form.

His rank was much lower than I expected. But then I read the line about him being the personal bodyguard of one of the kings. That explained why Clara had been so easily defeated when she attacked his pavilion. It wasn’t Andras’s pavilion. It was this King Asmodeus’s headquarters.

“How dare you summon me?” the demon roared, his voice louder and angrier than one would expect from such a small man.

“Answer me! Answer me now!” the demon screamed before I could even respond. He looked down, examining my salt work. “When I am free of this binding I will return here, and I will force suffering upon you and your kin unlike anything your feeble mind can comprehend!”

“Andras,” I said, standing straighter. “Why don’t you shut up for a second and hear what I have to say before you make me angry?”

His livid owl face turned incredulous. “Before I make you angry? Who do you think you’re talking to, you son of a traitor and a coward?”

“I am talking to Marquis Andras, demon royalty,” I said stepping forward. “I have rightfully evoked you. I have made no errors in drawing your sigil, and you will do as I command. I have two tasks for you, and you will complete them.”

The feathers on the demon’s head bristled. “You have the audacity to ask me for two boons? You have the right to ask for one.” He spat that last word bitterly, admitting I had done the evocation properly. I relaxed, but only slightly. “And after I complete this task you have forced upon me, I will return and devour the flesh off your bones, and I will shit your remains in hell.”

“You must be a real hoot at parties,” Clara muttered from her position behind the gun.

I laughed at the unexpected pun. Andras raged, smashing his fist against the invisible wall binding him.

“Only one of the tasks is my official request,” I said. “It’s a kidnapping. Don’t worry. It’s not one of your fellow demons.”

That seemed to calm him greatly. He leaned forward, suddenly interested. “Go on.” 

I quickly explained what we needed him to do. I made the plan as simple as possible.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to just kill this enemy of yours?” he asked when I was done. “It will be much easier.”

“No,” I said. “We have a contract. You do the kidnapping exactly as we ask, you do not harm either myself or Clara or any of our familiars, and you’re free of your binding.”

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “And what is this second task you have unwisely requested of me?”

I grinned. I pulled out the black sprout. Like Fronz, the demon recoiled at the sight of the flower. He recovered quickly, but I could tell it unnerved him.

“You’ll never guess how I came into possession of this thing,” I said. I took another step closer. I could tell he was fighting the urge not to flinch. “And when I do tell you, I’m guessing you’ll want to do something about it.”   

Chapter 56

Feedings Left: 5

Over the past three months, Clara had been building her character in such a way that maximized her stealth capabilities. She had given herself several spells that allowed her to sneak in and out of places unseen. She already had the Cone of Silence and Invisibility spells, and she had the ring that allowed her to cast Miniaturize for a total of five minutes three times a day, making it much more impressive than my version. And when she hit level 40, she gave herself a skill that would become very important.

It was called Pass Unseen. The skill was exclusive to fae and brownies. It allowed her to move about the forest and the rest of the hinterland and remain undetectable to non-demonic, non-NPC creatures. That category included pets. It was an expensive skill, and she said it was absolutely required to gain certain high-level mounts.

That skill was the reason why Banksy hadn’t seen or heard from Clara in weeks even though she had been coming and going regularly from Avvinik. When Clara flipped it on, she wasn’t just invisible to Banksy. He couldn’t hear or smell or feel her passage in any way. Unless she physically touched him, she simply wasn’t there.

After her confrontation with Jenk, she decided she needed to learn as much as she could about his comings and goings. She was spying on him, collecting his schedule all the while avoiding detection by his ever-present early alert system.

Olga. Olga the frog.

Olga was a creature called a Slobbering Grunter, and she was the third evolution of a type of familiar called a Skull Poll. I didn’t know what the middle evolution was, but skull polls were little, tadpole-like animals that started out as deep-dive only familiars. They lived within a guardian’s blood system, and they leveled by eating, just like Banksy.

The slobbering grunter, I learned, could not go deep dive at all. She could teleport. She had the ability to swallow prey whole, which I’d already seen. In addition, she was one of the rare familiars who shared experience and leveled by eating, not killing.

Jenk had the ability to see through her eyes. That made her the perfect guard frog.      

But since she couldn’t go deep dive, she spent most of her time hopping around the grasslands near Orthrus, swallowing any creature stupid enough to get near her. Olga had a particular fondness for a fat type of a glowing grasshopper. They were as big as my fist, but they were harmless. Their butts glowed in the night, and if you killed one, the luminescent goo got everywhere. That made Olga easy to track in the darkness because her face was usually smeared with glowing grasshopper guts. The bugs were called glass hops.

Clara spent several weeks doing nothing but following the frog. Because the marker over the familiar’s head indicated when Jenk was offline, Clara had gotten a pretty good idea of the man’s schedule.

Jenk logged in once a day, and he stayed online anywhere from a half-hour to two hours. It didn’t make a difference if it was a weekend or not. He almost always logged in between 7 and 8 P.M. game time, which we knew was 10 or 11 P.M. his time in Toronto, Canada. Sometimes Olga would teleport away while he was online, which suggested he was tooling about somewhere outside of Orthrus. Once, Clara said he’d emerged from the kaiju and played catch with Olga for almost an hour. He’d thrown a glowing ball over and over, and the antlered frog had happily hopped after it and returned it. They both appeared to love the game despite it being pitch black outside and drizzling. 

The predictability of Jenk’s comings and goings gave us a template for how we were going to pull off this part of the plan.

Everything we were going to do from this point forward was going to bring a lot of attention to ourselves. As a result, we had to deal with our Jenk problem now.

We had to incapacitate him, but we had to do it in such a manner he didn’t realize we were the cause of it. By this time tomorrow, the entire north side of the map was going to be on fire, and we had to make sure he wasn’t able to see it all going down.

It wasn’t a perfect plan. It probably wasn’t even a good one. But if it worked, and we needed it to work, it was going to be glorious.

“There,” Clara said, pointing. “He’s done it. That owl-headed asshole has done it.”

We sat at a café in a middle-class, earth-magic area of Medina. Clara sipped on hot chocolate. I couldn’t have anything, of course. Still, I could smell the drink, and for the first time in a long time, I felt my stomach rumble. God, I missed eating.

I looked into the sky, searching. As usual, black flocks of demons soared above, screaming down into the city, constantly attempting to dive bomb anyone they saw. The demons spent the day dropping rocks and living creatures on the NPC citizens. The magic shell around Medina protected us from the rocks. It did not protect us from the falling animals. Thankfully they mostly focused on the northernmost part of town, splattering the temple with animal bombs. Today the air was especially thick with pazuzu, gargoyles, and blood wyverns.

Then, I saw them. Right on time.

“Yeah, she looks pretty pissed off,” I said, squinting. “My ex-wife had a dog that would squirm like that whenever you picked her up and threatened to give her a bath.” I shook my head, suddenly remembering that damn dog. Her name was Bubbles. Ruth had named her. “That dog was part chihuahua part hellhound part what-the-fuck. She literally barked herself to death one day. Gave herself a heart attack while scream barking at the UPS guy.”

“I never liked little dogs,” Clara said. “I used to have a pet hedgehog, myself. Okay, he’s dropping her.”

We were worried that Olga was just going to teleport away the moment she got grabbed, but Andras had scoffed at the idea. “Do not fret about how I will accomplish my goal. Only worry about the result,” he had said. 

This part of the city was just a few blocks north of the town square with the main transport gazebo. It bordered the poor area of town. It also overlooked a large, grey building that was both a substation for the city guard and the headquarters of the office of Medina Animal Control.

An earlier conversation with Renault had given me the idea. They take their work very seriously. If he knocks down a single farmer’s stall, you will attract their attention.

We had hired the most powerful, most celebrated assassin in this world to kidnap and frame a frog.

Because Andras was a shapeshifter, I asked him to do something very simple. He needed to take the form of the largest blood wyvern he could. Then he was to swoop down and pick up Olga the frog. While clutching the frog in his talons, he was to fly directly over Medina, flying as close to the shield as he could. Then he was to drop the frog directly into the spire. Before the invasion, the top level of the spire extended well beyond the limits of the city shield. As a result, those top levels had long since been lopped off, leaving a jagged and exposed floor as the new topmost level.

Andras was to fly close, and he was to drop Olga directly into the building, which would ensure her survival. But first he would cast his favorite charm on the frog.

A spell called Enrage.

Since she was inside the city limits at that point, Olga wouldn’t be able to teleport out. We’d confirmed this part with Winky, who was very pissed off at being used as a guinea pig. If Olga wanted to return to Jenk, she needed to hop to the transport gazebo and then teleport away, just like everybody else.

Jenk wouldn’t come online for several hours.

That was plenty of time for the frog to get herself into all sorts of trouble. Especially a frog that was charmed into thinking everybody she saw was an enemy.

“They’re already coming,” Clara said, pointing. Sure enough, the office of animal control was suddenly frothing over with brownies and fae, coming out and heading for the spire. We followed at a discrete distance. It was important that Olga not see us.

The brownies could fly using a pair of gossamer wings, but apparently utilizing them was frowned upon within the city limits, so the mixed group of animal control officers jogged the five blocks over to the base of the spire.

They arrived in time to watch a sundered explode against the street. A second then a third followed the first. I traced the trajectory of the falling NPCs, and they came from a window about halfway down the spire.

A spider-like night barber woman leaped from the window as we watched. She trailed silk from her ass. Olga’s tongue whipped out the window, attaching to the back of the screaming woman. She was sucked back in.

An entire wall of the spire blew out, the result of some unknown spell. More bodies fell, crashing to the street like rain.

“You know,” I observed. “Olga is strong, but she’s usually not that strong. I think the demon may have given her more of a boost than what we asked for.”

Clara grunted. “As long as she doesn’t take down the whole city, the more damage, the better.”

The small group of animal control officers looked at each other uncertainly before running inside. A mixed group of regular city guards followed them inside a moment later.

For several minutes, nothing happened. A group of NPCs hesitantly peeked out their windows and doors of nearby buildings and started talking with one another. Then a window smashed on the third floor, and bloody husks of multiple animal control officers splattered to the ground. The NPCs panicked anew, all rushing back into their homes.

A few moments later, the front door opened, and a human city guard rushed outside, screaming. A tongue snaked out, grasping him, and he was pulled inside. Olga smashed through the front window, showering glass all over the street. The last few bystanders scattered as they were set upon. The frog devoured everyone in her path.

It would be comic if it wasn’t so terrifying. Olga wasn’t that large. She was the size of an overfed pig. Her normally lumpy exterior was crisscrossed with angry purple veins.

“Yep,” I said. We were hidden on the third floor of a building a half-block away. “Unless that Enrage spell comes with a massive strength bonus, he threw something else into the mix.”

When Olga jumped, she leaped thirty feet at a time, and cobblestones shattered where she landed. Her rampage down the street continued unchallenged for several minutes, long enough that I began to worry she wouldn’t be stopped at all.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “I think we just gave Andras an idea on how to destroy the city.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Clara said. “They’ll be in here in a couple days anyway.”

Multiple tracked vehicles and armored personnel carriers turned the corner, emerging from the celestial area of the city. Olga charged one of the APCs, knocking it over. But then one of the larger tanks belched blue fire. The whole street shook. Olga was hit with a direct blast, splattering her down the street.

And just like that, it was over.

A new group of fae and brownie animal control officers descended on the remains. They scooped some of the goop up and poured it into what looked like a large wineskin. They rushed back toward their building with the container of Olga goo.

A moment later, a voice boomed out of the loudspeaker of one of the police vehicles. “Attention citizens. We have successfully captured the threat. The grunter has regenerated in the animal control offices, and it is safe for you to resume your normal daily duties. Lycan Jenk, if you are nearby you are advised to immediately proceed to the proper authorities to discuss this matter. Once you pay the fine, you may receive your familiar back! In the meantime, she is being held at the Greater Medina Animal Control Center!”

I put out my fist, and Clara bumped it.

I grinned at Clara. “Well that was the easy part.”

***

It took almost three hours for Jenk to log in, discover his beloved pet was missing, and for him to make his way to Medina to bail his psychotic frog out of familiar prison.

This time we weren’t taking any chances with being discovered. Clara remained invisible while she observed from the roof of a nearby building to watch. I kept low on the roof, completely out of sight. I didn’t dare peer over the edge.

Darkness descended on the city, but luckily this area of town had electric access, and streetlights dotted the roads.

“He’s coming,” Clara said. “He doesn’t appear worried or suspicious. He’s at a potion stall chatting with the human running it. Okay, he’s going into the animal control building.”

“Go,” I said to the street kid. “Tell Captain Renault that it’s time. He’ll pay your two teeth when you get there. Remember to stick around in case we need you for plan B. Remember what you’re supposed to do.”

“I remember I get another five teeth if I have to do it,” the brownie child said. He was covered in dirt and had holes in his wings. The boy’s name was Jar.

“That’s right,” I said. “Now go.”

The boy zipped away down the stairs.

Renault and his regiment of newly minted city guards stood nearby, ready for part two of the plan. I didn’t want the entire guard regiment to be worm surgeons. That would be too suspicious. Lycans used resurrection and wind magic, making their natural enemies the night barbers, who used celestial and earth. It was easy to recruit them to this task, especially after Olga had slaughtered an entire nest of the spiderling NPCs during her rampage through the tower. Renault also added a dryad and a nerve agent to the group of eight guards, just to round it out.

It was crucial that this happened the moment Jenk stepped outside of the animal control offices. That would serve two purposes. First, it would make this whole setup seem more like an AI-created game event. Also, it would prevent Jenk from getting to one of the many banks that littered the city.

Five minutes passed. I spent the time staring at the sky, watching the demons continue to swirl above. The darker it got, the harder it was to see them except the pazuzu, who often carried flaming whips, giving them the appearance of oversized fireflies. A gargoyle emerged out of the darkness and dropped a rock right at my head. I watched as the stone disintegrated the moment it touched the invisible shield. Only the blood wyverns were smart enough to drop living creatures on the city, but they focused on the northern part of town. I’d heard the streets there were covered in blood and fur and guts, despite the constant cleaning of the street sweepers. It was rare for something to survive the fall.

I hadn’t yet visited that part of the city. We weren’t welcome there. If all went well today and tomorrow, we’d be there soon enough.

“I see him. He has Olga with him,” Clara said. “Yes! He’s being confronted by Renault!”

The fine for Olga’s spree through the spire was set at 6.5 million teeth. We had confirmed the amount with Renault. Like with the former city of Little Cibola, the Medina system for civil and criminal penalties was completely out of whack thanks to Anatoly’s tinkering with the code.  

That meant the moment Jenk stepped foot outside he couldn’t possibly have more than 3.5 million teeth on him. Hopefully he’d have less. He’d have received a notification telling him the amount of teeth he needed to bail Olga out. But assuming the worst possible scenario of 3.5 million, that meant three things had to happen.

First, Jenk needed to somehow raise the wrath of the city guard. We had this part covered. Second, he needed to create such a ruckus that the fine for his behavior was sufficiently high. And finally, he needed to be captured or killed before he could get to either a bank or a transport gazebo.   

I was worried about this third part. We had no idea what level Jenk was, but it was well over 50. He and Olga had easily slaughtered every living soul in Kinnegad. He could probably butcher his way through Medina, too. Captain Renault was only level 35. But there were eight of them. Hopefully that would be enough.

Renault was to approach Jenk and challenge him to single combat. He had readily agreed to this once we explained that the lycan had done great harm to Clara. Renault’s reasoning for the challenge was that Jenk’s frog had killed several close friends of his during her rampage, and he was there to collect the debt. This was just the sort of mini-quest that would show up in a game for it to be believable.

If Jenk accepted the challenge, he was to be arrested for dueling. If he declined the challenge, Renault and his fellows would attack anyway.

If Jenk was smart, he’d immediately recognize the danger he was in, and he’d attempt to flee. He’d cast his shield spell, the same one he’d used during his assault on Kinnegad. Then he’d rush out of the city. He could then deal with the fine next time he was in town. We were ready for this.

“He’s trying to weasel out of the duel. Renault looks like he might be wavering. Shit. I wonder what his charm is. Knowing that asshole, he probably has it maxed out. Oh god, he’s shaking Renault’s hand!”

“Oh hell,” I said. “Plan B! Do it now!”

Clara dropped the red scarf off the edge of the building. One building over, Jar and a couple of his street kid friends were now overturning pots that contained about two hundred glass hops, the luminescent grasshopper bugs that Olga couldn’t get enough of. They upturned the pots on the very edge of the building, placing them where some of them would leap off and then land in the midst of the city patrol.

This last-ditch effort was a little obvious for my taste, but hopefully Jenk would think the grasshoppers came from the demons circling above.  

“Oh god, it’s working!” Clara announced. “One of the bugs landed in the hair of a worm surgeon guard, and Olga just shot her tongue out. Only she sucked in the entire guard, not just the bug.”

Gunfire cracked while Clara gave me a play-by-play. I did not dare peek my head over the corner.

“He’s really fast with his handguns. He shot Renault. Poor guy. He killed a few more guards. And like you said, he’s cast his shield. It’s like a half-circle. He’s looking around now, shooting any guards that appear. Shit, man. He killed all eight of them in like five seconds. Olga is going crazy for the grasshoppers. She really loves those things.”

“Shit,” I said. Renault was going to be pissed when he regenerated. It was his fault though.

Via Renault, we had warned the animal control officers that there might be trouble right outside their offices. Unlike Renault, these folks had a real score to settle. I imagined a rich lycan strolling into their office and throwing down a ton of cash to bail his murdering frog out didn’t sit too well with them.

“The shield is gone,” Clara said. She remained invisible. She’d had to renew the spell at least four times now.

“One of the fae cast the counterspell. The brownies aren’t taking any chances now. They’re focusing on Olga… Yep, Olga is down. Captured in a net spell. She’s definitely not nearly as strong as she was before. Jenk is running and shooting. He is really good with those things. Those guns shoot bullets, but he doesn’t ever reload. I wonder where he got them.”

The crack, crack, crack of traditional gunfire intermixed with pulse rifles was an odd juxtaposition, like a sci-fi show melding into an episode of Gunsmoke.  

Above, I noticed even the pazuzu had stopped their swooping about to watch the gunplay far below.

“He’s running for the gazebo. He’s not gonna make it. There’s a couple chasers coming down the road in his direction, and he doesn’t seem them yet. No, wait. He’s turned the corner, going into an alley. Holy shit!”

“What?” I said, starting to sit up.

“Stay down,” she hissed. Clara changed her position. I couldn’t see her, but I sensed her movements and heard the rocks scattering on the rooftop. “He just leaped from the ground all the way up to the roof of the building next to us. It’s one story shorter than this one, so like six stories up. If he comes this way, he’s going to see you.”

“What is he doing now?”

“He’s peering over the edge. He’s looking the other way for now. There are hundreds of guards swirling about down there. I think he might be settling in to wait it out. Nobody saw his jump up.”

“Okay,” I said. I was now stuck on the ground, leaning against a stone chimney. “You gotta go down there and tell the guards where he is. Tell them he can jump, so they have to put someone on all the roofs, including this one. If he runs, hopefully he won’t run in this direction and see me.”

Clara seemed to hesitate. “Okay,” she finally said. I heard the distinctive whir of her wings engaging. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back. I’ll have to turn off my invisibility to talk to the guards though.”

“Do it on the other side of this building,” I said. “He won’t be able to see you.”

“Keep your head down,” she said. “Don’t risk it.”

She didn’t need to remind me.

I listened as she buzzed off.

I stayed in my position on the roof, but I moved around the stone chimney, putting it between myself and the next roof over.

I need an invisibility spell.

I quickly scrolled through my available spells list. I didn’t have that option anywhere. I’d spent most of my more recent skill points on several charm-enhancing and rifle-aiming skills, leaving me with only 22 skill points, which I was saving for emergencies.

If Jenk seeing you and deciding to unplug your rig isn’t an emergency, then I don’t know what is. 

I spent five skill points on a level 20 skill I’d been eyeing for some time. It was called Magic Bloom, and it added green waypoints to your minimap, showing you invisible sources of magic.

The moment it activated, my map became awash in green lights. I realized with horror that if Jenk had this spell, he could probably see Clara’s location when she was on the roof. But we were surrounded by magic blooms, and hopefully she’d be lost in the background noise. Level 2 of the spell told you the school of magic sourcing the bloom. Level 3, which required a bionic upgrade, told you the specific spell that was being used.

But for now I kept it on level one. Since he wasn’t in my line of sight and he was actively trying to hide, his player dot didn’t appear on my map, just like I hoped my dot didn’t appear on his. But I did see a faint green bloom on the roof next door. I hoped that was him, the source being his armor or guns or a spell he was preparing. Now at least I had a decent idea of his location, and I’d know if he decided to jump over here.

Less than thirty seconds later, a crunch of gravel told me he had, indeed, decided to get a better view by jumping on the highest roof in the neighborhood. Sure enough, his green dot had moved over to this roof. This was a big building, but he was a mere twenty feet away.

Fucking hell. I listened to him move to the edge. I slowly, deliberately pulled my gun. I was loathe to waste my once-every-24-hours Invulnerable spell. I needed to save it for tomorrow. So instead I prepared to jam down on my shield.

“Hey,” Jenk said, and I almost jumped out of my skin. He’d seen me. Holy shit, we were fucked.

“No, I’m here. I’m downstairs in the rig,” he said. A pause. “I’m playing DoB, prepping to run the riot. Yeah, your sister was just down here playing.” Another, longer pause. “Nadia, you two have to work it out. You are twenty years old. You’re not a little girl anymore.” Another pause. “It’s almost midnight. Peyton needs to go to bed.”

With utter amazement, I realized I was listening to Jenk talk on his phone using his rig’s connection. And unless I was going crazy, I was pretty certain the person he was talking to—twenty-year-old Nadia—was his daughter. His daughter. Holy shit, Jenk had kids.

I guess the revelation shouldn’t have surprised me. SmashSouth had a kid, too, I knew. Serial killers often had families that had no idea what was going on. Plus, I guess I had kind of suspected it already. Clara had said there were two women taking care of her daughter. Was one of them this Nadia? And was the baby, this Peyton, was it Clara’s baby? But that man. He just didn’t seem the type. That brutal, savage, oddly charismatic psychopath… he seemed so normal right now. I was so thrown off by this that I momentarily forgot where I was and what I was doing.

“Nobody is going to be open this late,” he said. “Nadia. I don’t care. Melinda works, and you don’t. You’ll have to do it. Pepperoni, cheese, it doesn’t matter. But make sure Peyton is down. Okay, I guess I won’t start my quest then…. No, it’s all right. This group isn’t up to my standards anyway…. Just call me when it gets here.”

I’m downstairs in the rig… Your sister was just down here playing.

It took me a moment to understand the gravity of what those two sentences meant. Unless his daughter was in on the conspiracy, which I highly doubted, then Clara and I weren’t located in Jenk’s house. He’d said three names. I said them over and over so I wouldn’t forget. Nadia, Peyton. Melinda. Nadia and Melinda were his daughters, his older daughters. The baby was Peyton.

Clara had said the first time she woke up it was in a warehouse somewhere. I still suspected it was in Canada, and it was somewhere close to Jenk. But it was a relief to know we weren’t right there.

Also, as awful as the kidnapping of Clara’s daughter was, it sounded like he was genuinely caring for the kid, if it was indeed Peyton. For all I knew he was as much a psychotic, abusive asshole to his children as he was to his victims here in the game, but he didn’t sound like one on the phone. He’d just handled a semi-stressful interaction with his daughter much the way I would have. He sounded like a dick, sure, but I didn’t get that power-mad abuse sense about him. I felt oddly relieved at that. I knew Clara wouldn’t see it that way. I don’t know. Maybe I was just grasping at straws.

“We know you’re up there,” a raspy, electronic voice called from below. I knew that sound. It was the amplification of a groundling mech.

“What the hell, man,” Jenk muttered.

And then all hell broke loose.

An Epsilon Holdings Ep-12 police cruiser descended from above, crash landing on the roof right next to me. The vehicle was identical to the one I’d stolen. The sundered behind the mounted gun hurled fire at Jenk as the driver leaped forward. At the same time, multiple groundling mechs landed on the rooftop, smashing down with ferocity as they power jumped from the ground.

None of them gave me any heed as I was suddenly surrounded by a dozen screaming, shooting, and advancing elite city guards.

The sundered behind the mounted gun flew backward, his head blown clean off. Blue liquid spewed from the wound. I pushed back around the edge of the chimney as I watched Jenk leap off the top of one of the mechs. I don’t know what he did, but the armor toppled over, falling right off the roof.

The car bucked as Jenk leaped inside. I cowered, shrinking further back, praying he wouldn’t look down.

And then the flying car was rising into the air. It was almost directly above me. He was doing the exact same thing I did. He was going to get away.

“Motherfucker,” I growled. Without even thinking of the consequences, I shot my grappling hook, switching to the four grabbers with the upgraded, sticky pincers. I latched onto the bottom of the car just before it flew out of range.

I was bodily yanked off the roof, and I scraped off the chimney as I rose into the air. As I retracted, pulling myself closer to the flying cop car, a menu popped up.

Flash Ep-12 Cruiser?

I mentally jammed down on Yes.

You have gained control of this vehicle.

My interface filled with the vehicle’s status bars and buttons just as my arm finished retracting. I dangled directly underneath the car as fire flew up from the streets at us. Jenk had decided to forgo the transport gazebo and was making a run for the city limits. He’d be there in seconds. The car would probably get shot down by the demons, but outside the city, it wouldn’t matter.

I sighed. Damn it all to hell.

I jammed down on Blow Core.

Chapter 57

Feedings Left: 4

The next day, we approached Medina from the east on a wide road that once led to the ruins of Neo-Austin. We’d teleported out to the still-active, sideways gazebo in the ruins of Charnel. We met Banksy, who horked Nipper out of his stomach garage. It wasn’t a long drive, but this area crawled with zippers, cyclods, and the scorpion-tailed pazuzu demons who hunted in massive flocks. We also had to watch out for the hulking, two-headed dreadnoughts. The ogres were rarer, but they carried guns big enough to flip Nipper if they got a direct hit.

According to Renault, who had been more chastened than angry about his failure the day before, Jenk had originally been given 30 days in prison for his assault on the city guard. But he attacked the arresting officer when he regenerated, which had garnered him an additional 10 days, making it so his total time behind bars would be 40 days.

We’d either get out of here, or we’d starve to death. But either way, we would never see Jenk the lycan ever again.

I hoped and prayed he would simply not log in for the next month, choosing to spend his evenings playing something else. Surely sitting in a jail cell would be pointless.

“It was a bit anticlimactic,” I said as we pulled the vehicle into position. 

“You mean with Jenk?” Clara asked. She shrugged. “You hacked and blew up a flying police car as he tried to run away, all the while doing it so he couldn’t see you. The resulting explosion leveled three square blocks of the city. And you somehow managed to do it without getting arrested yourself. Anticlimactic isn’t the word I’d use.”

I cringed, remembering the destruction. The Blow Core feature of the police cruiser was significantly more potent than I’d been expecting. I’d taken out several buildings in a human neighborhood, killing hundreds of NPCs. Not only had they pinned the destruction on Jenk, but I’d actually received a medal of commendation from the council.

Still, the pacification of Jenk felt incomplete. It hadn’t been easy. None of this was easy. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that our good luck so far wouldn’t hold up.

Today the plan was to break the siege.

The closest we could get the guardians to the army surrounding the city was the forest line. That’s where they were both positioned now. They weren’t going to help in this fight unless the demons were stupid enough to flee into the forest.

There was no way we’d be able to kill everything besieging the city. Not alone. There were at least 10,000 creatures surrounding the outskirts. So we’d had to recruit help.

“Do you think they’ll come?” Clara asked. We parked on a hill overlooking the eastern wall of Medina. Multiple campsites littered the area below us. A black flock of demons choked the skies above the field.

“Most of them will,” I said. “If not, this is going to be the shortest siege break attempt in history.”

Banksy: Father, I am in position.

Duke: Okay. Remember what I said. It’s okay to hit level 48, but don’t let yourself get close to 49. If you get halfway there, you need to use your attack, even if it’s a bit early. And if for some reason you can’t cast it, or you find yourself too close to leveling again, it’s okay to let them kill you at that point. That way you’ll lose half your progress.

Banksy: I feel that trying to talk me into killing myself is not proper parenting.

Duke: No, it’s probably not. Be ready for my signal.

Banksy: Yes, father.

***

Three nights earlier, I stood in the center of the council chamber while twenty-one guildmasters glared down at me. I caught Guildmaster Fiona’s eye, and she gave me a quick smile of encouragement, motioning me to go on.

“We have the ability to clear out the demons besieging the city, but only if all 22 races work together.” My voice echoed. The round room reminded me of a college lecture hall, and I stood where the professor would normally conduct his lesson. I wondered, not for the first time, if any players had attempted this path to finish the game.

My hands itched. I wasn’t used to the fingerless gloves.

It had taken me a solid hour to convince Fiona that my plan was a sound one. I’d had to down one of my charm potions. And only then did she grudgingly accept the idea.

“If you really want to do this,” she’d said, “you must clear out the demons surrounding Medina. This will never work while they are on our doorstep.”

“How the hell am I going to do that?” I had asked. I hadn’t anticipated this particular roadblock.

“With these,” she said. She removed and handed me a pair of fingerless gloves. I examined them.

Guildmaster’s Gloves of Magnetism

This is a unique item!

Imbues +15.33 Charm to Worm Surgeons Only

“Holy cow,” I said, examining the gloves. “These are amazing! But why do I need them?”

“Because you are a worm surgeon, and nobody takes worm surgeons at their word, especially not the Medina Council. You will need the gloves and anything else you can find to make yourself more personable to the council. We have many enemies there.”

“But why do I need to talk to the council?” I asked.

“Because even you, mighty Duke, cannot clear the siege on your own.”

So when the next council meeting finally convened, I had managed to increase my charm to 38.33, making me the sexiest damn worm surgeon to ever walk this world. My base was ten, and I added 15.33 from the gloves plus another three from a skill that added the points while I was speaking to a crowd of more than three people. I managed the last ten points with yet another skill that doubled the effects of all potions, good and bad. That had been an expensive one, costing fifteen skill points. I downed the charm potion before walking into the chamber.

That peculiar fraction at the end of the glove stats was suspicious. No other items in the game I had seen so far ever imparted fractional points. It felt like more than just a bug.

Sometimes while flipping through the portfolios of other artists, I’d look at something, and I’d just know that it was a fake. It was art that been made by an AI, not a human. There was nothing specific that gave it away. AI was good at being raw, gritty, not perfect. But I sometimes got a feeling, a sixth sense that detected the soullessness of the piece.

I had that same feeling when I examined the gloves. Everything about it was… odd. I sensed it there, a tipping of the scales in my favor. A deus ex machina engineered by the literal god in the machine. I suspected that 15.33 boost to my charm was the exact amount of charisma I needed for this task. 

I did not, not for one moment, mistake this not-so-gentle push as the work of a benevolent god, however. No. No way. This was the same dispassionate AI who had steered me toward the amplification ceremony in order to get me inside of a kaiju.

But even a charm of 38.33 didn’t negate the fact I was still a worm surgeon. Not to several members of the council.

“Why would we listen to you?” the radiant guildmaster asked. The hawk-headed NPC was resplendent in glowing armor.

Before I could open my mouth, a sundered interjected. This android wore human-like clothes, unlike his brothers in the former city of Little Cibola who preferred to tool around naked. “The worm surgeon who stands before this council is a criminal. A convicted felon. He is wanted in connection with the disaster that struck Guardian Epsilon, resulting in the disassembly of an untold number of the collective. His actions can only be construed as collaboration with the enemy.”

If I wasn’t so terrified at the prospect of getting arrested again, I would have laughed. If only they knew the whole story.

“We also object!” the groundling guildmaster called. She wore the same skullcap that Jazz and Stonegate and the clerics all wore. “This demon has cast vile magic, causing our lord to…”

“We are getting off track,” I interrupted, raising my voice. To my utter surprise, everyone stopped and turned to me. I surveyed the room. I had everyone’s rapt attention.

“This is what we need from you,” I said.

***

The half-moon wall surrounding Medina consisted of seven different entrances. The sigil of each of the schools of magic decorated each of the doorways, with the exception of the main entrance, which contained the symbols of all six schools. On the far east side of the enclosed city, the earth magic doorway was nothing more than a ten-foot, double iron gate wide enough to accommodate two chasers rolling side-by-side. The edge of the map was a mere 100 yards north, and the untouchable, glittering blue sea reflected off the door. The wall itself rose twenty-five feet in the air and was made of crumbling red stone. The barrier was nothing more than decoration. It would not withstand more than a few direct hits of demon artillery. The real protection came from the magic that encased the city. It was the same magic that kept the guardians from getting too close.

I didn’t know if the demons would ever be able to get into the city until after the rift was breached. Like with most single-player games, there was no real way to “lose.” Players had complete autonomy in the open-world map, but there was still a series of events that had to take place for the game to be completed. A player could easily prevent the game from ending by refusing to follow the final quest path. But if they wanted the story to end and for the credits to roll, something specific had to happen. While this game, like many others, had multiple endings, they all appeared to require the same set of circumstances. A player had to gain control of a guardian, the player had to gain access to the rift, and then the player had to travel through the rift into the world of hell. Once in hell, the player and guardian had to confront Baal, the head bad guy. Then they had to kill him.

The only difference with the co-op version was that Baal was much stronger, making it so more guardians were required for that final battle.

According to Clara, the walls of Medina would only fall when the rift was breached. The demons would pour through, basically making it so you no longer had access to the city. They would proceed to trash the place. The sky would turn black, and a lightning storm overwhelmed the hinterland. But the demons wouldn’t actually win or somehow gain access to the heavens. Players weren’t even supposed to see any of that. They were all supposed to be inside the rift. All of that extra stuff was just show for anybody who was left behind.

“It’s noon,” I said. “Any moment now.”

“Look,” Clara said. “The door is opening.”

“Okay,” I said. “Wait until their backs are to us.”

This part of the plan wasn’t very complicated. I found the section of the wall that was the least well-protected on the demon side. The Medina militia would pour out of the city at the door. They’d meet the demons head-on while we focused on taking out the larger monsters. Once the battle was fully committed, additional forces would emerge out the next door, a half-mile down the wall at the technology door.

The gate was almost completely open when the demons finally noticed. While this section of the wall was the most poorly guarded, there were still multiple legions of monsters milling about. A horn blasted, followed by panicked scrambling on the field below. I watched as the ranks of the zippers attempted to form up. A single blood wyvern took to the sky, screaming.

“That one is mine,” I said. “You focus on the cannons.” 

Every monster on the field was green tagged for me except the blood wyverns, who remained red-tagged. And the two-headed dreadnoughts, who were yellow tagged. The tagging system allowed me to easily pick out targets. For right now, I was focused on the massive pterodactyl vulture thing that had just taken to the skies.

Spiked, steam-driven motorcycles flowed out of the open earth magic door. Hundreds of them surged onto the field, a cavalry charge unlike anything I had ever seen. Each was driven by a heavily armored nerve agent. They insisted on leading the charge. Half of the riders held chainsaw-wielding shade gremlins on their shoulders. The other half of the motorcycles featured sidecars with hand-cranked autocannons. These were manned by the mechanical menders, the race of steampunk automatons.

Mounted beetles came next. The tree-like dryad rode upon them, screaming. They were armed with an array of blunt weapons and projectile guns. Then came the spider-like night barbers with their slings and the lycans with nothing more than their claws. Brownies surged down on the still-scrambling zippers from above, tearing them apart with magical arrows they cast from their hands. Plain humans also joined the fray, rushing forward on foot with automatic weapons.

“Holy cow,” I said, watching the sudden carnage. The motorcycle charge continued unabated through the haphazard ranks. “It’s like they don’t even need us.”

“They will,” Clara said, lining up a shot with the mounted gun. She eased the trigger, and a distant dreadnought dropped to the ground. “Boom, headshot! Well, left headshot.” The monster’s hand cannon crashed to the ground and fired. The cannonball blasted a tree a hundred yards south of us. It was the closest we’d come so far to taking fire. “I’m not seeing several races out there.”

“The sundered, the groundlings, and the radiants aren’t going to help,” I said. I watched the blood wyvern circle. I needed to wait until just the right moment. Come on, come on. “Hopefully the others are waiting at the next gate down.”  

The creature swept up and tucked its wings. It was angling down to hit a chaser-like vehicle as it rolled from the city gate.

I cast Leaden, hitting it right when it started its dive. I’d managed to upgrade the spell to the top level of 3, and the hex cast in a wide sphere, centered on the single blood wyvern. The attack caught the monster along with a couple dozen of the smaller, flocking pazuzu. They all slammed hard to the ground. I knew from experience the pazuzu would all be dead. The wyvern would only be stunned, but it took them a long time to get back up again. Time it didn’t have.

A shade gremlin leaped off a motorcycle and dove head-first into the downed wyvern, screaming as his chainsaw sunk deep into the monster. The demon’s blood arced into the air like a sprinkler.

I cast Leaden a second time, focusing on a swooping flock of pazuzu. It sounded like thunder when they smashed the ground. Beside me, Clara’s single, precision shots turned more regular. She fired rhythmically, like a slow but steady beat from a bass drum. Thwump, thwump, thwump. She could fire faster and switch the gun to full auto, but at her current speed, she could keep the fire up indefinitely. She focused on the dreadnoughts. At her level of 52, the powerful gun could drop the large ogres in only three shots, or just one if she hit one of the two heads.

I was too far away to collect soul power, but I was prepared. I popped open one of the soul power potions.

“Be careful,” Clara said. “You accidentally hit a couple brownies with that spell.”

“Well, shit,” I said. I’d hoped the Leaden spell would be smart enough to distinguish friend or foe. No such luck.

The demons were finally starting to recover. Almost two dozen blood wyverns frantically flapped toward the battle. Multiple flatbed trucks rolled toward the action. I groaned. Those were usually manned by the bug-filled cyclods.

“Shit,” Clara said. “They see us. We got incoming.”

I dropped down just as a tree a few feet away from me exploded in splinters.

A group of dreadnoughts had finally figured out where the sniping was coming from. To make matters worse, a cyclod truck with a mounted spider gun was coming into range. We’d be in their sights in less than a minute. I pulled my gun and took aim at the flatbed.

Crash! Clara flew back as a cannonball struck a direct hit against the side of Nipper. The truck didn’t flip, but the ball had embedded itself directly into the side of the vehicle. It half-covered the dog’s head on my spray-painted logo. That enraged me more than it probably should have.

I looked in horror to see Clara was stuck in the concertina wire that surrounded the top of the tank. She struggled to get free. Her wings buzzed uselessly.

“Get those dreadnoughts!” she cried. “I’ll be out in a second.”

We needed to move the truck. That was the plan. But I couldn’t do it with Clara hanging off the side of the thing.

I sighted on the closest dreadnought. He was about 200 meters away. The ogre was already heavily injured, and he dropped after the first shot. It took several shots for me to actually hit him. It was hard for me to aim at this distance. The pulses had a tendency to curve through the air. Clara’s shots were much straighter, probably thanks to her superior deftness.

I remembered I had a handful of the deftness potions. I grabbed and quickly downed one.

Your Deftness has been temporarily increased by 10. It is now 28.

I fired at the second closest dreadnought. I scored a hit to its arm, causing his lined-up shot to go wide. Another burst, and he went down.

Beyond, the tide started to turn against us. We had pushed them into retreat and panic, but the rallying troops from down the wall were forming up to meet us. I watched in horror as a motorcycle pinwheeled through the air, the lower half of a nerve agent still attached. It landed and exploded with a resounding crash.

Another cannon blast scored a glancing blow across the top of Nipper, skipping off like a stone across a pond. It narrowly missed splattering Clara. Just beyond the dreadnought, the flatbed stopped, turning sideways. The cyclods on either side of the gun started to deflate.

Screw this.

“I’m moving to point B, whether you’re ready or not!” I called up. I jumped up and scrambled into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life, and we jerked forward, disappearing into the trees. As we lurched forward, Nipper rocked with another glancing blow.

Clara dropped into the tank, slamming the hatch.

“We got hit with the spider gun,” she said. “It wasn’t a direct hit, but it was enough.”

The windshield went black as thousands of bugs swarmed over it, crawling down from the roof.

I slammed the brakes. Clara and Iffy went flying forward. Iffy farted and popped in panic. “Close the door behind me,” I screamed, as I pushed it open. I engaged my shield, and I jumped, rolling to a stop as I selected my flamethrower attachment.

I turned, and I doused the exterior of the chaser with fire. Just a quick burst. The venomous spiders and centipedes curled up and fell like ash. I rushed to the other side and bathed it again in fire. Nipper could take the abuse. I hoped the occupants could, too.

Clara screamed.

“Damnit,” I growled. I pushed myself back inside. The interior of the tank had risen at least twenty degrees. Clara had a poisoned notification pulsing over her head, and iffy had turned from red to purple. Only a few of the biting spiders and centipedes had gotten inside. At least one of them had managed to crawl up Clara’s armor and get underneath her collar. Just one bite was enough.

After several scrambling seconds of swatting and smashing, Clara’s color returned after she downed an antidote. Iffy was dead. The damn slug somehow managed to make himself smell even worse upon death. Thanks to Clara’s pet carrier, he’d be back in a few minutes.

We had stopped on a low ridge obscuring our view of the battlefield. Multiple explosions echoed, rocking the earth.

“I’m okay,” Clara said, slapping the interior roof. “Let’s move, let’s move.”

I jumped into the seat, and Nipper roared back to life. I noted the vehicle’s hull integrity was down to 74%. Not bad, considering all the abuse it had already taken. It took less than fifteen seconds to move to the new spot. This was better cover, and it was closer to the action. Close enough that I felt a constant stream of soul power.

“We have three crowned demons on the field now,” Clara called. “I can’t see their names from here, but I recognize one of them. It’s King Vinea and his asshole horse. We also have about a million glazers down there. They’re hopping around like fleas on a trampoline.”

I threw open a chat window. I kept it active, a virtual computer terminal hovering to my right. I typed out a quick message. 

Duke: Banksy, you’re up.

Banksy: Tell me where you need me.

I pulled myself out of the tank and hit the outcropping, spotting the battlefield with my rifle. We’d been out of sight of the field for only a few short minutes, and everything looked different.

The technology door was now open, and pig-riding mole men poured forth, coming to meet the glazers. The earth and technology-based dwarves were armed with pulse rifles and wheeled autocannons. A few groups of three carried an odd weapon that appeared to be a jackhammer. They positioned it over the ground, the mechanism pulsed blue, and cracks would form on the ground, shooting off toward the main line of demons. It was an earthquake attack. It wasn’t too effective with glazers.

The dagon fish people also emerged. A good portion of them were armed with electrified nets and tridents. Their group held their own while the mole men started to get overwhelmed by the small glazers on one side and taller zippers on the other. They were followed by mixed squads of worm surgeons, humans, plague doctorers, and night barbers. I knew Captain Renault was down there somewhere, leading a squad into battle while armed with nothing more than their rifles.

The back half of the battlefield toward the earth door was nothing but scorched earth, flaming motorcycles, and bodies everywhere. More Medina fighters continued to trickle out. These were mostly the faceless physickers, the tentacle-mouthed leechers, and the gentle fae, coming to cast buffs and heals upon the sturdier melee fighters.

I cursed the guildmasters of the races who refused to participate. I thought of the massive tanks the sundered had used to deal with Jenk and Olga. Just a few of those things would’ve made a huge difference here. The same with a squad of groundlings in their battle mechs.

A trio of crowned demon lords casually approached the wavering front line. King Vinea was the only one I recognized, glittering on his black horse. He looked much the same as he did that night months ago when we ran the gauntlet to get to the Shrill for the first time. A second demon was also on horseback, though his horse was a pale beige with a mane made of smoke. This one appeared like a man but had the head of a cat. I couldn’t read it from this distance, but the flaming crowns on either side of his or her name mirrored the size of the twin crowns around King Vinea’s title, signifying this was also a top-tier king or queen. The third was a tall, hunched over monster with magenta skin and the countenance of a drooling rat. He carried a mace the size of a wrecking ball. The thing towered fifteen feet, bigger than even the dreadnoughts. This third one stood behind the other two, and his crown symbol was much smaller.

All three of them were right next to each other, surrounded by a host of glazers and dreadnoughts and a new type of demon I hadn’t before seen. These things looked like armored hyenas with miniguns mounted on their backs. The gun dogs were all red-tagged, meaning they were stout bastards. 

Duke: Do you feel those earthquake attacks? I need you about 250 meters southwest of there. About thirty meters south of the wall. Can you do that?

Banksy: I can feel where you’re pointing. The ground groans heavy there.

Duke: Yeah, well do it now.

Above, Clara’s gun resumed its fire. She ignored the demon lords and focused on the mess of dive-bombing blood wyverns ripping their way through our back ranks. The physickers were getting torn to shreds. The leechers were fairing better, casting spells that caused the flyers to turn on each other. The fae had scattered. I didn’t know if they were all dead or just mixed in with everyone else.

I cast Leaden, again and again, killing huge swaths of the flyers. With the jolt of soul power I received with every mass kill, I could keep this up all day.

I felt the ground rumble.

“Here he comes,” I said.

Chapter 58

Banksy erupted from the earth, shooting straight into the sky, rising like a Saturn V rocket, showering rock and dust. The three demons and most of their entourage were simply gone.

Banksy slammed back to the earth, and a shockwave spread, crushing hundreds of fleeing demons and knocking everything within 100 meters down.

I immediately got a notification that Banksy had leveled to 48. He’d killed two of the most powerful demon lords in a single attack. He’d gained a ton of experience, but he was still in the very early stages of 48. With the demon lords off the table, the remaining demons would only give a tithe of the same amount of experience. I relaxed.

Duke: You’re looking good. Make your attacks.

A crater had formed around the 500-foot length of my familiar. It would take several minutes for the remaining ground-based demons to recover, but the fliers swarmed, flocking toward my pet in a black cloud of death. They were out of range of my Leaden.

But they weren’t out of range of Banksy’s version of the exact same spell. And his was a lot stronger than mine.

Banksy cast Descending Angel. The effect was immediate. Every flying creature as far as I could see slammed to the ground, pulled into the earth with a sudden and jarring force powerful enough to obliterate anything more than a dozen feet in the air. The ground rumbled. All around, demons turned into meteorites, killing and destroying indiscriminately.

“Those poor brownies,” Clara said. Only a few of the flying NPCs had remained, but those stupid enough to still be hovering had been eradicated along with every lingering blood wyvern and pazuzu. The battlefield looked like the surface of the moon. 

A moment later, a dragonfly smashed into the ground twenty feet in front of me. It was Dickinson, who had somehow managed to stay alive the entire fight.

Until now.

“Oh, my poor baby,” Clara said.

Banksy: I don’t want to cast the next one. It’s really gross.

My familiar hated the acid-spewing Green Hell spell. At this point it wouldn’t be very effective anyway. Not with the remaining enemies spread out and unorganized.

Duke: You don’t have to, buddy. But there are still a lot of the hyena things with the guns and cyclods left on the field. They’re going to charge you, and the zippers might too. Do you want to try your fatal attack? This will be our last chance to find out what it does before we approach the rift.

Banksy: Oh, all right.

Duke: Wait. Before you do it, spit out those three demons. Spit them toward me.

I started to close the chat window, but then I added:

Duke: Uh, make sure they’re dead first, though. Maybe chew on them a little bit.

Banksy turned his colossal head toward us, and in quick succession, he spit five times.

He was a little too accurate. The black horse smashed directly into Nipper, knocking it over on its side. Clara had to buzz into the air to keep from being catapulted. If it wasn’t for a tree on the other side of the road, the tank would have flipped over onto its back. The pale horse overshot us, hitting and cracking another tree. The three demons came next, all of them slamming into the ground around us.

Banksy: I’m going to do it. I can choose an area of effect around me, but I don’t know what’s going to happen, so I’m making it toward the dog monsters. I’ll see you soon, father. When I regenerate, I will head back this way. You owe me for this.

Duke: Thank you, buddy. Be safe.

Banksy: I’m not going to be safe. I’m about to kill myself.

Guildmaster Fiona had said Banksy received his Ghoul Night Out special attack because of my resurrection spell ability. I was assuming it would be some sort of mass reanimation zombie attack. Like how Descending Angel was just my Leaden spell, but on steroids. This would be like my resurrection skill, but somehow more powerful.

I was wrong.

The spell didn’t reanimate the thousands of dead demons and NPCs littering the battlefield.

I felt the soul power leech out of Banksy. It was like an invisible tidal wave crashing toward the armored dogs. The hyenas had finally started to rally, and their back-mounted miniguns made zzzzt sounds as they fired into the tough hide of my familiar.

The soul power hit the dogs with the force of a sledgehammer. There were only about 50 of the monsters remaining, and they all bowled over.

The souls of the dogs ripped out of their physical bodies. That’s the only way I can describe it. Clara and anyone else who didn’t utilize resurrection magic would have no way of seeing or understanding what I now sensed. Their bodies became oversaturated with soul power, causing their souls to become too big for their bodies. Like balloons with their tethers cut, I could sense the lifeforce fleeing upward into the clouds.

But their physical shells didn’t die. They’d become undead, zombies. And they went berserk, killing themselves and turning on each other. They danced in a circle as they bit and tore flesh from their fellows and themselves. The scene resembled a chaotic mosh pit.

All the while their canine bodies turned a shade of purple and started to swell. Armor popped off the hyena’s heads. The mounted guns clattered to the ground. Combatants on both sides of the fight stopped dead to watch, open-mouthed as the soulless were forced to stop their feral dance as their bodies swelled even bigger, making them unable to move. 

The directed soul power continued to sweep out of Banksy. It continued to sweep into the demons.

Bam!

The hyenas blew, all at once. Brown, red, and purple gore showered in every direction.

Their skeletons remained, standing still, frozen in their contortions. And after an indeterminable moment, the skeletons did not fall to the ground. They resumed their dance, a spinning mosh pit of hyena skeletons, clattering in an aimless circle.

While the skeletons started their dance, Banksy fell over, dead, completely drained of power. The zippers swarmed over my pet, not realizing he was dead. They cut and stabbed, burrowing into his body. Their efficiency was alarming, despite the fact my familiar was already gone.

And then he, too, exploded. The shockwave threw me backward. The closest section of the wall of Medina crumbled under the explosion. But it didn’t matter. Any demons who remained were in full flight mode by now, heading into the woods and directly into the path of Avvinik and Moritasgus.

All that remained on the battlefield was blood, gore, the cries of the dying, and a circle of hyena skeletons, rattling as they danced in a circle that would only fall at the end of time.

“Well that’s one way to do it,” Clara said.

***

We only had five minutes before the three demons would respawn. The closest was the rat lord. I quickly examined his properties.

Seal of Halphas added to library!

Count Halphas

Rank 38 in the demonic hierarchy. A vassal of King Beleth.

May be evoked to reload weaponry. May cast Upgrade Limits on any Steam-based mechanisms. His presence in battle gives all legions within 100 meters unlimited ammunition. Kill or bind to negate this buff. Requires Evocation level 2.

Has three forms: a singular Vile Rat, a Rat Brute, or a Marabou Stork.

This guy was only a few ranks above my caterpillar, Count Fronz. Since he could take the form of a vile rat, that meant I could probably use one of the lanterns to bind him. His ability to reload weaponry would be worthwhile if we ever decided to get something that required refills. But for now he was useless. He didn’t have anything I could cut out of him.

Clara rifled through the clothes of the three demons. She spent a moment attempting to pull the black helmet off King Vinea’s head. It wouldn’t come off. Instead she removed the chest plate and peeled it off, revealing gray skin similar to my own.

She picked up the massive mace that Halphas dropped. The round, spiked ball at the end was six feet across, bigger than her. Yet she lifted the weapon as if it weighed nothing. It looked ridiculously large in her grip.

“It’s a soul mace,” she said, swinging it back and forth. Black and purple streaks of light followed the trail of the weapon through the air. “It’s lighter than my rifle, and it adds five to my strength. I needed a decent melee weapon. If I put it in my inventory, I can summon it at will. Check it out.”

The mace disappeared in a puff of purple smoke. She buzzed a couple feet into the air, swung her empty hand, and the weapon appeared halfway through her swing.

“It’s way too big for you,” I said, laughing. “It’s bigger than you are.”

“It’ll work if I’m flying,” she said. She flew at a tree and smashed it with the mace. The tree cracked in half.

I shook my head and went back to work. The next demon was the cat-headed one. I examined him. “Oh shit,” I said a moment later. “This guy is one of the big ones.”

Seal of Beleth added to library!

King Beleth

Rank 3 in the demonic hierarchy. Answers directly to Emperor Baal.

May be evoked for binding purposes only. His presence in battle provides +15% strength, +15% deftness, and +30% charm to all legions within 250 meters. Kill or bind to negate this buff. Requires Evocation level 4.

Has three forms: a Cat, a Cat-Headed Human, or a Hell Guardian.

I didn’t want to know what a hell guardian was. Finally, I examined King Vinea.

Seal of Vinea added to library!

King Vinea

Rank 6 in the demonic hierarchy. Answers directly to Emperor Baal.

May be evoked for binding purposes only. His presence in battle provides +50% vehicle integrity and +15% durability to all legions within 250 meters. Kill or bind to negate this buff. Requires Evocation level 4.

Has three forms: an Armored Human, a Tortoise, or a Hell Guardian.

We only had a couple minutes left. I grasped the amplification knife. (I had offered to give the knife back to Clara, but she insisted I keep it since I used it more.) I cut out both of the kneecaps of King Beleth. King Vinea also had a glandular upgrade, but we didn’t have time to get it out of him.

I threw the wet kneecaps into my bag. I then proceeded to decapitate Beleth and Vinea. I then cut through the sternum of both demons, exposing their chest cavities. I didn’t bother with count Halphas.

I pulled the black sprout from my bag. The hairy tendrils stemming from the bottom of the dusky chrysanthemum reached toward the downed demons, moving like tiny, reaching hands. The revulsion I’d felt the first time I held the flower returned. 

“I’m doing Vinea,” Clara announced, pushing me aside. She placed the flower into the fallen demon’s chest cavity.

The screen flickered. A cutscene.

“Whoa,” she said a moment later. “I just got a ton of experience for that.” 

Up until late last night, the two black sprouts—one in my inventory and one in Clara’s—both appeared in our quest inventory. And as a quest item, we couldn’t use, drop, or sell them except for their intended purpose. They had been given to us by Stolas, and we were supposed to plant one of them into the dead body of the assassin Andras.

I didn’t have anything against Stolas the owl demon. But I needed that quest to go away so I could utilize the black sprout. Unlike most games, there was no button to just dismiss the quest.

We were afraid simply killing the potion dealer wouldn’t end the quest. So instead, we’d snitched.

Andras had taken care of it for us.

Late last night, after he was freed from his kidnapping obligation, a notification appeared that the “Kill Andras for Stolas” Hell Quest had failed. Stolas’s potion shop disappeared from my map, and the two black sprouts had moved from quest inventory to the regular inventory, giving us the ability to utilize the sprouts for our own purposes.

I don’t know what Andras had done to the potion dealer, but it was probably something very nasty.   

The countdown timer over King Vinea disappeared as vines quickly spread over the demon’s body. He remained frozen in place, cut into pieces, his separated and helmeted head discarded nearby. The vines reached for his head, pulling it into place onto his body. His chest cavity healed as his body sunk into the ground. In a few moments, the body was gone, replaced with nothing but a single sprout sticking from the ground.

I planted my own sprout into the body of Beleth.

Experience earned!

You are now level 47!

You have successfully removed Beleth from the realm.

The planting process repeated for the third most powerful demon in the game.

I didn’t have time to watch. Nipper was on its side, pushed up against a tree. We had less than a minute left before Halphas the rat demon would respawn. I rushed to the other side. Clara and I heaved, attempting to right the pushed-over bus. It didn’t budge. I engaged my grappling hook, pushing out. My current strength was 36, so the strength of my claw was 72, or the strength of 7 regular men. Even with that added muscle, I might as well have been pushing against a mountain. I had no idea how much the tracked vehicle weighed, but it was too much for us. I’d have to get Banksy to swallow it up. Alternatively, we could go to the mechanics in Yelm and pay the nerve agents 100 teeth to “retrieve” it, which magically teleported it to the garage. I decided we should probably do that anyway since we needed to repair the damage from today’s battle. 

The giant rat demon’s body glowed. I looked at Clara. “You want to fight him, or should we teleport home?” We had to decide quick. The game wouldn’t let us teleport away if we engaged the demon’s aggro, which was going to happen any second. But at our current levels, I knew it would be a good, bloody fight.

Clara grinned, summoning her new, oversized weapon. “I’m gonna kill this asshole with his own mace.” 

Chapter 59

Feedings Left: 3

As we approached Neo-Austin, we had to leave the two guardians on the outskirts. Much like with Medina, the old magic still held here, and the only guardian who could enter was the Shrill. He remained by the rift.

Their time would be soon, but it would not be today.

Banksy tunneled underneath us. He warned the city descended deep underground. He could still get to us quickly in an emergency, but because of the tunnels and sunken buildings, the integrity of the surface anywhere near his arrival would be unreliable.

The front plow on our newly repaired Nipper made short work of the debris littering the streets of Neo-Austin. We were beset by glazers twice, and I finally got to use my chainsaw defense. The small demons who’d almost overwhelmed us the first time we traveled through these streets were now nothing but a nuisance.

With the loss of their lord, King Vinea, they had gone feral, unorganized. We watched as they fought amongst themselves just as much as they attacked us. 

Queen Lamashtu’s pavilion was in an area several miles south of where we’d first met the donkey queen. She’d moved into what appeared to be a former roller rink. Maybe a roller derby arena. The place had an honest-to-goodness parking lot out front, and I pulled in, knocking over a light pole with the forward wedge. Iffy popped in panic as he slammed against the interior wall of the bus. We really needed to get that slug a seatbelt.

“Nice parking,” Clara said as we piled out of Nipper. Iffy remained inside. Clara examined the light pole. “You managed to hit the only thing in the parking lot.” Dickinson the dragonfly followed us from above. He’d gotten himself killed by a gargoyle on the way here, but he’d recently respawned. Winky fluttered around Clara’s head.

“It has a shitty turning radius,” I grumbled.

I flexed my knees. I was still getting used to my new upgrade. King Beleth’s kneecaps imparted me with the ability to jump great distances. They also added +5 to my deftness, bringing me to 23.

The ability to super jump was somewhat tempered by the fact I still had to land. I’d broken my ankle once already. I spent the night practicing leaping, grappling hook combos. I could now swing about like a true bionic commando. I also discovered how to use my grappling hook to cushion my descent. It wouldn’t help me if I was falling at terminal velocity, but it was a heck of a lot better than nothing. While I wasn’t quite Spiderman, I was now a nimble-ass bastard.

A pair of monsters guarded the entrance to the lair, but they appeared as NPCs on my map. These were a type of monster called a drivet according to Clara. They resembled man-sized, uprooted scallion bulbs with the green stalks still attached. Each bulb had six insect-like legs. The onion-shape of their bodies was only about two feet tall. The rest was their green stalks. Beady red eyes glared at us as we approached.  

“What can those things do?” I whispered.

The onion monsters quivered as we grew closer.

“The top green part can helicopter out,” Clara said. “It’s strong enough to cut you in half. I fought a whole nest of these a few months back. A group of them cut Avvinik’s paw right off. When they get spinning, they can fly short distances. So be careful. If we have to fight, shoot them in the face.”

“They look like they need to be chopped up and thrown onto a baked potato,” I muttered.

We reached the door, and the drivets stepped aside, allowing us to pass.

“Hi, how are you doing?” I asked as we entered.

“I’m fine, thank you,” the lead onion said in a deep voice.

It startled me so much I burst out laughing. The little red eyes glared up at me angrily. 

“You should only be polite if you’re going to be sincere about it,” the drivet said.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” I said.

Entering Pavilion of Queen Lamashtu.

Of all the parts of our plan, this one made me the most uneasy. We had to open the rift, and this was our method of getting in. But I had a terrible, foreboding feeling that this was the wrong move. But what choice did we have? It seemed the moment we accepted the Lamashtu Hell Quest, it became the only way to obtain the key. Surely our earlier defeat of Beleth and Vinea should have garnered us something. But it hadn’t. Our path was set. This was the only way, and we were committed.

The musty stench assaulted me the moment we were inside. This was indeed a former roller derby arena. A round track was surrounded by collapsed metal bleachers. Cellar hags lounged in the shadows. Queen Lamashtu stood in the center of the track, chewing on something. She wore a dainty crown made of grass and flowers. Someone had tied a bow to her tail.

A cellar hag approached. She looked me up and down, her eyes focusing on my forehead. Shit. I was hoping they wouldn’t notice. My cloak skill was turned off, but it was clear she could still tell I was wearing the scalp of one of her sisters. She hissed at me.

I looked at Lamashtu. It was my first time seeing her since I’d received my Lemegeton ability:

Queen Lamashtu

Rank 7 in the demonic hierarchy. Answers directly to Emperor Baal.

May be evoked for binding purposes only. Her presence in battle provides -15% strength, -15% deftness, and -15% acumen to all opposing forces within 250 meters. Kill or bind to negate this debuff. In addition, all female legions under her control are permanently afflicted with Adoration. Killing or binding Lamashtu will not remove the spell. Requires Evocation level 4.

Has two forms: A Shuddersome Donkey or a Hell Guardian.

What the hell did “shuddersome” mean?

I was certain she had to have a regular form other than a goddamned donkey. But it didn’t look like she did other than the hell guardian one. She was the fourth demon I’d seen with that form. I had a nasty suspicion we were going to learn very soon what that meant.

“Have you brought our queen her prize,” the cellar hag asked. She waved, annoyed, at Winky, who hissed at the hag and then popped away, only to reappear a moment later by Clara’s head.

The large witch walked down to Lamashtu’s side and sat upon the ground next to the donkey. She produced a brush and started to lovingly comb the demon queen’s coat. Lamashtu continued to chew on something, flicking her ears.

I produced the fertilized egg from my bag. Its weight had doubled since I’d bathed it in Shrill sperm. It quivered in my grip.

I stepped forward. “Here it is. We have a deal. The key for the egg.”

The cellar hags uniformly groaned at the sight of the egg. A slow chant filled the small arena.

“You must plant the egg,” the hag said. “Then the key will be delivered.”

“What… what do you mean by plant the egg?”

“Whatever it is,” Clara muttered at my side, “It can’t be grosser than you having to drink that black milk.” 

I looked at Clara. “Really? You really going to curse me like that right now?”

Lamashtu snorted and rose into the air. The donkey slowly ascended in the arena. She floated almost up to the roof as the cellar hags continued to sing, louder and louder. I felt the crackle of electricity. I activated my shield, and I prepared my Invulnerable spell. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but I imagined it would be something awful. Everything with this queen was awful.

The donkey started a slow spin in the air, turning clockwise like she was a disco ball.

The spokesperson witch was the only hag who wasn’t singing and gyrating. She stood underneath her queen and faced us. “Lamashtu wishes to thank you for the destruction of both her rivals,” she called. She had to shout to be heard over the chants of her sisters. “Both Vinea and Beleth have threatened our queen, and she wishes you to know that your service is to be rewarded. Never before has a human experienced what you are about to. History shall know your name. Watch, humans. Watch and witness the grandeur of the birth of a demon lord.”

“You mean right now? Like right, right now?” I said. “Doesn’t she have to wait nine months or something?”

“I’d think it’d be longer than that,” Clara said. “Aren’t elephants pregnant for 22 months? Sometimes this game can be so unrealistic.”

“Yeah, that’s the most unrealistic part about this whole scenario,” I said.

“Is she getting bigger?” Clara asked, pointing up to Lamashtu.

You have been paralyzed! You are unable to move!

“Oh fuck me,” I said as I felt my feet rise off the ground. My entire body was suddenly frozen. I still held the egg in my hand. The last time I’d been paralyzed like this was at the start of the amplification ceremony. This time I still had my pack and gun, and it appeared I could still cast spells.

Sure enough, Lamashtu was getting bigger. She wasn’t being subtle about it anymore.

“Should I be trying to stop this?” Clara yelled up to me as I floated toward the ever-growing Lamashtu.

“Yes,” I called, unable to look in her direction. “No. I don’t know. I hate this game so much.”

The donkey was not keeping proper donkey proportions as she grew. She still rotated as if she was on an invisible turntable. Her stomach bulged and her ears grew absurdly long. The more I ascended, the faster the process became. Soon, she was the size of a blue whale, and she filled the entire top half of the small arena. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, and metal beams groaned as her bulk pushed upward and out. With a terrible ripping noise, the former donkey tore the ceiling asunder. Light streamed in as the walls crumbled outward. I felt a random, inexplicable concern for the drivet monster guarding the front door.

My thoughts flew back to concern for my own person as Lamashtu stopped rotating.

“Oh, no, no, no!” I cried as I realized with horror where I was headed.

The donkey’s tail appeared to be the only part of Lamashtu that hadn’t become misshapen and huge. The pink bow managed to stay attached to the appendage. The demon gave her tail a slight flick.

That bow was the last thing I saw before I was sucked into the demon’s bloody, swollen vagina.     

If I didn’t have my breathless ability, I’d have surely suffocated to death. For five terrible minutes, my body remained paralyzed as I was sucked further into the still-growing donkey’s reproductive system. First the vagina, and then I squeezed through what I assumed to be the cervix. A long minute passed as I continued my slow, painful journey through the endometrium and then finally into the uterus.

Only then did my paralysis fade.

The egg ripped from my hands, and it attached itself to the far wall of the uterus as if it was a magnet.

Hell Quest – The Shrill’s Seed. Quest Complete!

The egg quivered and stretched. It started to grow at an alarming rate.

At this point, I no longer gave a crap about the quest or the key or anything else except getting the hell out of there.

The cervix was puckering, open and closed, and I slipped through. My journey out of the donkey was much easier than my journey in. I half pushed, half slid the rest of the way out, falling downward like I was sliding down a bloody ramp made of rutted slabs of marbled beef.

I emerged out of the donkey vagina, and I had to grasp at the snake-like hairs to keep from plummeting the forty feet to the ground. Above me, Lamashtu continued to inflate, transforming larger and larger. A constant river of bloody discharge showered out of her vagina, soaking me. She had rocketed past Banksy-size and was now approaching full-on guardian.

As I suspected, a “Hell Guardian” was a kaiju form. The next few days were going to be interesting, to say the least.

The roller derby arena lay below me, getting further away by the moment. I was already well past the point of falling safely. I was loathe to use my Invulnerable except in absolute emergencies. I’d been practicing for this.

My shield was still engaged, but I knew it wouldn’t be useful in a fall. I dropped, plunging toward the remains of the arena. I cast Hinder at the last possible moment. I cursed myself for not spending the teeth on the bionic upgrade for level 2, especially after what happened last time.

My descent was slowed for 6.8 seconds. My aim was true. The spell fizzled out before I hit the ground, but I was much closer this time. I shot out my hook, and I descended easily to the ground. I came to a slow, steady stop right next to Clara and Winky, who stood in the middle of the destruction of the arena, looking up at me as I came down.

The landing was so smooth, it almost looked like I knew what I was doing. Even Winky appeared impressed.

Clara looked over my blood-soaked body and grunted.

“Remember when you said you weren’t going to fuck a donkey?”

Chapter 60

Above, Lamashtu continued to increase in size. She floated above us like some sort of nightmare blimp. Her lumpy, amorphous body was a combination of the Shrill and Colo Colo the rat slug kaiju. She was not covered in eyes and mouths like the Shrill, but she had the same sort of blob-like feel to her form. But as we watched, she stopped rising, and then she began to descend. Four trunk-like brontosaurus legs emerged under her bulk. Talons emerged, and then the legs took on a distinctly avian appearance. Her skin seemed to shrink wrap upon itself, the gas letting out, causing her true form to take place.

“She’s not normally going to fly,” I muttered, watching. She’d, thankfully, moved over, so she wasn’t going to land directly on top of us. She descended one street over, landing on one of the Shrill’s old paths of destruction.

We rushed outside, passing the hags who continued to chant. The door guard drivets had survived the collapse of the outer walls and stood in the parking lot, staring. Lamashtu’s spokesperson hag followed us outside.

The hell guardian’s true form was a chimera of sorts. Her final head was a half lioness, half donkey with absurdly long ears. Her body was cat-like, reminding me more of the sleekness of Avvinik than the power of Bast. Her four legs were feathered, taloned, powerful, and long. She would stand higher than Bast or Avvinik. She did not have wings.

Where Bast had mighty tentacles erupting from her back, Lamashtu had snakes. These were not nearly as long, but she had a heck of a lot more of them. Hundreds of thirty-foot-long, biting serpents writhed about the hell guardian’s back.

As Lamashtu descended behind a row of buildings, I caught sight of her bulging and swelling belly. The kaiju screamed, the sound like a thousand donkeys braying in pain.

Banksy: Father. The world rumbles. What is happening up there?

Duke: My man, you do not want to know. Stay ready in case I need you.

I turned to the cellar hag, who had come to stand next to us. In the bright of day, her black cloak still drank the light, giving her the appearance that she was black and white while everything else burst in color. The hag quivered, and electric sparks shot off her body irregularly.

“The key,” I said.

From this angle, we could now only see the top half of Lamashtu. She had finally stopped growing. She had become enormous, at least 1,500 feet long. Bigger than Bast. Almost as wide as the Shrill. She screamed again. The world reverberated with her cry. Several streets over, a building crumbled.

Cellar hags streamed out into the open, filling the parking lot and the streets around the arena. They started a new chant. I exchanged a look with a drivet. Even he looked freaked out.

“Patience, human,” the hag said. “Miftah will slash open the rift soon, allowing passage for your kind.”

“Miftah! Miftah!” the hags chanted.

“Miftah?” I said. “What the hell is a miftah? Is that the baby? The key?”

“Miftah is much more than just the key,” the hag said. She spoke quickly, reverently, her voice in awe. “He is the trueborn son of Zagan and Lamashtu. He is the trueborn heir of all the heavens, all dimensions, and all life past, present, and future. He is the bearer of annihilation, the harbinger of the apocalypse, the end of joy, and the slayer of hope. He is the End of All, and now he has a form, soon all who oppose the inevitability of Him will know nothing but an eternity of sorrow and the gnashing of teeth.”

“He sounds nice,” Clara said.

Crash!  

The world rumbled again. I watched in horror as “Miftah” leaped into the parking lot. The house-sized ball of flesh splattered a dozen cellar hags. Concrete shattered, blasting in every direction. The other hags didn’t notice or didn’t care. A collective groan filled the parking lot.

“Miftah! Miftah!”

Luckily, Nipper was on the other side of the lot and hadn’t been smushed.

I looked up in awe at the baby kaiju.

Miftah was a hairy, flesh-colored ball, about fifty feet in diameter. A single, thin eyestalk pushed out from the ball’s side, curving upward. The flesh-colored stalk reminded me of a giraffe neck, but with a round, beach umbrella-sized eye blinking down at us in confusion. A single, gummy mouth opened and closed at the very top of the creature. It made wet, squeaking noises. The creature hopped in the air and crashed down again, smashing more cellar hags.

The red, flaming name appeared over the demon. He did not have a crown.

Miftah – Infant Stage

Has no rank in the demonic hierarchy.

Has no sigil, and as such, may not be evoked.

The child of the Shrill and Queen Lamashtu, Miftah’s only purpose is to devour all existence, creating a universe of neverending pain for all who dare oppose him.

Has the ability to cast Rend Dimension. Additional abilities appear as Miftah ages.

Has two forms: A Donkey Foal or a Minor Hell Guardian.

Miftah bounced, sailing over our heads and smashing into the shattered arena. The infant kaiju began to wail. He bounced again, going deeper into the city. Lamashtu remained in her spot, and she howled. Miftah answered her. The twin screams were so loud I took a small amount of damage.

The remaining cellar hags followed the bouncing baby kaiju, raising their hands in adoration. As they followed, their cloaks disappeared, leaving them as pale, naked forms rushing through the street. Some galloped away on all fours while others hobbled forward on two feet. Only the one cellar hag remained.

“Your dealings with Lamashtu are over,” the hag said. “Worry not. Our deal is not forgotten. Give him a day to explore his physical form, then Lamashtu will gather him up and take him home. As the light fades tomorrow evening, our new Emperor will proceed to the rift and rip it apart. He is the key you have been promised. This will allow travel from both directions.”

“How is he going to get there?” I said. I looked south. “There are many of my guardians securing the passage.”

The hag’s cloak faded, revealing the naked form and pale skin of the ancient witch. She stood to her full height. The pendulous breasts of the giantess hung down to her knees, and they dripped black milk similar to that of their queen. Her black, bulbous eyes fixed on mine as a wide, toothy grin crossed her face.

That grin, Jesus. The moment I saw it, I knew we were fucked. I knew we’d made a terrible mistake.

“By this time tomorrow, no guardian will be able to stop Miftah’s passage.”

Chapter 61

Feedings Left: 1

We waited a full 24 hours before we decided to approach the Temple of the Chained Gods. It was just about five in the afternoon, giving us seven hours before Miftah would force open the rift.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that cellar hag’s grin. I hoped and prayed that whatever terror we unleashed on this world would only exist as an epilogue, a part of the ending sequence. Maybe a bleak ending, but an ending nonetheless, a dark storyline that emerged as one of the thousands of possible conclusions. As long as the credits rolled, I didn’t care.

But I had a terrible feeling we should never have gone down this path. We were mixing too very unlikely ending scenarios with Miftah and the temple. I feared we’d fallen into a trap, and we’d unleashed something that required more than what we had to complete.

One feeding left. If we screwed this up, there would be no second chances.

There would be no more rest. No more stopping to analyze what our next move would be. This was it. We were going to break into that temple, and from that moment forward, the rest would be nothing but fighting and running.

“Wait,” Clara hissed. I stopped, putting my back against the wall. A moment later, the city guard strode by. In this part of Medina, the only guards were sundered, radiants, and caduceus.

Technically, we weren’t doing anything wrong. Not yet. But I wasn’t welcome in this part of the city, and there would be questions.

I thought back to that moment, almost two weeks before when I asked Guildmaster Fiona about the prophecy that said a worm surgeon would bring destruction to the Temple of the Chained Gods.

Fiona had opened her mouth to talk, but the screen flickered, and I was suddenly transported to a new world.

A cutscene. One that was actually playing. I was so surprised that it took me a moment to take in my surroundings.

I stood upon a smoking, decimated battlefield. Bast and Tem appeared in the distance, lumbering away. The rift lay opened before me. It looked different than it normally did. This time it was about half the width it usually was.

A group of five humans appeared. All men. Four of them held the fifth captive, who struggled in their grip. This fifth one was in irons. The other four each wore dented and bloodied armor covered in red and black tunics. The fifth was in rags. They faced the rift. I stood amongst them, but they could not see me.

The four armored men had hawkish looks about them. One of them had what appeared to be a light dusting of feathers along his neck. The fifth was pale, sickly, diseased.

I then realized what I was watching. This was long ago, and these men were in the early stages of transformation. In a hundred years, they would be completely hawk-headed. The four would become radiants. The other was a worm surgeon.

“Paskunji will be back soon. And then you will answer for your crimes, traitor,” one of the radiants said.

“A traitor?” the sickly man answered. He spat, and it came out bloody. The man’s pale face was a map of cuts and bruises. “If we hadn’t resurrected the demon, this war would’ve been lost.”

The radiant slapped the worm surgeon across the face. I flinched. “Paskunji will take care of this demon. Just you wait. And then Paskunji will take care of you. You and all your family, all those who made this traitorous pact with darkness.”

The scene froze, fading to black and white.

The deep voice from the character creation sequence spoke.

“It is the end of the first war. Neo-Austin is in ruins. 70% of the population is dead. The guardians lick their wounds. The survivors have retreated to the outskirts of the Temple of the Chained Gods. But, alas. Victory. The heavens are safe. The demons have given their surrender, and they have retreated back to hell, escorted by Guardian Epsilon and Guardian Paskunji. Once the two mighty guardians return, the rift will be sealed. It won’t open again for a millennia.”

The scene with the five men resumed. The radiant leader of the group threw the chained human to the ground. The rift glowed, and Epsilon and Paskunji appeared, both emerging like leviathans from the deep. Epsilon flew on a wave of blue flame while Paskunji flapped her mighty wings. The two guardians separated, Epsilon heading east and Paskunji coming straight toward our position.

Behind the guardians, the rift sealed itself, closing like a pair of continental plates smashing together, forming a craggy ridge.

Heat washed over me as the phoenix kaiju approached. The worm surgeon man flinched, but the other four did not. I remembered reading that radiants were immune to fire and heat.

The guardian appeared as if she was going to land directly on top of us, but as the mighty phoenix descended, she disappeared in a puff of smoke. No, not disappeared. She changed form. An angel emerged in the very center of the mist. With olive skin and black eyes, and a brilliant set of red wings that appeared to be made of smoke, she descended gently upon the ground before us. She stood just about six feet, tall for a human female, but no larger than any of the men here. Her crimson armor appeared to be of a material similar to the composite that made up the sundered race. A simple, black headscarf covered her head, but wisps of black hair escaped and caught in the wind. Her skin was smooth and unblemished, making her look like she was barely 20 years old.

Her obsidian eyes belied her youth. Those black eyes told a story of time, of pain, of thousands of years of conflict. And something else. There was insanity there. I’d seen it in the eyes of Jenk, of Clara. In my own eyes, too. 

If one did not see those eyes, they’d say she showed a visage of quiet, gentle serenity. 

The four men fell to their knees, prostrating themselves. One of them started to openly sob.

The transformation from giant phoenix to angel did not stop the heat radiating off of her. Even though I wasn’t really there, sweat started to bead on my head. I had to take a step back. The worm surgeon on the ground groaned in pain, his skin starting to blister.

“It is done,” Paskunji said. “We have made it so they can not return, not for a very long time.” She looked upon us, and her eyes opened with surprise to see the men on the ground. A mirthless smile curved her red lips. “Oh, get up,” she said after a moment. I couldn’t tell if she was feigning the annoyance or not. “I am not a god. I am a tool of the Creator. Do not worship me like those fools who supplicate themselves before the mindless badger.”

The four men awkwardly stood. “Your grace,” the leader began. “Words cannot convey how deeply…”

“What is this?” Paskunji interrupted, her eyes settling upon the worm surgeon.

The radiant leader straightened his back. “Your grace, this man’s name is Charnel. He is the traitor who cast dark magic to bring the demon back from the dead.”

Paskunji laughed. She moved closer. I watched in horror as the man’s skin began to bubble. He shrank back, but the others held him tight.

“Unbind him,” she said.

They complied.

She ran a hand across his face. It left a long, black streak of charred skin. His eyes were clutched shut in agony.

“You have placed yourself into the service of my brother. You have done this at great cost. Not just to yourself, but everyone in your family from this point forward. Resurrection magic grows very deep roots. That is why we only use it sparingly. Have you seen what is happening with the viceroys and the lycan? How the resurrection magic is twisting their bodies? Their transformations are tempered with other magics. Putting yourself into the service of my brother submits you to pure dark magic. Each generation will get more and more vile in appearance.”

About halfway through her short speech, Charnel passed out. The men holding him allowed him to crash to the ground. He was not quite dead, but his skin had become blackened and charred. He gasped in short, quick bursts like a fish pulled from the water.

“What should we do with him and the others, your grace?” the radiant asked. “We thought perhaps you might destroy the aberration who sits within the city. Kill him, and we shall dispatch this man and all his family.”

“Kill Zagan?” Paskunji asked. She shook her head sadly. “I cannot.” She gestured at the rift. “You know how the magic here works. The rift is sealed. If I kill him, he will return. The creator made this place so demons and angels alike are truly immortal. Only within their realm may they die. And if Zagan cannot go back to hell where he belongs, then I cannot kill him.”

“But,” the radiant said. “Your Grace, what about the black flowers? The ones you have planted within the other two angels? You said they can be used to bind demons and angels both.”

The angel growled, dropping any pretense of tranquility. The quick-change reminded me of Clara’s sudden mood swings. The angel kneeled and hurriedly placed a hand against the forehead of the unconscious Charnel. His face melted, caving in on itself as if her hand was a hot poker penetrating snow.

“Never, ever speak of the black sprouts where others may hear,” the angel hissed. She pointed at the corpse of Charnel. “Even the dead have ears when their bodies are infested with ghoul magic. Only when you melt the brain may they not tell tales.”

And as if on cue, the body of Charnel jerked. The arms twisted, puppet-like. The four men stepped back in surprise. Even Paskunji looked taken aback.

An octopus-like tentacle, as long as a human arm, erupted from the hole in Charnel’s face. Three mouths covered the appendage.

“Parasite,” the radiant hissed, the first to recover. He pulled a sword and stepped forward.

“Hold,” the angel said.

“Sister,” the tentacle rasped. It had no eyes. It waved in the air. “Sister. I can feel the grief in the world veins. You betrayed our brothers and sisters. You promised them safe passage home.”

“Home?” Paskunji hissed. “They have no home anymore. What I did was a mercy.”

“The rift is sealed. They are no longer a threat,” the tentacle said. This was the voice of Zagan, the Shrill. I could sense the soul power leeching from the body, animating the tentacle. The magic wouldn’t last much longer. “Pluck the flowers from their chests. Grant me an audience. Let me speak on Baal’s behalf. We can end this.”

“It is already over,” Paskunji said.

The tentacle waved. “You did not kill our brother. Baal lives. I can feel it. But you left your mark, didn’t you? He will return. It might take some time, but he will come back. More will die. We must work together to stop it. If we awaken Raguel and Jeremiel, they can fix it.”

“I will let your people live,” Paskunji said. “Just so the others will see what the resurrection magic does to their bodies. I will have my people build a new city, this one built around the temple. Your people will be shunned, not allowed within. You will be an outcast here just as you were in hell, just as you were before.”

“Your aggression is just as virulent as Baal’s. We need to unchain our brothers. No more fighting. Please, sister. It has to stop.”  

“No,” Paskunji said. “It will never stop, not until Baal is dead.”

The tentacle started to fall in on itself, the soul power finally running low.

“Mark my words, sister. One of my people will set our brothers free. They will see what you have done, and you will know their wrath. Father never wished this for us. In the end, you will see. In the end, you will regret.”

The tentacle disintegrated, leaving nothing but the blackened corpse of Charnel.

Paskunji breathed heavily for several moments. She looked up at the four radiants who stood, looking bewildered and afraid. She raised her hand, almost casually, and a triple lance of fire shot forth, skewering three of the four in the head. They dropped.

The last remaining radiant was not the one who’d been talking. It was the one who had sobbed at her return.

“The resurrectionists shall not be culled. Not yet. My brother was correct. One day, the demons will return. If we kill Zagan’s followers, Zagan will turn on us. We cannot afford this. But do not trust them, do not allow them into the new city. Tell them that this worm surgeon, this Charnel murdered…” She gestured at the dead radiant who had been talking. “What was his name?”

“It… It is, was, Medina,” the terrified radiant stammered.

“Tell them Medina was slain by this worm surgeon. It’s important you do this. One of these days, one of them will seek to tear the temple down, and he shall pluck the blooms from the chest of the chained gods. We mustn’t let this happen. Go. Go now and tell them all.”

The radiant stared stupidly at the angel for several moments before he turned to run.

The scene turned back to black and white as the angel transformed into her guardian form. The field on which I stood burst into flames.

Sad, orchestral music started to play, startling me. It was the first music I’d heard since character creation. Some games utilized song, especially during boss fights, but it was rare here. The voice spoke. “From that moment forward, Paskunji began her patrol over the rift, waiting for the day that the demons would return. Zagan was correct, and she knew it. She had not killed Baal. It was her biggest regret.” The camera switched, showing the massive phoenix circling the ridge as time moved forward, trees rising and then falling. Rivers rerouting. Hills growing, the ridge eroding. “Not since that moment on the hill has Paskunji taken her angel form. All attempts to speak with her have gone unanswered. It is worried that a deep insanity has rotted her mind.”

The camera switched again, this time to a view within the white and gray marble halls of the Temple of the Chained Gods. The music swelled, changing in tonality to something less ominous, almost hopeful. Radiants, caduceus, fae, night barbers, and groundlings crawled about the temple as the camera slowly panned across the large structure. Three, not two, statues dominated the halls here.

NPCs prayed before each of the three statues. The temple was shaped like a massive cross, and each angel was positioned at the ends and tip of the T. The statue at the tip was human-sized, but it stood upon a golden dais, raised high into the air. It was clearly the angel form of Paskunji. Only radiants worshipped at the feet of this statue. The other two were each thirty feet tall, and they faced each other over the distance of the cross, which was about 150 meters. Blood drained from the eyes of the two large angel statues, falling into carved channels. The blood merged into a large, triangular pool at the center of the cross while robed radiants collected the blood. NPCs entered the temple, paid a tithe, and collected the blood by dipping small glasses into the pool. The pure blood worked better than the congealed nuggets, but one could only collect it directly from the source.

No one was allowed to approach the two taller angels. Magical barriers prevented anyone from getting too close. A safe zone of about fifty meters separated the base of the statues with the barriers.

Groups of NPCs gathered at each of these two barriers. Fae and night barbers favored one. The lizard-headed caduceus favored the other. The groundlings, who worshiped Moritasgus, only came to the temple to collect the blood and to refill their celestial power. The radiants did not have a barrier separating them from the smaller Paskunji idol, and the NPCs filled the alcove before the beatific angel.

The camera zoomed in on one of the taller angels. The closer the camera got to the skin, the clearer it became that this was not a statue. This was a creature of living flesh, but with hardened, lily-white skin. The hands of the 30-foot angel were clasped together in prayer, pressed up against his chest. The camera zoomed in on his hands, then rose while turning its gaze downward. The music reached its crescendo as the tiny space between the hand and the chest of the angel was revealed.

Growing within that hidden space, where no person could possibly see, sprouting directly from a crack in the chest, was a single, black chrysanthemum.       

The cutscene ended abruptly, and I found myself standing before Guildmaster Fiona. I stared at her open-mouthed. She’d been talking the whole time. A notification appeared.

Quest – Error.

Loading…

Loading…

Please Wait…

The screen flickered, but not like it usually did. This was a long, singular pause. When the new quest appeared, it showed up in golden, glowing letters, something I hadn’t before seen.

Celestial Quest – Broker Peace Between Heaven and Hell.

Chapter 62

The description of the quest was unfortunately short on details.

Using your knowledge of the black sprout and the relationships between all the players, broker a peace between the angels and demons.

Note: In order to complete this quest, you must have access to the rift.

Reward: You will win Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon.

That was it. It gave no further details.

That note was a clue. We had to be able to get into hell in order for this to work. I believed we first had to free the two angels. Then I hoped to convince them to travel with Clara and me into hell where we would get to Baal. And instead of fighting and killing the big guy, we’d somehow talk him into putting aside all our differences.

“And how are you going to do that?” Guildmaster Fiona asked me when I explained my plan. “If you somehow manage to convince the angels to get into hell, what is to stop Baal from eviscerating them? He does not want peace. Not anymore.”

“Let me worry about that,” I said. I said it with a confidence I did not feel.

“Okay,” Fiona finally said, unbuckling the gloves from her hands. “If you really want to do this, you must clear out the demons surrounding Medina. This will never work while they are on our doorstep…”

***

I stared up at the tall, angled roof of the Temple of the Chained Gods, the only part of the building I could see from my hiding place in the alley across the wide street.

Clara, as a fae, was welcome in the temple. She spent the day scoping it out and planning our attack. We had hoped there would be some sort of side entrance or hidden alcove from where we could approach. There was nothing. One had to pay to get inside, and there was only one way in as far as she could tell. The temple was shaped like a massive cross. The two trapped angels were thoroughly guarded and protected.

We’d gone over several different ideas. Until he hit level 50, Banksy was still able to travel within and under the city. The first plan was for Banksy to burrow up from underneath and destroy the center of the temple. By destroying the walls, the barrier would break, and we’d have free access to the two angels. From there we could pluck the flowers and hopefully hold off the attacking radiants long enough for the angels to wake up and come to their senses.

That was now plan B. At this moment Banksy was buried deep underground, ready and waiting.

We went with stealth instead. Clara used her pool of skill points to buy herself a skill called Locksmith, and she brought it up to level 3 with a cybernetic upgrade. It not only allowed her to disable all physical and magical locks and barriers, but level three allowed her to place dummy versions of the protection, so the owners didn’t know their security had been breached.

Earlier today, she had successfully replaced the barrier in the western hall, the one before the angel Raguel. This particular angel was worshipped heavily by the caduceus, and as such, the barrier was the least crowded.

This alley was as close as we could get without raising suspicion. It was time.

“You ready?” she asked.

I nodded. “Don’t drop me,” I said as I downed the acumen potion.

The potion normally raised your acumen by five points for two hours. Thanks to my potion skill, my acumen was instead raised by 10 points for four hours. That brought my acumen to 44.

My level two of miniaturize wasn’t enough, so I’d spent the last of my skill points to bring me to level three. The cybernetic upgrade allowed me to alter my size between 1/8th and 1/20th, and it allowed me to shrink for ten seconds of every level of acumen. So 440 seconds, or seven minutes and twenty seconds.

The world rose around me as I cast the spell. I shrank myself so I was about four inches tall, which was as small as I dared go. I would be tiny, but not so small that I wouldn’t be noticeable. Clara snatched me up and stuffed me into the pack attached to the leg of her armor. From there she rushed to the entrance of the temple. The world swung back and forth. I received an Unsteady debuff, but it quickly faded. I jostled as she rushed up the stairs.

Entering Temple of the Chained Gods.

The haunting, Gregorian chant-style music filled my ears. Clara’s feet echoed loudly across the marble floors. I listened as she paid the radiant cleric for the privilege to enter the temple. I had flashbacks of going to church as a child.

Clara wasn’t going straight for the barrier. Instead, she went for the triangular pool of blood, and then she’d walk as far west as she could along the bloody duct, getting me as close as she could without being suspicious. She’d managed to change out the barrier before without getting questioned, but we didn’t want to press our luck. Fae did not normally approach Raguel. But she got as close as she could. 

She was going to reach into her bag, grasp an empty jar, and dip it into the pool of blood. I would jump into the blood and swim my way up the channel as quickly as I could until I was on the other side of the barrier. Thanks to my breathless ability, I wouldn’t need to come up for air. From there I would approach the frozen angel and make my way up his body to the flower. 

Thanks to my soul power potions, I could recast Miniaturize if I started to run out of time, so I wasn’t too worried about suddenly popping into existence in front of everyone. I was worried that fighting the bloody current would exhaust me. With my tiny size, I feared the trek up the channel would take a long, long time.

“Okay,” Clara whispered. “I’m about fifteen feet from the barrier. That’s as close as I dare get. There are five of the lizard heads worshipping. Try not to splash around too much. Here we go.”

She reached her giant hand into her pocket, and I climbed in as she grasped a jar.

She dipped me directly into the blood, and I immediately fell in over my head.

I was overwhelmed with the smell. It wasn’t like iron or metal or anything like that. It was more of a sweet, rotten fish stench. The moment the darkness took me, my head started to swim.

Damage taken! Damage taken!

Warning: You are submerged in angel blood! You may not cast resurrection magic while submerged! You will lose 1% of health per second while submerged!

Motherfucker! My active spell didn’t cancel, thank goodness. My countdown was at five minutes, but I would die long before that. There was no way I could do this in five minutes, let alone 100 seconds. I’d have to pull myself out of the channel and hope they didn’t notice me.

I couldn’t see a thing. A slight current pushed me back, threatening to pull me away from the direction I wanted to go. Shit, shit, shit. What to do?

I shot my grappling hook forward, hoping to find something to latch onto. I couldn’t see anything. My hand clutched something that felt like stone. I retracted, pulling myself forward. Too fast. I felt the blood ripple around me. If anyone was looking down, they’d see a disturbance as I passed.

I guessed I could move about six feet with each blast of my hook. I shot again and again, racing against my plummeting health bar.

I couldn’t tell if I was past the barrier without poking my head out of the river, and I didn’t dare do that, not until the last possible moment.

My health was down to 10 percent. I had confirmed I could use the soul power potions while underwater. One didn’t drink those. I wasn’t so sure about the health potions. How do you drink something while you’re already submerged?

I grasped at the health potion on my belt, but I hesitated. If you drink any of this blood, you’re not going to just poison yourself. You’re going to drop dead.

I yanked myself forward one last time, and then I grasped the health potion. I swam to the surface. I poked my head up, popped the cork, and I drank just before my health inched below 5%. 

The potion brought me up to about 55%, so I pulled another one as I quickly figured out where I was. I was past the barrier, about halfway between it and the base of the frozen angel. Behind me, a small group of the caduceus prostrated themselves, chanting as they worshipped. One of them looked up just as I sank below the surface.

Did he see me? I didn’t know. I couldn’t hear anything under here. Maybe he thought I was a bubble in the river. Surely there had to be some disturbances.

I didn’t wait around. Shoot, grasp, retract, shoot, grasp, retract. I dragged myself to the base of the angel. The closer I got, the shallower the channel became. My health was running low again. I had less than two minutes left of my Miniaturize, and in order to cast that again, I had to get completely out of the blood.

The angel was recessed into a nook. I couldn’t remember the way it looked from the cutscene, but Clara explained that there was a small, rectangular collection pool at the base. About two feet separated it from the wall of the alcove. I would have to climb out and move to the space between the angel and the wall where casual observers wouldn’t see me. From there I could ascend from the back. This was the riskiest part. I would be visible for a precious second or two. I would trail blood, leaving a puddle on the floor. There was no avoiding that. If someone was paying attention, they’d see me. My cloak was useless here, not when I was soaked. 

I couldn’t wait any longer. I hauled myself out of the pool, and I made a line for the recess.

A shout rose. Then another.

Fuck!

I initiated my shield as I slipped into the space behind the angel’s leg. I didn’t wait. I recast Miniaturize, but I made myself bigger. My full size wouldn’t fit back here, but I needed to move as quickly as possible.

Raguel’s skin was hot to the touch. Not quite to the level I’d seen in the memory with Paskunji, but it was hot enough to burn my hand. I’d anticipated this and quickly downed a potion called Fire Endure. It normally lasted two minutes, but it lasted four for me. The effect was strange. It didn’t negate the heat, but it made it so it just didn’t hurt or drop my health points. It was a subtle but important difference. The fingers on my right hand were still getting burned, though it was less than it would be. I just didn’t feel it. Just like with my once-a-day Invulnerable, I’d have to heal myself before it wore off. 

I shot my hook up, grasping onto the stone-like robe. More shouting rose from within the temple. I didn’t know what, if anything they could do until they figured out the barrier spell was a fake. Surely the radiants had a contingency plan. I didn’t want to wait around to find out what it was.

I climbed to the shoulder, and I finally was able to peek over to the barrier.

Multiple radiants and caduceus now gathered at the edge, shouting and pointing. I was quickly spied, and they went berserk. I had to look like a small, blood-red demon to their eyes. I waved before sliding over the shoulder and dropping into the cupped hand.

At my current size, the black sprout was almost as tall as I was. My strength was not affected by my size. I grasped onto the stalk, and I pulled.

The flower did not come easily. From my earlier discussions with Fronz, Andras, and one of the city’s alchemists, the flower partially replaced the nervous system with a system of unbreakable roots. The plants could only be removed once the flower bloomed out of the chest cavity, and that happened several days after the initial planting. I tugged on the stem, utilizing the full strength of my mechanical left hand to yank. The roots slowly started to give, coming like I was pulling the rope machine at the gym. They just came and came. The roots didn’t pile up into the hand, however. After I’d removed about six inches of roots from the body, the flower seemed to suck them into itself.

I pulled and pulled and pulled. I had to pause to refill my soul points and recast Miniaturize. I healed and downed another of the Fire Endure potions.

I peeked my head over the tip of the praying hands. A contingent of red and gold-armored radiants stood ready at the barrier, ready to charge in. It reminded me of videos of prison riots where the guards all lined up to charge into the cells. They looked pissed. I recognize their armor. These were their elite troops. 

I didn’t know what they were waiting for. Probably some sort of spell-casting radiant to remove the barrier.

At any moment, Clara was going to kill the barrier on the other side. The plan was to originally wait for the angel to wake up. But just in case I was seen early, she would wait for the commotion to get fully out of hand on this side of the room before she made her move. She’d cast Miniaturize using her ring to get into the hand of the other angel where she’d mirror what I was doing. 

I continued to yank. The roots just kept coming. My hands tingled as the tiny hairs at the roots probed at me, trying to break their way into me.

More shouting rose, and the clattering of feet told me they’d either lowered the barrier or figured out it wasn’t really there. They rushed to the base of the frozen angel, but there they paused, unsure of what to do next. They seemed loathe to shoot or even touch the angel. But they couldn’t get to me otherwise.

Black smoke filled the space above me, seeping down into the hands.

Poison Gas Resisted.

They didn’t know I was a worm surgeon. They probably hoped it would kill whatever creature was up here. I pulled and pulled, trying not to cough. If they cast a sleep or paralysis spell, I’d be fucked.

The resistance on the roots started to slacken, and just as I yanked the last of it out, the world paused and flashed.

***

A memory.

Three angels stand upon a tall hill, overlooking the hinterland. I recognize Paskunji. The other two are Raguel and Jeremiel. Behind them, the azure blue sea that represents the edge of the map glitters. They stand on the hill that will eventually house the temple.

“The city will go in the east,” Jeremiel says. He is tall, male with olive skin. His smoky wings drift lazily in the air. “The humans will come once the trees reach full maturity, and the oxygen levels stabilize.”

Paskunji snorts with derision. “This will be no place for children and families and soft-bodied humans. We should garrison this world with the Dominions and be done with it.”

Raguel lifts a finger, pointing at his fellow angel. He looks much like Jeremiel, though his eyes are a pale white, giving him the impression of being blind.

“We war only as a last resort, sister. This is not a military operation. You know this.”

Time passes. A new scene.

Raguel and Jeremiel sit at a table. A third angel sits across from them, one I do not recognize. I recognize the room. It is the temple, and the table sits where the triangular pool of blood now stands. The gold dais that will eventually house a statue of Paskunji is the only recognizable part of the room. But instead of Paskunji, a statue of another figure now sits upon the plinth. I try to observe it, but I am temporarily blinded the moment I look. I take damage, even in the cutscene. I can feel it there, a burning, radiant presence in the room. I feel drawn to it, like a bug to a flame.

My sense of perception is off because I have no physical presence in this scene, but I realize that the angels are much too close to the ceiling. They are in their true form here, and each are 30 feet tall.

This third angel sits so he faces this small statue. Tears stream down his face as he looks up and sees what I cannot.

He is smaller than the other two. His wings are of black, dripping smoke. His clothes are rags. While clearly an angel, his skin is pale, sickly. His black hair sits upon his head in clumpy patches.

“So fragile, yet so strong,” the third angel says. I think he’s speaking of the statue, but I am not certain. “Is it safe to keep it here?”

Jeremiel waves his hand dismissively. “Even if the portal is rent open, only a human-sized creature may enter. They can’t transform once they’re within.” 

“Still,” this third angel says. “You should have just sealed us away. By leaving it here, you give them a path. If one manages to get inside and then transform, it would be the end of everything.”

“Our father doesn’t want to seal you off. He wants you to come home,” Jeremiel says. “If we completely seal it, there is no reopening. We would be trapped, too. You know his terms. Go, now, brother. Go with peace. Tell them the terms.”

I realize with a start I know exactly who this new angel is. 

“Do you think they will agree?” Raguel says to this third angel.

“I don’t know,” Zagan says. “They must. If not, war will come. The humans will suffer. Our brothers and sisters will continue to suffer. Being out of His presence… it’s changing us, brother. Baal, Sytri, Beleth, Asmodeus, Lamashtu, Vinea… I do not wish to tell you what is happening to them. If we can’t come to an agreement, maybe we can burn our own path… All this pain, this suffering.” He pauses. He looks again at the burning statue. I realize with horror that his eyes are bubbling. They are actually boiling as they gaze upon the visage of the statue. I know now it’s an image of the creator. Zagan abruptly stands, turning away.

“I will try to get Baal to send an emissary,” he says, looking down as if he can no longer bear it. “He won’t trust me to negotiate, but he will send others.”

The other two angels stand.

“Be well, brother,” Jeremiel says. “Tell Baal… tell him I am sorry. Tell him we want this to end as much as he does.”

Zagan nods and walks from the room.

The two angels stand in silence for a long moment. Jeremiel turns to Raguel and says, “I am hopeful.”

“Me too, brother.”

Paskunji strides into the room, walking purposely toward the two angels.

“Sister,” Raguel begins. “Good news, we…”

Paskunji lifts her hand, and twin flames shoot forth, simultaneously skewering both the angels between the eyes. They drop to their knees.

***

I awakened from the cutscene to find myself falling. My miniaturize had run out, and I had returned to full size. I splashed hard into the small pool of blood, taking a large portion of damage. I instinctively cast Reconstitute and popped another soul potion. The motion was quick. I didn’t even need to pull it from my belt. I just flicked the cork away with my thumb, and the vial disappeared.

It took me a moment to realize I’d bowled over several radiants who’d been standing at the base of the angel. But they did not attack. They barely noticed me.

All of them, every living soul in the temple stood, mouths agape as the angel Raguel awakened from his long slumber.

The black sprout that had bound him remained in my hand, and I quickly tossed it into my inventory.

“Brother,” the angel called. His voice was loud, confused. He took a tentative step forward. We scattered back. I was unclear if he had memory or not of his time under the sprout’s control. I hoped he did, otherwise this would be harder.

A second voice boomed, this time from across the hall.

“I am here,” he called.

More commotion filled the room as the others realized that both angels had awakened.

“Where is she,” Raguel boomed. He surveyed the room. He eyed me, his eyes registering surprise. “You,” he boomed, pointing at me. “You are the one who removed the flower from me. Where is my sister?”

“Please,” I called up to him. “This is very important. We need to talk. We need you to come with us. I will explain…”

The angel fell to a knee, breaking the marble of the temple. The channel of blood splattered. An ominous crack spiderwebbed up the wall. He reached forward and snatched me up. I cried in pain as his burning fingers squeezed. He pulled me up so I faced him.

“Where the fuck is Paskunji,” he said.

“She’s taken the form of a phoenix guardian,” I gasped. “She is guarding the rift.”

He dropped me. This time, I was ready and used my grappling hook to slow my descent.

“Brother, follow me,” the angel boomed. Then he leaped straight up through the ceiling, his form enlarging as his smoky wings formed about him.

A moment later, Jeremiel followed his brother into the sky. The marble ceiling of the temple shattered outward. Rocks crashed all around me.

Multiple notifications filled my screen.

A warrant has been issued for your arrest in the city of Medina! 

Warning: The protection that shields Medina from demon incursion has failed.

Warning: The source of Celestial magic in the realm is starting to fade. Food boxes will no longer provide blood nuggets. Once the current stock is exhausted, it may not return.

Jesus, I thought as I dodged a falling chunk of marble. Good thing we removed that army outside the gates. Demons still patrolled the skies, but the amount was greatly reduced. The vast majority of the remaining demons had fallen back to the pavilions closer to the rift.

Experience Earned!

Level Up!

You are now level 48!

The crashing marble settled. The temple still stood for the moment, but it now had two massive holes in the ceiling. A light rain filtered through, diluting the blood that remained in the pool.

I stood amongst a group of radiants. One of them turned to another. “The angel is going to kill Paskunji,” he said.

“It’s like the prophecy,” another whispered. “We must fight. We must rise up and protect our guardian!”

And that was the moment they noticed I was standing amongst them.

Chapter 63

Duke: Banksy. Help.

I leaped into the air, rocketing upward, and just as I reached my apex, I shot my grappling hook, grasping onto a portion of the destroyed ceiling. I retracted just as multiple blaster shots followed me, a few bouncing off my chest armor and head. My shield, already low from being on for so long, dropped into the red. I scrambled onto the teetering roof of the temple just as the ground below erupted.

I leaped again, shooting my grappling hook and attaching to the stone arch at the front of the temple complex. I vaulted over it as Banksy finished emerging from underneath the temple. He crashed down, smashing the same arch I’d just vaulted off. The angels had started the destruction of the temple, but Banksy finished it off in five seconds flat.

Banksy: Do you want your vehicle?

Duke: Yes. Right on the main road.

I landed on the roof of a nearby building, skittering to a stop. Below, Banksy belched out Nipper onto the street. Clara rushed from a nearby alley and jumped into the vehicle. 

Warning: You have been classed as enemy by members of the Radiant race. You will be attacked on sight.

Warning: You have been classed as enemy by members of the Caduceus race. You will be attacked on sight.

Warning: You have been classed as enemy by members of the Fae race. You will be attacked on sight.

Warning: You have been classed as enemy by members of the Night Barber race. You will be attacked on sight.

Warning: All Worm Surgeons will now be attacked on sight by Radiants.

Warning: All Worm Surgeons will now be attacked on sight by the Sundered.

“That’s new,” I muttered. I hadn’t even gotten that when Kinnegad was razed, and I stole their guardian. In fact, looking over the list, I realized it was all celestial-based creatures who had classed me as an enemy, with the exception of that sundered thing at the end. And the groundlings were noticeably absent. The goat-headed viceroys weren’t on the list, either, but the radiants hated them almost as much as they hated worm surgeons.

Only the radiants and the sundered had seemed to declare all-out war on us, though. I didn’t know what, if anything, all this meant. After tonight I wasn’t planning on ever coming back to this city ever again.

I leaped off the roof, aiming for Nipper.

Duke: Banksy, go back under but stay as close as you can without caving the city in. We’re going to make a break for it, and we may need you. As soon as we’re outside the city limits, swallow Nipper back up and move to the next location.

Banksy: Yes, father.

I hauled myself into the tank and jumped behind the driver seat. Clara and Iffy were already inside.

“Why did you stick your head up?” Clara called as I jammed the accelerator. A single shot ricocheted off the armored exterior.

“Angel blood sucks,” was all I said.

“What are we going to do now?” Clara called as we curved around the corner. NPCs jumped out of the way as we careened down the street. “I whispered everything that was happening to Jeremiel before I pulled the sprout, but I don’t know if he understood. He took off before I could talk to him. The city protection wasn’t supposed to drop until the rift opened, but I think them leaving triggered it.”

“They’re heading for the rift anyway. We’ll have to meet them there.”

I turned northwest. It would take longer to get out of town going this way, but I avoided the technology sector. We could not handle the sundered tanks, and I knew from experience that it took them a bit to get going. The further we went from their headquarters, the better chances we had for survival.

“Oh shit,” I cried just as the front plow splattered into a gargoyle demon just as he landed in the center of the street. NPCs scattered. The few remaining demons in this part of the world had realized the protection was gone, and they were now attacking.

A pair of sundered spotted us and gave chase on town guard scooters. They rushed straight at us, threatening a head-on collision they would not win. But before we could crash, both androids went tumbling as a clockwork human smashed them with a metal pipe. It was a mender, who gave us the thumb’s up as we roared past. Nipper jerked as we ran over the bodies.

“This is crazy,” I said. I ripped past the main town square, rushing past Well Done’s stall. It seemed like so long ago I’d first visited the angry gremlin. He shook his fist at us as we passed. “We’re all fighting each other, and the demons aren’t gone yet. It’s a goddamned free for all.”

“Yeah, we’re not exactly innocent in all this,” Clara said. “I’ve been shunned by the fae,” she added a moment later, looking out the window. “My own people will kill me on sight. It kinda makes me sad. They were so kind to me.”

I started to say something, but she cut me off. “Dickinson reports incoming. It’s the floating tanks. They’ll be on us before we hit the gate. I’m going out there.”

A group of night barbers spotted the tank and started shooting. We rushed past. We only had a mile until the resurrection gate.

The mounted gun rattled as Clara took up her position. The entire tank shook with the roar of the gun.

“Don’t you dare fucking die,” I cried up to her. “Or at least wait until we’re outside the city.”

I had no idea what would happen if we died before we left the city limits now. I still had the flashing Warrant icon in the lower left of my interface. We each had maxed out our teeth just in case we got caught, but I didn’t want to risk it.

The tank bucked as it was hit with a glancing blow from a flying cannon. One of the gauges on my dash popped in a burst of blue electricity. Nipper’s integrity plummeted to less than 40%. I pulled a hard right into an alley. The street we were about to cross exploded in shrapnel.

“Got one!” Clara cried. “How do you like that you creepy-ass robot motherfuckers!”

A crash echoed. I cringed, realizing Clara’s kill had probably landed in the middle of a worm surgeon neighborhood.

We approached the open gate. Ahead, Banksy reared up in the field outside the city. I aimed Nipper directly for his mouth. His maw gaped.

“Get down here,” I called.

Clara dropped down just as the gun emplacement on top of Nipper exploded. The roof ripped away with a terrible shriek, shrapnel flying everywhere. The jagged remnants of concertina wire whipped about. Iffy screamed, dying after getting impaled. I groaned. I was hoping to keep Nipper in one piece. We wouldn’t get a chance to fix it. The integrity was down to 22%.

“You with me?” I cried as I prepared my spell.

“See you on the other side,” she yelled.

Long, long ago, I had chastised Clara for giving herself a level 10 spell called Recall. At the time, I had thought the spell was a useless waste of points because Teleport did much more for fewer skill points. Recall only had two levels, and it only did one thing. It teleported you to your regen spot. But I had since changed my mind about its usefulness. I had purchased the first level of the 5-point spell the moment I understood how powerful it really was.

Recall had a distinctive advantage over Teleport. While you couldn’t use either of the spells while you were within the city limits, you could cast Recall while you were in the middle of a fight. Teleport could not be activated if you were currently engaged with an enemy. It was a fast-travel spell, and it wasn’t meant to be used as an escape hatch. Recall was.

Entering Medina Outskirts.

The moment the notification appeared, I cast Recall. Behind me, Clara did the same.  

I tumbled into my base within the Shrill, my body rolling with the forward momentum.

The entire guardian shuddered as damage notifications poured down my screen.

The Shrill was under attack.

Chapter 64

Out of the goddamned frying pan and into the fire.

The Shrill’s regen spot was all the way back in Neo-Austin, and I could not afford for him to die right now. I read the notifications as I rushed to the cockpit. I slid easily into the chair only to pop back out a moment later, but not before smashing down on Hypnos, which caused the two kaiju besieging us to avalanche to the ground. Leaping out of my chair, I cast BloodBorne, and I set a destination for the right flank, just above tentacle number four. As I waited, I used a trick Clara had taught me, and I mentally pulled the Shrill’s status off the wall and placed it into the upper corner of the Gross Anatomy map. Now I could see his health and strength without having to cast diagnosis over and over.

The world out by the rift was utter chaos. The Shrill’s advanced vision told the story, giving me a quick, 360-degree snapshot of the world all around us.

Paskunji grappled in the air directly over the rift with the two angels, who retained their angel shape, but had grown to an enormous size. Raguel fought with a sword made of ice and Jeremiel used what looked like a long staff with a hook at the end. Paskunji remained in phoenix form, and she screamed as they tumbled through the skies. The three had become a whirlwind of their own, a glowing, exploding, crashing trilogy of violence.

Epsilon was on the field, approaching from the east, but the giant robot had been waylaid by the world’s newest kaiju, Miftah. The hell guardian was no longer a baby. The amorphous blob of flesh was easily the biggest thing out here, almost twice the size of his father, the Shrill. Tem the alienist’s beetle, Bubilas the brownie’s wasp, and Bast of the humans all grappled with the monstrosity, who unlike the Shrill, had the ability to grow and generate tentacles and appendages at will. Karkadann, the upright-standing, rhinoceros-headed kaiju of the dryad tree people lay dead, broken in half before Miftah.

Meanwhile, Clara’s salamander guardian—the Opera—was in the process of getting his ass kicked by a new kaiju I’d never seen before. This creature was a hell guardian, the kaiju form of one of the demon lords. I had suspected the demon lords would all become giant monsters at the end, but I hadn’t expected it to happen this early. Clara was not currently controlling the Opera, having zapped herself into Avvinik, who was many miles away.

Other guardians wrestled and fought with new kaiju, who took on strange and various forms. While the guardians were mostly, but not all, animal-based behemoths, the new threats were all pure monstrosities, creatures created in the fever dream of a madman. The Shrill was clearly more a member of this family than the others.

The two kaiju I’d just put to sleep were both about the Shrill’s size. One was coal-black, covered in horns and dripping, oil-like waves of skin. It had a pair of mammoth tusks jutting from its center, one of which had torn a jagged hole in the Shrill I had to repair.

The other was fluorescent red, shaggy in some places, dreadlocked in others. It was like a millipede conjoined with dozens of half-melted human shapes erupting from its body. It had scuttled onto the Shrill with at least a hundred, jagged legs that look like thorns. Its body crawled with venomites, the spider demons. I hadn’t even noticed them until they’d scattered off the kaiju the moment I’d knocked them all out.

As the Shrill proceeded to eviscerate the two fallen enemies, I emerged onto the edge of a muscle that should not be exposed to open air. Black smoke and the stench of death whipped at me as I slid out of the vein. Blood cascaded like a waterfall out of the guardian. I had to use my grappling hook to affix myself to the sidewall of a torn ligament to keep from flowing away. I had to staunch the bleeding. The jagged, horrific wound was at least a hundred feet long, deep enough to cut through fat and muscle. I’d felt the searing pain in the short moment I had jumped into direct control. I started to cast Numb, but I held back, seeing the salve would cost most of my soul points. Shit, sorry buddy I thought as I went straight for the simple, dirty heal. I used the entirety of my soul power to cast Cauterize.

The Shrill screamed as the wound viciously closed before my eyes, darkness enveloping me. His draining health slowed, then stopped, settling at 20%. His strength, thankfully, remained at the top. The health ticked up one point. Then another. Too slow. Too slow.

My guardian finished off one of the demons, and a familiar, powerful wave of soul power punched into me. I jumped at the opportunity, casting Numb, then Patch. I rerouted one of the major veins from a lung in the damaged zone, moving it to an unused lung deeper within the body. His health started to tick up faster.

I moved to the next biggest wound, repeating the process. I managed to heal the slashed tentacle before the unlimited soul power bonus finished seeping into me. And then a moment later, I received another bonus as the Shrill finished off the other demon. I moved to the third wound, a deep puncture higher up on his bulk. It was less serious of an injury, but it had nicked an intestine and would take longer to heal.

Seal of Asmodeus added to library.  

Seal of Crocell added to library.

I had no idea which of the two demons was which, and I didn’t care at the moment. It was good to know I’d get their info as they were killed, but I doubted I’d be able to utilize the sigils at this point.

As I repaired the puncture wound, the surviving venomites awakened and swarmed, burrowing their way into the Shrill’s body. His strength plummeted as he screamed in new pain and rage.

I waited for them all to get inside before I cast my level 10 Antiparasitic. They died instantly.

The immediate threat pacified, I returned to the cockpit. I took a moment to assess the situation.

Paskunji was dead. The dead phoenix smoldered, her shattered body sitting within a crater adjacent to the rift, a mere quarter mile away from the edge of the Shrill. I was lucky she hadn’t landed on us. She had died almost on top of her respawn, and she’d be back in about seven minutes. I didn’t see Jeremiel anywhere, and I assumed he was dead. I didn’t know where the angels would respawn, but I guessed it would be all the way back in Medina. Raguel swooped through the sky, swinging his ice sword menacingly, looking about as if he didn’t know what to do now. He spied a demon kaiju that looked like a three-headed horned toad that was shooting a stream of red blood from its eyes. He swooped down to fight it.

The Opera was dead, which was a blow to our plan. The salamander’s respawn was in the lake on the far north side of the world. He wasn’t a fast-moving guardian, and it’d take a day and a half for him to walk the full length of the map back here.

I’d held Moritasgus buried and in reserve. I called him now, and he’d be here in about an hour.

A smattering of other guardians lay slain on the battlefield while others held their own. Even two-headed Orthrus was now here, which gave me a start at first. But the lycan kaiju did not have the tell-tale indicator that Jenk was within. I suspected once Jenk got locked up, Orthrus started to wander and found his way here on his own. 

This situation was completely untenable. When the guardians died, they scattered all over the realm, but the hell guardians popped right back up in their current locations 20 minutes later. It was a losing game. We had to get into the rift where all demon death was permanent. I eyed Miftah, who was in the process of disemboweling Bast. The surviving guardians streamed at him. Warble, the lumpy rock creature monster of the nerve agents threw boulder after boulder at Miftah, who howled in rage as he finished off Bast. He moved next to Tem the stag beetle, who was almost immediately crushed.

The chimera form of Lamashtu skulked back, standing atop the dead and deflated form of Colo Colo. She observed her son from a distance.

“Fucking hell,” I grumbled, though it came out as a roar from all the mouths of the Shrill at once. What a complicated clusterfuck. The guardians needed to kill the demons. But not the demon Miftah, at least not until he managed to crack open the rift. They didn’t know that, however, and they attacked the fleshy titan on sight. At the same time, the two angels would likely sit over the rift and fight the phoenix over and over again if I didn’t intervene. I needed to get one of the angel’s attention and get him talking.

I eyed the fallen Paskunji. Even in death, the air around the phoenix crackled with heat. I could feel it from here.

I had an idea. I needed to act quickly.

I pushed the Shrill forward, rushing as quickly as I could toward the fallen guardian. After several hours of practice, I’d discovered a shape halfway between the potato and over-easy egg was the most efficient for quick travel. It took some effort to maintain the position, but I quickly sped over the landscape, arriving at the side of the dead guardian in moments. The phoenix would regenerate in about 100 seconds.

I used BloodBorne to send me to the edge of the longest tentacle, which I had draped over the body of the burning guardian. I swallowed one of the Fire Endure potions as I burst from the blood vessel at the back of the mouth. I shot forward with my hook, grasping the edge of the kaiju mouth. I retracted as quickly as I could, catapulting me forward and out of the guardian.

I initiated my shield as I dropped.  

Paskunji’s entire form started blinking as I landed upon her fiery body. It was as if I stood upon the surface of hell. She was about to regenerate. A deep, red gash emanated from the phoenix’s chest where she’d been pierced by the angel’s sword.

I didn’t feel pain as I rushed across the body of the dead guardian. Still, my health plummeted. I cast Reconstitute as I ran. It was like using a thimble to stop a waterfall. I was taking more than just heat damage. Radiation mixed with angel blood was deadly to my kind, and I would not live past the next few moments. The shield did nothing.

I pulled the black sprout from my inventory, and I dove directly into the wound, praying this would work.  

Chapter 65

You have died 19 times.

This is too much. This is too much.

I regenerated back in my home base to find an angel sitting on my couch.

“You shouldn’t have done that to my sister,” the angel said. He didn’t look at me. He gazed into the crackling fire. The large, stone hearth was the only part of my sanctuary that looked remotely like the default human base. He spoke softly, almost gently. “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Not even her.”

“You’re not supposed to be able to get into here,” I replied, pulling myself up to sit stiffly across from Raguel the angel. I sunk into the deep, comfortable chair. I felt tired, overwhelmed, and nothing surprised me anymore. I was ready for this all to be done. My head spun. My nerves felt as if they’d all been burned off at the tip.

I dared to look up at the Shrill’s status, but it didn’t appear as if he was fighting anything at the moment. I knew the respite wouldn’t last.

“You are the guest in this place,” the angel said. “My brother gave me access.”

“So he’s talking to you? Because he’s said like five words to me this whole time.”

“Zagan is much like Paskunji. His mind is not what it should be. He knows his duty, but he barely remembers who he is. He has his moments of clarity, but they are rare. That happens to our kind when we spend too long outside our proper form.”

I sighed. “Look, angel man. We think we can stop all of this. As soon as Miftah breaks open…”

“Ah yes, Miftah. Is that the name sweet Lamashtu has given that abomination? It is fitting. Miftah. It means ‘key.’”

“Yeah, so when Miftah gets in there, we need to follow him inside. You, your brother, the Shrill, Avvinik, and one more friend. A minor guardian. We will all go in there and get to Baal. There we will protect you so you can talk and make peace."

Raguel grunted. “By brother, I am assuming you mean Jeremiel? He fell against Paskunji.”

Uh oh. That sounded ominous. “Doesn’t he, like, come back?” I said.

“Yes, he is immortal. But his rebirth happens far from here. He is now home. He sits at the table of the Creator.”

Shit. “So he’s not coming back? Not at all?”

Raguel looked at me for the first time, his colorless eyes penetrating. He didn’t answer my stupid question.

“Do you truly think peace is possible now, after what you’ve done?” he asked.

My head had finally stopped spinning enough for me to realize the angel sitting across from me was talking softly, deliberately not because he was speaking to a simple adherent. I’d seen this look before, and it chilled me. This angel was enraged. I was in real danger here.

I did not shrink before his smoldering fury. Instead, I felt my own anger start to rise. “If I hadn’t thrown that black sprout into Paskunji, she’d have regenerated, and you’d just fight again. And if she killed you, then you’d also be sitting at your Creator’s table right now.”

“I am not speaking of Paskunji.” The angel’s hand curled on the arm of the couch. The frame started to splinter. “I am speaking of you assisting Lamashtu in her quest to create a child. You do not know what you have done.”

My anger deflated like a balloon. “So you know about that, huh?” I said. 

“Do you know why some of my siblings were cast out?”

The question surprised me. The angel looked at me expectantly. He wanted an answer.

I shrugged. “Because they were assholes?”

“They wanted the same power as you humans. They wanted to procreate.”

That took me aback. “Wait, the fallen angels got kicked out of heaven because they wanted children? That’s a bit fucked up. Why can’t you guys have kids?”

“My job,” Raguel continued, “is to mete out the law of the Creator once Jeremiel strikes a deal. Paskunji’s job is to stop the demons from advancing in case they decide to attack. Since both of my siblings are out of play, I am forced to take on all three jobs. We are willing to accept some of the abominations created in the time after the fall. We agreed to accept them because none are true children, not in the human sense.” I thought of Fronz, still sitting in a lantern in my pack.

“But this creature. Miftah. He is something else entirely. Once he reaches his maturity in less than two days, he will have the ability to tear all of this down. He won’t need to invade the heavens. He can make the heavens cease to exist with a thought. There will be no peace as long as he lives. He must be killed before he is fully evolved. A flower like the one you used on Paskunji will not work on him. We must wait for him to travel to the other side of the rift, and then we will follow. We will kill him there, where he is vulnerable.”

The world rumbled. The entire room shook. My base usually didn’t reverberate like this. I glanced at the Shrill’s stats, assuming he was under attack again. But that wasn’t it.

“Zagan is disquieted. Killing Miftah will be a problem for him. It is his son, after all,” Raguel said. He closed his eyes, moving his lips. The angel kept his eyes closed, and I had the distinct impression he was speaking directly with my kaiju.

“This is why we mustn’t have children of our own. This is what procreation does. You forget your duty. You are no longer whole, no longer what you once were. Having children is much more a division of strength than a multiplication. I don’t understand why anyone would do that to themselves. This is what you have done, worm surgeon. By forcing this, you have damned the one you swore to protect. Zagan doesn’t fully understand what is happening. But he knows Miftah is his son. He won’t assist.” Raguel’s eyes snapped open. “You will have to do this without him.”

Timed Quest!

Kill Miftah.

This is a group quest!

Note: All players will receive this notification.

You have 12 hours to complete this task.

Player Duke has made a terrible mistake. All players must come together to help right this wrong.

Follow Miftah into Hell. Using the assistance of the angel Raguel, defeat the renegade hell guardian and all who have sworn allegiance to him.

If successful, you may proceed to the gates of Baal’s pavilion.

If you fail to complete this task in the specified time period, Miftah will reach full maturity and gain the ability to cast World Reset. Miftah will auto-cast the spell if he is killed or severely injured after the timer for this quest reaches 0.

World Reset will revert game progress to the moment of Miftah’s birth.

Note: Non-quest inventory and level progress will not reset. However, consumables with a purchase value of <500 teeth will not transfer.

Note: Players under incarceration will be credited for time served.

Note: The Shrill may not be used for this task and may not enter Hell as long as Miftah is alive.  

“Fuck,” I said. “Damnit.” This was all my fault. If I’d ignored the damn egg fertilization quest, surely I’d have received another path to opening the rift. If everything else had gone as it had, we’d be at the finish line in just a few short hours. But no, I’d had to go and screw it all up.

You're too hard on yourself, I thought. You couldn’t know this would happen.

Even if Jenk happened to log in just for a second, he would see this quest. I was holding up hope that he’d stay away from the game. And if he hadn’t, he’d be oblivious of everything going on outside of his jail cell deep under Medina. That hope was now gone.

We needed this done, and we needed it done now. Failing the quest, even once, was not an option. Failure was death.

At least I have Moritasgus. I pulled up my menus, and I switched my regen spot to the Oblation Chamber in the badger guardian. In the meantime, I would put the Shrill on guard duty. Once his child entered hell, I’d have him guard our back.

I spent a few moments looking over Banksy’s stats. As long as he remained under 50, he’d be able to accompany us. He was still in the lower half of level 48. I briefly entertained the idea of trying to power him to 50 in the few short hours we had, so I could use him as a guardian instead. I quickly decided against the idea. Even if it was possible, it would be better to have him and the badger instead of just him.

Duke: Get to the rift, but then I need you to burrow yourself and stay safe. I don’t want you leveling or getting hurt. Stay put until I tell you what to do next.

Banksy: I’ll be there in a couple hours.

I looked up from my menu, and Raguel was gone. He’d vanished just like that.

We had a couple hours before Miftah would breach the gate. I headed toward the cockpit. I would spend that time making sure the child hell guardian had a clear path. And once he was through, I’d follow him right down the hole and stab him in the back.

Chapter 66

I grasped the flying goat kaiju with a tentacle, body-slamming him to the ground. I felt the soul power leach from the massive corpse as his bones shattered.

Seal of Furfur added to library.

I was collecting a large number of demons, most of them lower tier.

Raguel was on the field in his huge angel form, and he was playing shepherd, keeping the uncontrolled guardians from besieging and harassing Miftah, who now sat directly on top of the glowing tear in the world. The ever-changing kaiju looked as if he was floating or standing on glass. His off-center, giraffe-like neck was the only constant in his form, and it waved up in the air, glowing. He was casting the spell that would shatter the one-way protection of the rift.

As soon as the Shrill or Avvinik took down a hell guardian, Raguel sent a guardian to guard the corpse, and the moment it woke up, it would be set upon. We found the respawning monsters were vulnerable for about thirty seconds, and killing them a second and a third time was especially easy. I gained meager experience while driving the Shrill, but I received absolutely none for killing a hell guardian in that first half-minute upon regeneration.

None of the hell guardians regenerated a fourth time. The moment they died the third time, their bodies reverted to their smaller forms and then disappeared when the timer ran down. I hoped we weren’t sending them to Hell, where we’d have to face them all over again. I didn’t think that was the case.

I noticed the nearby pavilion of Asmodeus had disappeared from the world map after he turned hell guardian and assaulted us, but it returned after he died a third time. It was the game’s way of keeping players from farming high-experience boss kills over and over.

I didn’t spend the entire time in the cockpit or even in the Shrill. I noticed several kaiju were moving slowly on the field, so I pulled up right next to them, dropping out of a tentacle mouth and right onto their skin or carapace or whatever else they had. I healed any major exterior wounds, and then I cut my way inside, doing a quick Antiparasitic, which had the tendency to increase their strength by 50% in some cases. Then I’d teleport back, only to do it again.

Clara finally noticed what I was doing and came out to join me on the field. I quickly filled her in on the new plan.

And then, just like that, midnight came, and Miftah plummeted into the hole. The world blinked, and I knew I missed yet another cutscene. Other than a puff of white light and a loud crack, the event was anticlimactic.

The rift is now open to two-way travel!

Warning: Only guardians under direct control may enter the rift. While you may relinquish control once you are within the realm of Hell, you may not exit deep dive for more than ten minutes at a time before the guardian will teleport back to his regeneration spot. If you teleport out of or otherwise leave Hell, your controlled guardian will immediately return to his regeneration location.

Shit. There went that backup plan. I’d suspected that wouldn’t work, though, and I hadn’t been counting on it. One of our original plans was to stack the guardians inside the rift. Get as many controllers as we could, driving them in there one by one and then teleporting back out to the next one. I’d suspected that wouldn’t work, and now I had confirmation. They wanted one guardian per player. Period.

As planned, I set the Shrill directly outside the rift and put him on guard duty. From there, I teleported to Moritasgus, who waited next to Avvinik. I rode the veins to the cockpit, and I took control of the badger.

Duke: Banksy, we’re going in. Follow us.

Banksy: I am right behind you.

I really wished I had a method of directly speaking with Clara, but for whatever reason, that wasn’t in the cards. She knew the plan, and she formed up next to me. The icon floated over the panther’s head, indicating he was under her control.

I shuffled forward to the rift. The rent in the world was hot, glowing, almost a half-mile across. All around, smaller demons, having seen that retreat was now available to them, flooded into the crevice.

Raguel floated down, clutching his glittering, ice broadsword. He saluted us, and he disappeared into the rift. Behind me, I heard a vicious clash, and I turned to see the Shrill launch himself toward the chimera form of Lamashtu, who had been attempting to slink toward the rift.

It didn’t feel right. I should be going in here with the Shrill, not the groundling kaiju.

We were out of time. Beside me, Avvinik leaped forward, disappearing the moment his front paws touched the glittering rift.

I leaped.

Part 6 – Hell

Chapter 67

Entering Hell.

All soul power-based spells are 10% more effective in this realm.

We didn’t fall like I was expecting. This was more like stepping through a portal. Smoke swirled, then parted, and I found myself standing upon a wide, hilly plain similar to the hinterland before the war had scorched all the grass away.

I looked about, surprised at what I saw. The twisted map of the area was shaped like a rendition of a tornado, a cone that swept back and forth. We were at the narrowest point, the bottom tip of the cone. Behind us was the edge of the map, a wall of swirling and flashing smoke. A portal about two miles wide. The light was low, like an eternal twilight. The plains were covered in a thick, colorless grass that felt soft under my paws. A raging river crossed ahead of us, and several miles beyond that, at the far end of the hell map stood a white, gothic-style castle that had to be fifteen miles across. The castle was lit like an amusement park, a beacon in this dusky world of multicolored moving and flashing lights.

All around us, small demons appeared, popping into existence through the fog. They ran from the four of us—Moritasgus, Avvinik, Raguel, and Banksy. They swept over the hills, running away toward the army forming on the far side of the raging river.

Banksy: Duke. Father. I do not like this place. I can feel them coursing through the earth below me. A constant stream of souls. The damned haunt this world, writhing below us. I do not dare go down there.

I glanced at my soul power meter, and sure enough, it glowed yellow. Huh. I had unlimited soul power while in hell.

Raguel strode forward, moving toward the gathering army several miles away. We followed.

I turned my attention to the group of demons, and I realized with a start that they were fighting one another. The two sides seemed equally matched, but at this distance, it was difficult to truly tell. It was an army of ants smashing against another.

“Who is fighting who?” I asked. The words came out as grunts and squeaks from my badger mouth.

To my surprise, Raguel answered me. “Miftah is asserting control. King Paimon, Emperor Baal’s second, is leading an assault against the upstart. Paimon will lose. He was always more show than substance.”

We crested a hill, and I gazed upon the form of Miftah. He was even bigger than before, if that was possible. Bigger than Baal. Bigger than the four of us combined.

Holy shit. We are fucked.

Only one other kaiju currently fought in the distant battle. This was a gigantic, armored, camel centaur thing with spider legs. The human torso of the camel was that of an overly muscled man, but the face was distinctly female. He or she or whatever was armed with a war hammer the size and shape of a nuclear power plant cooling tower. I could see the blazing crown at this great distance, but I couldn’t read it. I assumed this was King Paimon. The hell guardian was tall, about the height of the Shrill, but it was not even half the size of his opponent.

The camel had a structure on his back, a towering, multi-leveled, armored fortress of his own made of wood and copper. The fortress appeared as a town on my simple map overlay. A town named “Labal.” Dozens of demons rode within and upon the walls of this fort. These demons were armed with automatic pulse rifles, and a stream of red and blue fire poured into the flank of Miftah, who didn’t appear to even notice the assault.

Miftah did, however, shrink back at the strikes of the giant war hammer. The world reverberated with each attack.

“We must hit once the fight is done,” Raguel said. “When Miftah is at his weakest. I would suggest joining Paimon, but he and I have had great differences in the past, and I fear he won’t accept my help.”

I recognized this moment for what it was. The game was giving us a choice. I couldn’t consult with Clara, but I knew what we had to do.

“We should move now,” I grunted and growled. “We’ll attack Miftah from the other side, so Paimon won’t have a say whether you help or not.”

“Very well,” Raguel said after a moment. He swept his sword and charged forward. We followed.

Duke: Banksy. Do not engage directly with Miftah. Keep on the demons supporting him. Keep my back safe.

Banksy: Acknowledged.

We pushed forward, fording the river east of the battle. Multiple, rickety-looking bridges spanned the rushing, mile-wide river, and I inadvertently knocked one over with my passage, dumping hundreds of scrambling zippers into the deep. I didn’t know what side they were on. Banksy struggled with the crossing, slipping over his head at the deepest point. But we made it, and we moved to attack.

Miftah saw this new threat, and he unleashed his reserves on us. A legion of spinning drivets took to the air, their onion shape spinning like a thousand razor blades. Avvinik roared, leaping forward and casting Swords in the Wind, his five-minute attack. The deadly drivets scattered as a wall of silver tips rushed at them, cutting through their ranks with deadly precision. The quick-moving panther screamed again, swiping and crashing through the ranks of the suddenly unorganized demons like a whirlwind of death.

Throngs of cellar hags and another type of demon, called pain seedlings, rushed at Banksy and me as Raguel took to the air, plunging his sword directly into the back of Miftah, who roared in rage. Pain seedlings were small, round, troll-like monsters designed for anti-guardian combat. They stuck to the skin and burrowed, unleashing shrapnel as they tunneled. Just a few short hours ago, I watched a horde of these things take out Blighthorn, the viceroy guardian. They’d killed the guardian faster than a zipper attack. It had been terrifying to behold.

Duke: Banksy, no time to argue. Green Hell. Now.

I scattered out of the way, rushing toward Miftah as streams of green goo showered out of Banksy like he was a goddamned sprinkler. Like he had warned, it was a lot of the sticky, green acid. More than I expected. It just kept coming and coming, filling the air with a sweet, vinegar stink that was soon replaced with the overwhelming stench of death. In a matter of seconds, an ocean of green, bubbling acid surrounded the minor guardian. Cellar hags and pain seedlings died by the thousands. Banksy looked miserable as the acid trickled to a stop. 

Avvinik roared in outrage as acid splashed upon his tail. He jumped out of the way, circling around to join me as we attempted to take on the massive boss monster.

Raguel’s jab had done nothing to the kaiju. Physical attacks didn’t faze the monster at all. Paimon and his town of defenders pressed their attack from the opposite side.

At the feet of the behemoths, multitudes of demons clashed. I didn’t even know where they all came from because not nearly that many had slipped past us. There was no way to tell who was on whose side.

I cried in pain as a claw formed on Miftah’s side and raked across my body just as I approached the kaiju. My health plummeted 30% with that single hit. The kaiju fought all his attackers, forming limbs and appendages in all four directions at once, lunging, parrying, and stabbing.

I had the feeling he was toying with us, that we were nothing but an inconvenience, not a real threat.

I jammed down on Feral Claw, and the badger snarled, rushing forward with a lightning series of tearing, slashing attacks. Meanwhile, Avvinik was on the massive kaiju, clawing and biting. The panther’s five-hour attack, called Pleasure Slave, wouldn’t be useful against the kaiju. It only worked against targets of the opposite gender. And Clara and I already discussed that it was probably a bad idea for her to cast Hail and Kill, Avvinik’s fatal attack. It would force Miftah to cast his most expensive spell. That usually forced other guardians to kill themselves with their own fatal attack, but we decided not to try it here. It felt like a trap in this situation, not one we wanted to risk. We would keep it in reserve.

My own fatal attack—Batshit Berserker—was powerful enough to rip a hole in Miftah. But I would only use it if it looked like the badger was about to die. Physical damage didn’t seem to harm him.

Still, the kaiju appeared to be fearful of Paimon’s giant hammer. Why was that?

I thought for a moment, and then it hit me all at once. I pictured the Shrill’s anatomy. My guardian was a ball of flesh with a brain in the middle. I pictured that odd, boney jawbone shape in the Shrill’s mass. What if Miftah was like that? What if he had a vulnerable brain protected by a boney superstructure? That would explain his fear of the hammer.

“Raguel,” I yelled. “I know how to hurt him. We must…”

Entering Oblation Chamber.

The world blinked, and I was suddenly in my regeneration spot, the oblation chamber. I’d been ejected from direct control. While I still had my Gross Anatomy map, all my other indicators were simply gone. I gazed upon Gulch, who remained in his spot, screaming.

What the hell happened?

Warning: A new groundling player has joined the game. As this game is in co-op mode, you have lost the ability to control Moritasgus. Per the current session’s rules, the controller for Moritasgus has been transferred. 

Player Jenk2 has joined the game. 

Warning: Moritasgus’s player controller is not within the realm of Hell. The guardian will be recalled in 3, 2, 1...

“No, no, no,” I cried.

Chapter 68

Feedings Left: 0

Warning: Your feeding apparatus is empty. Administration has been notified.

The world shook, and I knew we had just teleported from the battlefield to the rocky plateau just south and west of Medina.

I sat upon the floor of the oblation chamber in stunned silence for several moments. Jenk had fucked us. He’d done it at the worst possible moment, too. It was almost as if he knew precisely when to do it. Was he toying with us? Had he been fucking with us this whole time?

Of course he had. If he was really a developer and not just a client, then he’d probably been watching all of this unfold. He probably didn’t even have to log in. He could likely push a button on his tablet and watch any of us whenever he wanted. 

That was it, then. Done.

Banksy: Where the hell did you go?

Duke: I’m sorry. Something terrible just happened. I am back on the other side of the rift. I’ve lost control of Moritasgus, and I won’t be able to come back to you.

Banksy: What do you want me to do? The angel is hurt. He is being attacked by both demons. Avvinik keeps slicing and slicing and jumping back. But I don’t think anything is happening. Sometimes when Avvinik cuts a piece off of the giant demon, it falls to the ground, and a tentacle snakes out, and the part slurps back onto him, like he’s a slime. There are no more demons attacking me. I can fight. Tell me what to do.

It didn’t matter anymore. Win, lose. It didn’t matter. Jenk knew what we were up to, and he’d never let us finish the game.

I couldn’t take the screaming anymore. I popped up the menu and teleported myself back to my base. I eased myself into the couch, and I thought of all I had lost. Despair washed over me, burning. 

I thought of Mary. She’d likely lost the apartment by now. Where was she living? Did she hate me? She’d loved that place. It was all she had left of her own parents. It was the only place she’d ever lived with her son. You should never have married an artist, her dad had said to her the day we’d told him we’d eloped. I’d been in the next room, but he said it using a stage whisper, and I was certain he wanted me to hear. He was drunk, and he was angry. He would be dead from liver failure in less than a year. Now you’re married, I can’t take care of you anymore. And neither can he. He couldn’t take care of his first wife, why do you think it will be different for you? 

I thought of Ruth. I thought of the shell she had become, of those hollow, angry eyes. I thought of the kangaroo poster. I thought of nights gazing at the stars, and of her laughter that was forever gone. I thought of the tattoo she’d gotten of her brother’s face on her arm, and of the night she’d gone to the ER after half scratching it off. She’d gone to jail, gotten out, and fled to Arizona, only to get arrested again and again. Arizona was where her mother had said she was going when she left us, and that’s where Ruth went. She never found her. Her mother had abandoned her, she had killed her brother, and when she was finally getting her feet underneath her, she’d been abandoned again. It didn’t matter it wasn’t on purpose. She was all alone, and I couldn’t help her.

Where was she now?

I thought of Chris. My boy. My son, my only son. He’d been scared of monsters, and I had lied to him by telling him monsters weren’t real.  

I thought of Raguel the angel. I thought of his words. Having children is much more a division of strength than a multiplication. I don’t understand why anyone would do that to themselves. An NPC. A fucking NPC. Had a human written that line? Or was that the AI, trying its hardest to understand why these humans trapped in its game were making such stupid choices over and over?

This is too much.

This is too much.

Banksy: Please, father. Avvinik is hurt. Raguel is on the ground. I don’t want to be here all alone. Tell me what you want me to do. Dad. Please help.

And then, finally, I thought of the promise I had made to Clara and to myself. I thought of those who needed to pay for what they had done. I thought of my anger. I no longer had a rat's chance in hell of winning, not anymore. But I would go down fighting.

I popped open the chat.

Duke: Okay, buddy. Hold tight. I’m coming.

***

Entering Avvinik – Player Base. Restricted area. Access granted by brand.

For a while there I’d forgotten Clara and I had traded brands.

I banged on the door to the cockpit and yelled, “Clara. I’m here. I’m gonna heal Avvinik!”

I doubted she could hear me. But she’d notice I was here in a minute. I pulled a scan, saw both of the panther’s front paws needed sewing up, and I jumped into the stream.

I spent the next several minutes combing through the panther, using my unlimited soul power to heal, patch, and bind. Twice, I ran into Iffy, who was also whizzing about the interior of the kaiju, healing wounds and patching holes. The red slug was in his element. The smelly, slow-moving slug was mostly useless outside of battle, but it turned out fast-acting, efficient battlefield surgery was where he excelled. He zipped around with lightning speed, popping irritably at me when I got in the way. He pushed me aside to get to a ripped tendon, which he repaired in a fraction of the time it would’ve taken me.  

With Avvinik’s rising strength, the panther was able to get back into the fight. Banksy kept up a running commentary. Raguel had fallen, and for a while Paimon set upon him instead of Miftah. But with Avvinik’s rising health and Banksy running interference, Miftah decided to focus on taking down Paimon, which would hopefully give Raguel time to recover.

Winky appeared in front of me just as I finished casting Patch on a severed artery deep within the panther’s torso. I was covered in kaiju blood. The bat screeched at me, then blinked away.

I teleported myself back to Clara’s base to find her standing in the open doorway to the cockpit.

“I saw the Jenk notification,” she yelled. She looked worn down and exhausted. “What’re we going to do?”

“Stick with the plan!” I said. “I have an idea, but all of this will be for nothing if that angel dies. His blood is toxic, so I can’t go over there and heal him. You probably can, but you can’t leave Avvinik. So get back in there and protect him.”

“What’re you going to do?”

I grinned. “I’m going diving.”  

***

The best way to exit Avvinik was through the ear. The guardian’s ears were a strangely complicated system of flaps and canals, but luckily both ears had a fat vein that followed the curvature of the ear’s shape. Clara had somehow managed to place a hatch and exit right at the tip of the panther’s right ear that could be accessed via BloodBorne. She used it to come and go using her wings, so getting down was a bit more awkward for me.

Winky popped into the air in front of me just as I exited out of the ear and onto the kaiju’s fur. I slid down, falling several feet until I landed directly on Avvinik’s head. Clara was, thankfully, keeping the head steady.

The first thing I noticed was the temperature out here was surprisingly pleasant. I’d been expecting hell to be overwhelmingly hot or cold. But it was light jacket weather at best, only slightly chillier than the world on the other side of the rift. And it wasn’t raining, either. In fact, I liked the weather out here much more than on the other side. 

I changed my mind about ten seconds later when the vomit-inducing stench of death sucker-punched me. This was worse than the rancid interior of Bast.

Miftah and Paimon had gone back to their scuffle. It seemed most of the demons on the ground had been killed or had just run away, which was the smart thing to do. The spider-camel-centaur thing swung its hammer back and forth, keeping Miftah’s attention. Each swing of that thing threatened to blow me off Avvinik’s head with the shockwave.

Raguel sat on the ground nearby, shaking his head. He’d grown to his smaller, 30-foot size after almost being killed. I wondered if he needed to shrink himself in order to heal. He’d fallen back with Banksy wrapped protectively around him.  

I used my four pincers, and I held tightly onto a clump of soft fur.

“I’m ready,” I called to the bat, who screeched and disappeared.

Clara waited until Miftah had to scramble back to avoid getting smashed by the hammer, then she pounced, landing onto the side of the much-larger creature. Instead of clawing and ripping like before, she clung on, digging her claws in like a cat trying to ascend a tree.

I leaped into the air, shooting my claw so it grasped a fleshy nodule on the side of the hell guardian, retracting myself in.

Avvinik roared in pain as multiple spikes burst from his back. The kaiju screamed and fell backward, blossoms of red spreading along his chest from where Miftah had created spears of flesh.

I didn’t have time to see if he was okay. Using the amplification knife, I unzipped a layer of amorphous flesh. The monster didn’t seem to even notice the cut, and flesh flowed back toward itself almost immediately, closing like the creature was made of gel.

I cut again, this time slipping myself into the hole as I slashed. I went headfirst, slicing and squeezing forward. It felt as if I was trying to pull myself through a massive glob of hot bubblegum.

The notifications finally rolled by once I was about ten feet deep into the skin layer.

Entering Miftah – Subdermal Layer One

Deep Dive activating! World Map is not available during a deep dive! Gross Anatomy map activating! Surgery menu activating! Frame Vision now available!

The moment the notifications rolled, I opened up the surgery menu and selected my Incision talent. My soul power remained yellow. Unlimited.

Like I had suspected, the guardian was basically a giant, nerve-laden muscle surrounding a small ball of organs. The center area of the beast was off-center, a round, boney area about 300 meters away on the upper half of the body. It was attached to the exterior by a relatively small bundle of nerves, connecting to the giraffe-like neck.

There were no veins or arteries I could use to zip around in, so instead I cut. I used Incision to create a tunnel in the gelatinous outer layer of the monster. I stood to my full height, and I ran.

The muscles closed behind me as I pushed forward, giving me the impression I wasn’t moving at all. There was no air in here, and the closer I got to the center, the hotter it became.

Miftah’s entire body thrummed and bounced up and down. From the Gross Anatomy map, it appeared the hell guardian had just been creamed with Paimon’s hammer.

A moment later, a black lance pierced Miftah from behind, showing on the map as a tear through the guardian’s flesh.

He’d just been stabbed by Raguel. The sword didn’t come anywhere near the vulnerable center, but the sword, as broad as a city block, had cut through the kaiju, missing me by mere feet.

The temperature plummeted for a few seconds, and I realized Raguel’s ice sword was freezing the flesh around the wound. It didn’t last.

Duke: Banksy, tell that asshole to stop stabbing him! He almost got me!

Banksy: I will try, father.

Duke: How is Avvinik?

Banksy: He is on his back. Iffy is on the outside, repairing the holes in his stomach. He’s out of the fight for the moment, but I think he’ll be back soon.

The world lurched, and I suddenly found myself hanging upside down. Despite my already-endless supply of soul power, a new surge of energy rushed at me.

Banksy: The camel demon is down. Miftah is on top of him. I think he’s eating him.

Shit. I had to hurry. With Paimon down, the others wouldn’t last.

I pushed the last fifty meters to the round skull. My Incision talent could not sever the bone. There didn’t seem to be a way inside. Even my amplification knife just clinked against the material. I had to get to the nerve bundle. I moved along the oblong shape of the skull. Banksy obviously didn’t get through to the angel, as Raguel stabbed again and again, but it didn’t come near me.  

I wrenched myself up to stand before the nerve bundle. It was a set of about a hundred cables, each of them anywhere from one foot to ten feet thick.

When I examined them, my diagnosis talent activated, telling me what did what. I waved the menu away.

Banksy: The other demon is coming. The donkey lady whose boobs you drank. She looks mad. But she’s hurt, too. She’s all cut up. Wasn’t she fighting the Shrill? I think she might’ve won, but not by a lot. 

Damn it. If she killed the Shrill, that meant he’d been kicked all the way back to Neo-Austin. I couldn’t pull up my menu to confirm where he was while I was going deep dive.

Duke: Go get her. Finish her off. 

Banksy: What about Miftah?

Duke: Miftah is already dead. He just doesn’t know it yet.

I pulled open my surgery menu. The thick nerve bundle pulsed.

“Lights out, motherfucker,” I said as I used Incision to cut the whole bunch at once.

Chapter 69

Quest Complete. Kill Miftah.

Experience Earned!

You are now level 49!

I’d just barely gotten enough experience to kick me up a level. I knew what was coming next, so I threw my point into durability. It equaled it out with my strength. They were both now 36.

Banksy: The donkey lady is very, very angry. She’s glowing!

That didn’t sound good. But surely we could put her down. It was three versus one, and she was already injured.

Deep dive deactivated. My Frame Vision abruptly snapped off. I could still see thanks to my darkness vision, but it wasn’t quite the same. With the loss of my deep dive status, I regained the ability to pull my kaiju and mapping menus. The Shrill was not dead, but he was injured, and he was still fighting by the rift.  

I glanced at the map, and my blood ran cold. It looked like my guardian was fighting Orthrus. And if he was fighting Orthrus, that could mean only one thing.

Jenk prime was out of jail.

But how? He had months left on his sentence.

A possible scenario dawned on me. He’d created the Jenk2 groundling character and had somehow bailed himself out. How a new and level 1 character managed to find enough teeth to pay down the fine, I doubted I’d ever know. But it was the only way it made sense. I wondered if there was a way to transfer funds between characters. That was something I never really had the chance to explore.

The kaiju collapsed in on itself, and I suddenly had the weight of a literal mountain of flesh crushing me. I stopped worrying about Jenk as I felt the life start to squeeze out of me. I cut upward using my amplification knife, creating a thin pocket of flesh, a sleeve that slipped around me as the dead kaiju continued to ooze downward, melting. I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long.

I tried to teleport back to Clara’s base, but the system wouldn’t let me. Outside, Lamashtu clashed with Banksy, Avvinik, and Raguel. I was too close to the battle to use Teleport. Instead, I pulled up Recall and attempted to cast. 

Recall Level 2 required to cast between planes.

Oh shit. I’m going to die.

I hurriedly called up my respawn menu. I could change my regeneration spot to Clara’s base within Avvinik. I held the brand. But before I could change it, I was interrupted.

Banksy: The angel is down! The donkey lady ripped his head right off!

No. Goddamnit! No!

The next several things all happened in the course of about two seconds.

The world stuttered, and I was falling. Falling fast. I blinked, trying to figure out what happened.

I caught a shape falling next to me. A baby donkey. Miftah had transformed back to his small form upon death. His head lolled, flapping through the air. We were both about to smash into the ground.

I yanked the spell menu back open. Without even realizing I had the idea, I clicked on my Wicked Meat skill.

Holy fucking shit. My mind registered the possible upgrade. I acted instinctively. I shot my arm, wrapping itself around the small donkey. I couldn’t afford for the body to splatter.

Then I cast Hinder as I pulled the corpse to myself.

Smash!

Once again, I cast the damn, useless-ass spell too soon. And this time I had a dead donkey on top of me. I screamed in pain as my left leg bone ripped out of me, pushing my knee bracer aside in a grinding, ripping cavalcade of pain.

I cast Reconstitute as I dragged myself to the broken and smashed body of the donkey, who had bounced about ten feet away.

Beyond the tiny corpse of Miftah was the corpse of Raguel, twisted and broken. He’d shrunk to his 30-foot size. His blood sizzled as it touched the ground. I turned my attention back to the dead baby donkey.

Please, please, please. Yes! He was still intact.

Above me, the kaiju clashed. I was right in the middle and in serious danger of getting squished. The large, chimera form of Lamashtu grappled with Avvinik and Banksy. I watched in awe as Banksy jumped into the air, leaping directly over me and attaching his mouth to the hell guardian’s side just as the massive lion-donkey beast looked down and saw me on the ground cowering next to the corpse of her child.

I grasped the small donkey’s leg, and I cut both of the foal’s legs off just about the knee. Lamashtu roared in a mix of anger and anguish. She moved to crush me, but Avvinik crashed into her. Banksy continued to thrash, attached to her side. The upcycle was for the feet and ankles, so it wouldn’t—hopefully—interfere with the super-jump ability I’d gained from Beleth.

Upcycle compatible hooves?

I paused. It only had a 20% chance of succeeding. I hadn’t noticed that part until now. Shit. 20%. If it failed, I’d come back here with permanent, bloody stumps where my feet used to be. My eyes focused on the angel corpse, and I knew I no longer had a choice.

Screw it. I clicked Yes.

Upcycle commencing!

The tentacles pulled me into the portal just as Lamashtu crashed down toward me.

For the first time in over a dozen upcycles, Shu the alienist performed the surgery himself while the surgery imps hovered around him. The usual heavy metal of the upcycle emporium still played, but it was muted.

“Yes, yes, this is a dangerous surgery,” Shu said as he proceeded to chop my feet off. “I will handle this myself, yes I will. You have been a good friend, a good client. Bernadette’s nephew. She was my friend.” He paused, then, looking as thoughtful as an expressionless bug could look. “I will do my best.”

A blink later, I was back on the ground in hell. I held my breath, waiting for the notification.

Upcycle complete!

Operation: success!

…Please wait.

Congratulations! Your body did not reject the upcycle!

Deftness +10

Acumen +20

Spell Rend Dimension added.

Holy shit, it had worked. It had fucking worked. I couldn’t believe it.

I looked at my new hooves sitting awkwardly where my feet used to be. I’d be a good five inches taller now. I was almost afraid to stand and try them out. I feared I’d tip right over.

Before I could try them out, movement caught my eye. Lamashtu. She was no longer the hell guardian. Nor was she a donkey. I only knew it was her because of the name blazing over her head.

She’d transformed into a beautiful, olive-skinned woman with straight, coal-black hair that sank to her waist. The woman was bloodied and bruised and dressed in rags. Her left breast hung exposed, and it leaked dark milk. Twin lines of gray, wispy smoke rose into the air, ascending from her back right where her wings once were. 

She had a horrific wound to her stomach. She clutched her left arm to herself, barely holding herself together. Tears streamed down her face.

Above, Avvinik and Banksy loomed, both watching. She would not recover from these wounds, and we all knew it.

The woman limped to the body of the baby donkey as I watched. She collapsed on top of the corpse. She gently stroked the foal’s misshapen head.

“You were all I ever wanted,” she whispered as she closed her eyes.

And then she exploded, killing me.

Chapter 70

You have died 20 times.

Entering Oblation Chamber.  

I’d forgotten to switch my respawn back to the Shrill. Still reeling from the death sequence, I popped into the room of screaming children. I tottered backward as I attempted to stand on my two hooves. It didn’t take long to get used to it, though I kept trying to wiggle my toes. I felt bouncier, more in control. But the upcycle had also added a whopping 10 to my deftness and 20 to my acumen, making it the best upcycle I’d yet to receive. I marveled at the beautiful, lengthy bar of soul points.

But then reality brought me back down. The plan had gone to shit. Jenk was back, and the angels were dead. We’d killed the upstart, but we still had to face Baal.

I needed to defend and heal the Shrill. I prepared myself, and I teleported directly to my base.

Multiple notifications scrolled by the moment I landed. The Shrill was in dire health. He had hundreds of cuts and bruises and lacerations. A small squad of zippers had managed to get inside and were currently wreaking havoc through his large intestine. The Shrill’s health had plummeted to 19% and was in a slow, steady decline.

I rushed into the cockpit and took stock of our surroundings. The demons were mostly gone, but small groups remained here and there, mostly skulking away back into the rift.

Most of the guardians were gone. I turned, surprised, looking for them. I saw them, then, walking away en masse. A whole mess of them, walking together toward Medina.

Why were they headed there? To protect the city? With the protections gone, they could go all the way to the city gates now. Hell, they could go into the city.

Only three guardians remained here on the outskirts of the rift. The still-flaming near-corpse of Paskunji, the Shrill, and Orthrus, who pressed his attack. Orthrus growled and slashed. The Shrill smacked back every assault. There was no marker over the kaiju’s head indicating Jenk was present. But he had to be in the game somewhere. Where was he?

I didn’t have time to fuck around. I had a belly full of zippers, and I could feel them deep within me, rummaging, slicing, cutting.

I slammed down on Hypnos.

Orthrus dropped like a rock, crashing into the burned and devastated landscape. I scuttled forward, shoving a tentacle into each of the passed-out wolf kaiju’s open and drooling mouths. I pushed deep into the rough and craggy throats, and I flexed, ripping with all of my strength.

The guardian ripped in two, blood and guts cascading down in a tsunami of gore.

I felt the familiar rush of dead-guardian soul power as I jumped out of direct control and hit the vein. I was already preparing my Antiparasitic as I jumped into the bloodstream.

***

It didn’t take long for me to discover where Jenk went.

I found him sitting cross-legged on the surface of the colon’s exterior. The organ bulged out through a nasty cut in a wall of muscle designed to keep the intestine in place. The painful hernia had to be attended to right away, and it was one of my first stops after casting Antiparasitic and repairing a half-severed off tentacle.

My neverending supply of soul power was finally starting to wane as I popped out of the artery less than ten feet from the formidable wolf. I stood there, stupidly staring at the player for several moments, too surprised to react.

Jenk raised his hands and slow clapped, grinning.

“Congratulations, Duke,” he said amiably. He didn’t move from his position on the muscle. A white fluid dripped from the ceiling. Some sort of gland directly above us must have been nicked.

I called up my spell menu, preparing for whatever was about to come.

“You’ve almost done it,” he continued. “I don’t know how you managed to kill that baby kaiju, but congrats. I’ve never actually seen the monster myself. On the KBS forums, people have talked about this route, but most people don’t even attempt it. It adds a layer of difficulty to the game without any sort of advantage.” He appeared genuinely enthusiastic. “And you combined it with the angels. Wow. When I realized you had initiated both paths, I went online to see how the endgame was going to play out. But, get this. I don’t think it’s ever been done before. Can you believe it?” He shook his head. “I’m guessing it’s probably not possible outside of co-op mode, but still. I can’t wait to see how it plays out.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“Just a chat,” he said. He waved in a random direction. “Don’t worry. I won’t be attacking you. It’s been a while since we talked. I wanted to catch up. I just wanted to tell you how impressed I’ve been with your performance. You’ve come a long way. And that move you pulled, getting me thrown in jail? I must say. Brilliant. Just brilliant. I know that had to be your idea, not Clara’s. She’s not nearly that clever.”

“Okay, now you’ve said it,” I said. “If you’d kindly fuck off, I’m a bit busy here.”

“So, I looked it up,” he said.

I just glared at him, not answering. He obviously wanted me to ask what the hell he was talking about.

“It turns out you don’t have to be a rabbi to be a mohel. Isn’t that interesting? Most are, mind you. Most are doctors, too.”

“Neat,” I said. “Are you done?”

“Clara hasn’t told you, has she?” Jenk said.

Don’t fall into his trap. Don’t do it.

“She’s told me everything,” I said, trying to contain my anger.

Jenk chuckled softly. “Oh, I doubt that. I truly do.” He rearranged himself, and I tensed. If he cast Deceleration, he could do anything he wanted to me. He also had his twin revolvers, and I knew he was faster than me.

“So, I checked up on your family recently,” he said. “I know you lost access to the feed when that Gramm idiot—SmashSouth. What an unfortunate name—when that idiot broke the controls for the stream. I’d told Lucas not to give the proctors that much power, but he wouldn’t listen.” Jenk shook his head sadly. “So, do you want to know how sweet little Ruth and stalwart Mary are doing?”

“No,” I said, growling. Yes, yes. I wanted to know. I needed to know. “I won’t believe a word you say.”

He laughed. “Oh, Duke. I am a terrible person. I am the monster under the bed. But I am not a liar. I have never lied to you, and I never will.”

“Just get the fuck out of here,” I said. I hated the way my voice sounded.

He smiled. “It’s sort of a good news, bad news situation. Good news first. They’re both still kicking. Ruth is pregnant. You’re going to be a granddad! Congrats on that. She’s been pregnant, by the way. She looks like a beached whale. And boy is she ready to blow. She was a couple months along when you came to join us here. Your wife still works at the hospital. She’s dating a doctor. She’s moved in with him, in fact. A really fat guy, ten years older than her. Odd choice, but who am I to judge? They got a dog last weekend. A Maltese, one of those little white numbers who never stop barking. They named the thing Diego. They don’t talk so much anymore, Mary and Ruth.”

I let out a long stream of breath. I had no idea if he was being honest. I suspected he was telling the truth. I knew exactly who the doctor was. Doctor Calhoun. A dermatologist. He’d been making advances on Mary for years. I felt my jaw tighten. I’d only been gone for six months.  

Diego. A dog named after an artist. That hurt. That hurt a lot.

“So anyway, onto the bad news. It’s not so terrible on the Mary front. Honestly, I’m thinking she’s better off without you. The doctor guy is boring but harmless. He makes this weird face when he fucks her. He calls her ‘Kitty,’ too. I don’t know what’s up with that. But if it makes you feel better, she finishes herself off after he falls asleep.”

Jenk sighed dramatically. “Ruth, I’m afraid, is back in jail. We actually lost her feed when they upgraded her implants at the Washington state prison. So I can’t watch her day to day anymore. She got arrested less than a week after you came in here. Drugs. She also punched a cop, knocked his tooth out. I have the video if you want to see it. It’s hysterical. Anyway, the big charge is child endangerment, her being pregnant and all. You know how crazy your country is about taking care of unborn babies. Screw them once they come out, but they’re damn precious when they’re cooking. She just got sentenced a week ago. Five years, and the state will take the baby once it pops. It’s probably for the best. No offense, but you and I both know Ruth is not exactly mother material. Despite all the drama, the baby is healthy. It’s going to be a girl. Oh, and Ruth tried to kill herself a couple months back. Tried to hang herself in her own cell. She still has pending charges for that one.”

I leaned back against the thick artery, breathing heavily. I clenched my eyes shut. I knew I should not look away. God damn it. God fucking damn it.

“So, anyway. I had to send Orthrus to attack the Shrill to get your attention. But I’m going to back off. I want you to know I’m not going to interfere. I’m pretty sure you’re not going to be able to pull off this last part. Baal is a tough cookie. But I can’t wait to see what happens. Who knows? Maybe this silly little scheme of yours is going to work. You’ve already surprised me a few times. And for a guy like me, a surprise is a rare thing.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re just going to sit back and let us beat the game?”

He shrugged. “Originally, no. But I’ve changed my mind. I figured we can make a deal.”

“What do you mean?”

He leaned forward. “I am not a threat to you because you are not a threat to me. Even if they discover your pod before you wither away, there’s nothing you can do to harm me. You and I are not connected in any way. I have no reason to cause you harm, and you have no way of knowing who the hell I really am.”

That wasn’t actually true, but I wasn’t about to argue with him.

Jenk continued. “So, I’m assuming you know about the reset bug. That’s why you’re bending over backward to finish this season off. You win the game, and everyone gets ejected from their rig, right?” He laughed. “Here’s something you don’t know. Lucas… I mean Anatoly, he patched that bug. If you win, you aren’t going to wake up. You’re just going to find yourself sitting at the character creation scene.”

I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach.

No. No. It couldn’t be true.

Was all of this for nothing? The thought broke me. It was as if the ground had been dropped out from underneath me.

Jenk seemed oblivious to my sudden distress. “The game will reset. Maybe this time you’ll pick yourself a less difficult race. I recommend trying a Mole Man. Technology and Earth. They’re pretty fun. Anatoly didn’t want you playing one because Princess had discovered the controller for their guardian, completely on accident one day. And that meant you’d come into the game already having control of Tsita, and that simply wouldn’t do.”

“You’re lying,” I said. “If that was true, you wouldn’t tell me.”

Jenk wagged his finger. “I don’t lie, remember? This isn’t the bad guy soliloquy at the end of the story. We’re still working on plot here. I’m telling you this for a reason, so listen up. I have the ability to step back that bug. It’s actually just a simple on-off toggle in the admin controls. And I’m switching it off right now. I’ll keep it off as long as we can come to an agreement.”

“What the hell, man? What are you playing at?”

“Clara. It’s all about Clara. You’re either going to get out of here, or you’re not. Spoiler alert. I can’t get to your rigs. I’m in a different country. Not even close. And in the spirit of total honesty, I’m not exactly certain where you are. I have a general idea, but not an exact location.”

“What about Clara?” I asked.

“You’re going to wake up, and you’re going to kill her for me.”

I just stared at the insane wolf for a long moment. “Why would I do that?”

“Because that’s our deal.”

I scoffed. “Surely you don’t believe I’d actually kill her. Even if I said I would.”

“Actually, Duke. I do believe you’re going to do it. In fact I’m quite confident.”

Christ, this man was crazy. “But why?” I asked.

“Why?” he repeated. “Why do I think you’ll kill her? Or why do I want you to?”

“Both!”

He thought for a moment, then seemed to come to a conclusion. “You’ll learn the answer to the first why before this is done. She’ll probably tell you herself, but if not, you’ll put it together. She’s like one of those puzzles, those optical illusions that make no sense until you twist them in just the right way. And then it all falls into place. As to why I want her put down? Because she’s a part of the machine. And I am taking it apart, piece by piece. When Anatoly first approached me and told me about this place and the clientele it would serve, I thought it was a great idea. I have since changed my mind. So I am disassembling it, as the sundered would say. I am the one who tipped off the authorities about the conspiracy. There are some loose ends left swinging in the wind. The servers, which I’m going to nuke soon enough. And Anatoly and Clara.”

There was a lot to unpack there. What else could there possibly be about Clara? And was I understanding him correctly? Jenk had turned the others in?

“What about you?” I said. “You’re a loose end, too.”

And me, I didn’t say. I didn’t think for one moment he had any intentions of allowing me to live. He was dangling this carrot because he wanted something from me. I remembered what Clara had said about him. He looks at something, and he instantly knows how to break it in the worst possible way.

Jenk laughed, wagging his finger. “I like you, Duke. I can see why Mary still cries almost every night. Anyway, I don’t know what Clara told you about this world and all the people who were working on this little project, but I’m guessing most of it was half-truths and lies. Clara has a few different personalities rattling around in that swiss cheese brain of hers, and every single one of them is a filthy liar. Some are better at it than others.”

“Lies?” I said. “So you and a bunch of your asshole friends weren’t kidnapping people, bringing them here, and torturing them?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, to a certain extent. But that was just beta testing. And payment for the proctors. I never liked the criminal aspect of the beta phase. But have you ever heard the term ‘obligate carnivore?’ These guys are like cats. You can’t feed them lettuce and expect them to stick around.”

I shook my head. “What the fuck are you talking about? Payment for who?”

Jenk sighed heavily. “Let me guess. Clara told you this place was a playground for serial whack jobs to go online and slake their most primal desires. Anatoly is the ringmaster, and he somehow finds all these killers, and he charges them some obscene amount of money to go online and kill people in this safe, virtual space? Like some sort of a fucked-up online version of the movie Hostel?”   

I didn’t say anything. That was pretty much exactly what she’d said. It’s also what Anatoly and SmashSouth had said, too. Wasn’t it? I tried to think back on everything I’d learned, on who said what. My mind swirled. 

The dripping liquid from the ceiling had turned to a small trickle. Jenk raised his hand, and it stopped. All in a smooth motion. He’d healed it. I looked up at the ceiling of the chamber, surprised.

He continued. “The FBI believes at any given time there are about 25 active serial killers in the United States. Me, I think that number is a little low. But still, from a business standpoint, this would be an incredibly shitty venture. It’s never a good idea to cater to such a small demographic. All those sick fucks Anatoly had found? Frank, Paulo, Princess, SmashSouth. Do you know how much effort it took to find them? Years and years. And most of the ones he found, they were too feral, too mentally ill, not savvy enough, or just didn’t understand the value of our vision. We had to put them down. But those guys he did find? And myself, too? We’re not the clients. Of course not. We’re the employees. Our official title is ‘Proctor.’”

“Employees?” I said, incredulous. “If you’re the employees, then who are the customers?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“What?” I said. “No, no it’s not.”

“Do you remember what I told you when we met for the first time?” He laughed. “You were all upset simply because a fat groundling kid had stuck you with a knife a few times?”

“He’d more than just stuck me a few times,” I said.

He pointed at me, suddenly intent. “I said that if word got out you’d managed to get amplified at full sensation, you would be a legend. It is one of the holy grails of this game.”

I allowed that to process. “Wait. So you want me to believe that the clients are people who’d actually pay to come here and willingly get tortured? You are so full of shit.”

“Armin Meiwes. Do you know who that was?”

“No,” I said.

“Der Metzgermeister, they called him. The Master Butcher. He was German. A long time ago, back in 2001, he put an ad up on a website called the Cannibal Café, asking for volunteers to come to his house and willingly be slaughtered and eaten. And guess what? He had more responses than he could handle. A gentleman by the name of Bernd Jürgen Brandes answered the ad and went to Mr. Meiwes’s home. They set up a camera, and he willingly allowed Meiwes to chop his penis off. In fact, Brandes wanted Meiwes to bite his dick off. And he tried several times, but it wouldn’t come. I’ve watched the video. It’s… awkward. So Brandes sat back while Meiwes cut it off with a knife. Then they cooked it together in a frying pan and each had a nibble. Then Meiwes stabbed him in the throat, put him on a meat hook, and chopped up his body and put it in the freezer. He spent the better part of a year eating him before he got caught. And he only got caught because he put up a new ad.”

“I’d heard about that before,” I said. “I thought it was an urban legend.”

“It’s 100 percent real. And it’s not even the tip of the iceberg. Around the same time another woman in the United States met a guy on the internet and talked him into sexually torturing her to death. She was married at the time, and her husband had no idea. Another case involved a woman who met a man on a Twilight message board. She talked him into strangling her to death. Those are just a few examples of people who actually wanted to die, and they wanted to die as painfully as possible. Do you know how many people have fantasies about being eaten alive and digested, or being sexually tortured, or of being mauled to death? More than you know. Some of these fetishes are so popular they have names for them. There are whole industries revolving around them. Vore. Asphyxiophilia. Piquerism. And so much more. And this world, this playground we were building, it was going to be a place for them to experience everything they desired without having to suffer actual physical harm. And those who would facilitate their fantasies would be some of the most talented, most experienced purveyors of pain this world had ever known.”      

“Fucking hell,” I said. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.

“But, like Der Metzgermeister, Anatoly bit off more than he could chew.” Jenk chuckled at his own joke. “The proctors wanted their payment up front. Anatoly promised he could turn this game and engine into something more. He promised and promised, and he couldn’t deliver. So I shut it down. We never got to the point where we had any real clients. Not anyone other than Clara.”

I almost choked. What? Clara?

“So Clara’s a client?” I laughed. “No, no I don’t believe that for one moment. Fuck you.”

Jenk shook his head. “No, you’re right. She’s not a client. Not quite. She’s a consultant. And she was paid handsomely for her work.”

“How was she paid? She’s stuck here like me. You’ve kidnapped her fucking kid!”

Jenk laughed. “Kidnapped? Is that what she’s told you?” He looked me up and down. “If you haven’t figured out how she’s been paid by now, then you’re not nearly as clever as I thought.”

Chapter 71

Jenk left soon afterward. I’d cast Resurrection on the hordes of dead zippers in the Shrill’s large intestine, and I’d had the Incision talent already plotted out and ready to go. If he’d made a move to attack, I’d have activated the talent, which would’ve opened up the intestine he sat upon, dropping him into a tube filled with ravening, undead zippers.

But he left without incident, and I was relieved at that. I was overwhelmed with the possible revelations, one after another. Mary. Ruth. Clara. Could any of it be true?

I went about the Shrill, healing the best I could, my mind still reeling. I killed pig spiders, regenerating my soul power.

Banksy and Clara remained in Hell, occasionally grappling with retreating armies. I told Banksy to hold tight, to wait for me. I would be there soon, and I would bring the Shrill. But I had some things to take care of first, so it would be several hours.

Killing Lamashtu had rocketed Banksy up to level 49.

What was I going to do? Everything had gone wrong. I couldn’t stop thinking about Jenk and Clara and Ruth and Mary. Diego. She’d fucking named the dog Diego. And then I got mad at myself for caring about a stupid dog when my daughter was in jail, scared and all alone.

No, not alone. Not yet. She was going to have a baby girl. I don’t lie, Jenk had said. Could that possibly be true? It couldn’t be.

What had Anatoly said to me? I’m creating a digital playground. He’d never said anything that directly contradicted Jenk. Clara had. She’d weaved a whole story. She was afraid of Jenk, that I believed. She hated him. But I had caught her in multiple lies, too. Her story had changed. Fuck.

What if everything Jenk had said was true? What could I do?

For one thing, I had to finish the game. No matter what the truth was, time was ticking. I couldn’t pull it off without Clara. 

I brought myself back to my base, sat on my couch, and I pulled Count Fronz out of my bag.

“Lad?” the caterpillar said, looking up at me. “You okay, mate? You don’t look so good. I mean, worse than usual.”

I grasped the top of the lantern, and I twisted, opening it up. The glowing sigil under his feet faded away. The caterpillar looked down at the base of his lantern with surprise.

“I need your help,” I said.

“You realized you just set me free, right?” he said. “I can just teleport away from here now.”

“I know,” I said. “I should have let you go long ago. I’m sorry about that. But I wanted to ask something of you. As a friend.” 

“Sure,” he said hesitantly. “I’ll help you if you help me. What do you need?”

“Two things, actually,” I said. “First, I have a couple questions about your old boss. King Vinea. And second, I was hoping you could deliver a message for me.”  

***

I reviewed Banksy’s stats, spells, and regen spot. At this point, there wasn’t too much I could change. Once he hit fifty, everything I configured now would become permanent. But I did have an idea. I made an alteration on his configuration in the familiar menu, and then I shot him a message telling him what I’d done.

Banksy: Uh, father. Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Duke: Not even a little bit.  

***

Entering Necroshire.

A sundered guard startled at my sudden appearance in the transport gazebo.

“Halt,” he cried, pulling up his gun.

“How is it you guys still have control over this town?” I asked as I initiated my shield. I waved up at the sky. “Little Cibola is gone.”

Before he could answer, a swarm of surgical imps appeared, overwhelming him. Sparks flew everywhere as he was brutally disassembled.

“Hey guys,” I said, relieved. “Thanks for the backup!”

The lead imp squawked at me. He rushed up and actually hugged me, grasping onto my neck while he clutched onto his drill. My shield was still initiated, and it formed about me like an impermeable second skin. Despite this, I could still feel the powerful hug. The hairy bastard was a lot stronger than he looked.

I’d given them a head’s up that I was coming by grabbing myself a quick, easy upcycle I’d yanked out of a dead taurisian’s face. It changed my jawline by just a fraction, but it added +1 to my charm. Just as the upcycle commenced, I’d told them I’d be visiting and asked them to meet me at the gate.

I called up my map. “So, guys. I’m not looking for surgery right now. I happened to notice a shop the last time I was here. It’s called ‘Superior Sigils.’ It’s only a few doors down from Shu’s shop. I need to get there. I’d go to the shop in Medina, but it’s not so safe for me right now.” A trio of sundered police cars ripped around the corner, lights and sirens blazing. I pulled my Epiviper. “Think you can help me get there? I need to buy a ton of supplies.”

The lead imp squealed. He produced not one, but two drills. He tested the triggers, and both drill bits sang.

***

I removed the potion from my pack and stared at it. I read the description again.

Extract of Colo Colo Menses (Quantity: 5)

This potion has a 50% chance of rendering the user Blind for a period of ten minutes, a 25% chance of giving the user Invulnerability for two minutes, a 24% chance of moving the user immediately to the next player level, and a 1% chance of imbuing all three options. In addition, there’s a 25% chance of immediately teleporting the user to the womb of Guardian Colo Colo. This is a limited potion, and the player may only consume five of these potions in their lifetime. Consumed: 0/5.

I had initially received two of these things from Stolas, and I’d sold one. Later, just a day before Stolas had been taken out by Andras, I visited the owl a second time and purchased four more. I’d been debating whether or not to actually use these for some time. The potential benefits now outweighed the pitfalls.

Clara told me she’d also sold one of hers, and she’d tried the second. She didn’t go up a level nor had she teleported to Colo Colo. She’d received the Invulnerability buff. A waste.

I wasn’t too keen on the idea of being blinded and then thrown into the womb of a kaiju filled with hippo-sized rat monsters. I’d already spent more time in monster wombs than I cared to. My Potion Expander skill was a double-edged sword. If struck blind, I’d remain blind for twenty minutes, not 10.

But I’d also go up two levels, not one. And now I had the Recall spell, so I could get out of there.

I knew Colo Colo was currently half-floating, half-lumbering toward the city. She was easily the slowest moving of all the guardians, and she’d fallen far behind the group. She was currently traversing over the hinterlands at the moment, not too far from Bast’s stomping grounds.

I pulled the first potion, popped the cork, and I drank. The potion tasted like pure blood, and I held back the urge to vomit. Most potions tasted like nothing.

The world went dark.

You’ve been rendered Blind!

As the words faded, my interface disappeared, replaced with nothing but a 20-minute countdown timer and my health bar. I realized with horror that I couldn’t navigate any menus, which meant I wouldn’t be able to cast any spells. It was the equivalent of having Silent cast on you in other games, only way more terrifying. I clutched onto the corner of my chair to confirm I hadn’t been teleported away.

Well, shit. That changed things. 

As I waited for it to time out, I had an idea. I tried the upward cross motion that called up the spell menu. I usually didn’t bother with the hand motions because you could pull up the window a lot more quickly with your mind if you knew what you were doing. But I made the motion, and I felt the distinctive haptic buzz of the menu opening.

I could still cast spells. I just couldn’t see what I was doing.

The second time I prepared the Recall spell and left it open on the top right of the screen so I’d know exactly where to click.

I drank again.

Level Up!

Level Up!

You are now level 51!

“Yes!” I said, pumping my fist in the air. Drunk with victory, I drank the third one.

You are Invulnerable!

A two-minute timer started to descend as a yellow glow overwhelmed me. I quickly drank the fourth.

Level Up!

Level Up!

You are now level 53!

You may not consume another potion for sixty seconds.

Damn. Potion sickness. I hadn’t realized that was a thing in this game. My invulnerability would wear off before I could drink the fifth and final potion.

I spent the minute fiddling with my stats. I tossed the four points equally between strength and durability.

Once the timer ended, I drank my last potion, hoping to get lucky a third time.

You’ve been rendered Blind!

Entering – Colo Colo – Womb region.

Deep Dive Activ…!

I was submerged in a warm liquid, legs over head as the notification faded away. I bounced off something meaty that grunted and squealed before I was pushed against what felt like a sheet of flesh that wrapped around my face, neck, and chest. I felt myself screaming, but instead I sucked in a mouthful of wet, rancid skin and a torrent of amniotic fluid.

Warning! You’ve been poisoned!

Damage taken! Damage taken!

Noise erupted all around me, screams and trills and an all-encompassing vibration. The otherworldly shrieks cut through the liquid, sounding haunted and terrified and angry. Something pushed by me, causing me to twist as I scrambled into a tight ball, trying to get the flesh off my face. Instead of pulling away, the flowing skin wrapped around me like a towel, holding my head in place. Shit, shit, shit.

My health decreased. It’d been a long time since I’d been poisoned, though, and I was a hell of a lot stronger than I was the last time. I still didn’t know if poison wore off or if it remained until cured. Thanks to my high durability, it would take a long time for it to zero me out at this rate. An hour at least, possibly longer. I had an antidote potion attached to my waist, but I had no idea which potion was which. 

I had to get out of here. I put my mind into the top corner and clicked.

Nothing happened. I clicked again, moving the invisible cursor. Nothing. I clicked a third time. This time I felt the distinctive whoosh of the window closing. Mother god damn. I’d accidentally closed the damn window.

Fuck me.

A massive form pressed against me, pushing me even tighter against the amniotic sac. The skin holding my head twisted further, and I started to feel enough pressure that I worried about being choked out, or worse, my head just twisting off like a soda cap. While I could breathe in water and in poison gas, I could still be choked or suffocated, and I was in serious danger here.  

I grasped my knife, and I slashed forward, cutting the sac.

Now, I’d made a lot of stupid decisions up to this point. I am fully, 100% aware of this.

In fact, if we took every decision I’d made since that day I sat down in front of Anatoly in the coffee shop and then listed out the stupid ones, I’m certain that list would be very long. And if we then decided to call out my top-10 stupidest moments, my impromptu decision to pierce Colo Colo’s sac of amniotic fluid would probably end up somewhere near the top.

Chaos erupted all around me.

Cutting open the sac had the same effect as sticking a needle into a water balloon. The same thing had happened with the Shrill’s testicle. Only this time, the balloon was filled with a couple dozen rat/slug monster babies who apparently weren’t supposed to be released into the womb at this point in their development.

The liquid rushed away with a mighty slurp, like sewage being sucked down a drain. The mass of skin wrapped around my head did not drop away, and instead of floating underwater, I was now hanging by my face, flaying around and blind. A terrible, soul-wrenching squeal filled the chamber, followed a moment later by the bellowing echo of Colo Colo, who knew something had gone terribly wrong within her own uterus.

I heard another pop, followed by a splash. Then another. As I hung there by my head, flailing and blind, I realized the guardian must have multiple monster-filled sacs within her massive womb. The premature rats had plummeted into the uterus and flailed about themselves, opening up more sacs, releasing more of the monsters until the entire womb was a thriving mass of biting, screaming, angry, and scared beasts who didn’t know where they were or what was happening.

So they chewed. I couldn’t see them, but I heard them. They ate their way out of the womb and released themselves into the belly of the guardian, becoming progressively more enraged as they burrowed out.

My foot hit something solid. A monster, incredibly close, squealed. How’d it get so close? I thought they were all the way below. The truck-sized beast twirled and snapped as I lifted my legs. It latched onto something, though, and started ripping. My whole body started to sway back and forth.

I managed to get the knife back into its sheath at my waist. I couldn’t cast spells, but I could control my grappling hook. I switched on my shield and then selected the flamethrower attachment. I couldn’t cut myself free, lest I fall. I didn’t dare shoot my hand out to grab anything else. The roof of the womb was directly above me, and they were right below me. I kept the flamethrower ready in case I needed a weapon.

The world jerked, and the flap of skin holding my head started to slowly unravel. I felt myself twisting and lowering at the same time. I was about to drop.

And then, before I could deselect the flamethrower and switch to my grabber, I did drop. But I only fell a couple feet before I crashed on top of a solid, wet, angry mass of slug rat who went absolutely berserk the moment I touched him.

Yes, cutting the sac of amniotic fluid could easily be considered one of my stupidest moves.

It paled in comparison, however, to what I did next.

I was blind. I was in an enclosed space. I was surrounded by hairy and angry monsters. And I shot my flamethrower.

Here’s an interesting fact. The amniotic fluid of the guardian Colo Colo is quite flammable. 

***

You have died 21 times.

“Blackjack,” I said as I respawned. I looked at the ceiling of my base. The sign that read Home Sweet Home was the only adornment. I need to put more decorations up there, so I have something pretty to look at when I come back.

I was laughing, but I couldn’t remember why. Which made me laugh more.

I returned to the cockpit and eased myself into the chair. I didn’t initiate control.

I gave myself a moment. I did this thing when I died now. Dr. Metcalf’s disassociation theory. It worked, sort of. I was getting good at it. The problem was getting out of that zone. It was getting more and more difficult to ease back into sound thinking once I returned.

I looked up at the fleshy ceiling of the cockpit. I still felt like I was falling, spinning in the fiery abyss. It hadn’t seemed like two minutes and twenty seconds. It felt like much, much longer.

“Hey, Shrill. Zagan, if you’re listening, I’d really like to talk to you,” I said. He didn’t answer. “Your child is dead. So is Lamashtu. Raguel and Jeremiel are gone. Paskunji isn’t dead, but she’s out of the fight. A bunch of your brothers and sisters are down or dead. Beleth, Vinea, Paimon. I forget the rest. It’s a fucking slaughter.”

The world rumbled.

“Look,” I continued. “I don’t know if this helps or not, but I’m sorry how it’s turned out. I know what it’s like to lose someone. And to hold a grudge. Christ, man. It’s partially my fault. But there’s someone else who is even more responsible. I’m going to try to make it right. Or maybe there is no right. You know, after something terrible has happened? We spend so much time trying to fix things when we just need to accept that they’re broken and they’ll always be broken. But there is justice. I guess that’s what I’m going for. Justice. And to do that, I need your help. Fuck, you’re not listening, are you? Raguel said your mind is goo. You and me both, brother. But I need you. Do you think we can work together?”

A tentacle lowered from the ceiling. A large, blinking eye stared at me. A dripping mouth opened.

“Who kill? Baal? Kill Baal?”  

“No,” I said. “Not Baal.”

Chapter 72

Days without food: 2.

“Christ, Duke,” Clara exclaimed when I teleported into her base. “Where the hell have you been? I was about to go knocking on Baal’s door without you!”

I looked at Clara for a long moment. I thought of everything Jenk had said.

I wanted to say so many things. I wanted to throttle her and demand answers. I couldn’t. Not now. No matter what the truth was, I needed her. I desperately needed her.

I saw genuine worry and concern there.

Deep breath. Deep breath. I felt myself ease.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ve been keeping in touch with Banksy. I guess he hasn’t told you.”

“I can’t go out there,” she said. “The air in hell is poisonous to celestials. I hadn’t thought about it until I poked my head out. I think Raguel was dying the whole time he was fighting.”

“Huh,” I said. “I had no idea.”

“Anyway,” I said. “The Shrill and I are about to cross into hell. I wanted to zap into here and give you a head’s up. I want you to get yourself a skill called Jaw. I got access to it when I hit level 50.”

“You hit 50? How? Was it the potions?”

“Yep,” I said. “The potions. Anyway, the skill…”

“I know what it does,” she interrupted. “I already have it, and it doesn’t work on Banksy.”

“That’s good to know,” I said. “But I’m glad you have it.” 

Jaw only cost 1 skill point, and it only had a single level. It had a singular purpose: it allowed one to understand what a controlled guardian was saying. I couldn’t imagine how the skill was useful in the single-player version of the game, though I suspected there were some scenarios where you could get NPCs to drive some of the kaiju. In the co-op version, it allowed me and Clara to talk to one another while we were the Shrill and Avvinik.

“What about Jenk?” Clara asked. “Has he been causing trouble out there?”

“He’s a level 1 groundling,” I lied. “There’s nothing he can do.”

She nodded, thoughtfully. “So you, me, and Banksy, then? The three of us against Baal?”

I grinned. “Let me bring the Shrill over, and I will explain it all.”

***

“We are two days without food, so if this doesn’t work, we’re fucked. You realize that, don’t you?” Clara/Avvinik said after I explained the plan. “We’ll have to start over!”

I still heard the speech as grunts and growls. It translated the words at the bottom of my screen like I was watching a movie with subtitles.

“It’ll work,” I said, waving a tentacle. When I spoke, the words came out of all my mouths. I didn’t know how to not make it work like that. As a result, the words boomed, louder than I would like. “The clues are all there. It’s a secret path, a secret ending. I know it. We can’t beat Baal, and we can’t negotiate peace, not without an angel. It’s the only way.”

“We can wake up Paskunji,” she said.

“No,” I said. “First off, I won’t be able to for another couple days.” I knew that soon, a black sprout would bloom out of the guardian’s chest, and once that happened, one could pull it and set the guardian free. That was the last thing we needed right now. “And secondly, she will not negotiate. You did not see the cutscenes, and I did. I know her. Paskunji is the worst of the lot. I truly believe this is the only way.”

“Duke,” Clara said. The panther’s eyes were wide with fear. “This is crazy. This is a game, not real life. You can’t just make this stuff up as you go along. These are NPCs, not real, living creatures. There are rules, a set path one has to follow to win. It’s not going to work.”

Banksy: He’s coming.

I grinned at Clara. I felt the hundreds of mouths across my bulk curve into a rictus smile. “If it’s not going to work, someone hasn’t told him yet.”

“Told who?”

I lifted a heavy tentacle and pointed at the towering form of Baal as he lumbered toward us from across the landscape.

***

A thorn-covered, hulking figure walked before Baal. He was comparatively short, a minor hell guardian at best, no more than fifty feet tall. Count Fronz. He’d delivered my invitation, and Baal was coming out to meet us.

An army of taurisians and a handful of minor guardians marched behind their leader as he approached, a carpet of ants compared to his size. He lumbered slowly but steadily toward us.

Baal looked much like the painting in the worm surgeon mausoleum. He was a black and red-skinned humanoid figure, twice as tall as the Shrill. While not quite as big as Miftah had become, he cut a menacing presence. The bull-headed beast towered, moving like a living tidal wave of death. The well-muscled monstrosity stood upon satyr legs, similar to the ones I now had. He wore no clothes except a ragged loincloth. His pectorals bulged comically, looking more like breasts than muscles. Each nipple was pierced with a metal circle the size of a Ferris wheel. A pair of smoking bat wings hung upon his back. I imagined if spread out, he’d have a wingspan of almost a mile. He dragged a flaming morning star, a building-sized stick with a chain attached to a spiked ball. The ball wasn’t perfectly round, but oblong-shaped and lumpy. I had the distinct impression the weapon was a repurposed meteor. The hunk of rock was almost as big as Paimon’s colossal hammer. A single hit from that thing would split me in half. Hell, it looked as if it would split the very world in half.

Emperor Baal

Rank 1 in the demonic hierarchy. The leader of the underworld.

May be evoked for binding purposes only. Requires Evocation level 5. May only be evoked by Radiant or Viceroy race.

Has two forms: Hell Emperor and Fallen Angel.

“And you wanted to fight him,” I muttered as he approached.

“I don’t know how you’re so calm,” Clara said. “If he kills us now, we are dead. Like dead dead.”

An hour passed before he was close enough to speak. As big as he was, he moved slowly, deliberately. Almost painfully. The crown over his head blazed, twice as bright as any of the others. Baal paused at the mangled form of Paimon on the field. The hell guardian had shrunk upon death. Baal took a knee and gently lifted the tiny, dead creature. Baal held his head to the sky and howled, a heartfelt, mournful lament. He looked at me, hate in his eyes. I felt myself involuntarily shuffle back.

Just as I was about to say what I’d been practicing in my head, I was ripped out of direct control. I stumbled back in my chair, surprised. What the hell?

“Your child did this,” Baal said. “Your child killed our brother.”

“Yes,” I heard the Shrill rumble.

My menus paused, much the way they did in the rare cutscenes. Tension rose as I watched the interaction through the screen. I was hoping to talk to the demon into joining forces with me. If this cutscene ended with us fighting, we were fucked.

Baal carefully placed the dead form of Paimon on the ground. Paimon’s body was like a grain of rice in the demon’s hand, and it plummeted to the rocks as he turned his palm. The emperor turned toward the nearby body of Lamashtu and Miftah, huddled on the ground in an embrace. He reached for the dead fallen demon with a single finger, then drew back.

“So much loss. So much pain,” he rumbled.

Count Fronz, in his thorn carcass form shuffled forward, pointing up at the Shrill.

“Where is Duke? Where is the worm surgeon?”

“Inside,” the Shrill thundered.

“I will speak with him,” Baal said, standing to his full, terrifying height.

The ceiling tentacle dropped. “Direct control,” it grunted.

I nodded. My hands shook as I pressed the button to reinitiate direct control.

I once again took the form of the Shrill.

Avvinik had moved to be right next to me. The mighty panther trembled in fear. Banksy did the same, sliding to my left. The wave of demons and hulking minor guardians moved to surround us.

I looked at the enormous demon. “I am here,” I said.

“Do you have the authority to negotiate peace?” the emperor of hell said. “You are nothing more than a human.”

“No. No, I can’t,” I said.

Quest Failed. Celestial Quest – Broker Peace Between Heaven and Hell. 

Shit. I hope this next part works.

The demon hung his head for a moment. The army encircling us bristled.

“I am tired,” Baal said. A pause. “I am tired, and I am old. All I have fought for is lost or dead or dying.” He lifted his arm, indicating the horde of demons and minor guardians surrounding us. Many of the minor guardians, I saw, didn’t have crowns blazing after their names. These weren’t just the royalty, but the people. The children of the damned. “All I have left is what you see. My family. I just want to take them home. But if I can’t do that, then why are you here?” He raised his hand holding the chained meteor, as if preparing to strike.

“I cannot negotiate peace,” I said, lifting a tentacle, pausing his attack. “But I can do the next best thing. I can lead you home. All of you. I know the way.”  

***

I held my breath. Baal paused, as if considering.

Please wait…

He lowered his weapon.

When the celestial quest first appeared, it had come with glowing, golden letters. This new one came with even more fanfare, but the words were made of fire, and they encompassed the entire screen.

Hell Quest – Break into Heaven.

All efforts at peace have failed. The world burns, and hell overflows.

The damned, and their children, flee. They seek redemption, as we all do. And in the end, the very end, all roads lead home, in one way or another.

Lead Baal into Medina and break open the gates to the heavens.

Reward: You will win Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon.

“Holy fucking shit,” Clara said.

“That’s the understatement of the day,” I replied.

Chapter 73

“Someone once told me that King Vinea is the one who originally broke open the rift,” I’d said to Count Fronz in the moments after I’d freed him from his lantern. “Were you there? Did you see him do it?”

The caterpillar had crawled up the side of the open-top container, easing himself onto the lip, as if afraid it was a trap. He looked down over the edge, his head waving back and forth.

“I saw him do it the second time, lad. I was right there. He’d had help the first time. It was actually Jeremiel who got it started. He’d opened it up to let Zagan out. But Vinea figured out how to make the hole, uh, bigger.”

“So, I have this spell now,” I said. “I stole it from Miftah. It’s called Rend Dimension, but the details are a little light. I do know it takes twenty minutes to cast, and that it uses a heck of a lot more soul power than I have. It’s meant to be cast while one is in hell, but I’m not going to be in hell when I cast it. I’m going to be here where soul power is at a premium.”

The worm nodded. “That’s the spell. Here’s the thing, mate. You can’t just cast it anywhere. Each world, each dimension has a point where the threads connect. If you want to punch open a doorway, you gotta cast that spell at the conjunction. We couldn’t even find the conjunction point until Jeremiel opened it up to let Zagan out. But after the first war, it got closed up tight. But the point is still there. It’s always there. Like a pinprick in reality. So Vinea cast the spell, opened up the hole, and a few weeks later we blew it open.”

“So if I know where the conjunction point is between this world and the celestial one, I can cast that spell, and it will open up the gate?” I asked.

“Sort of,” Fronz said. “It’s not like a big bang, and then there’s suddenly a rift. Usually the hole is small, sometimes tiny. Like small enough for someone my size to go through. And sometimes it only pops open for a second. That’s why only a few demons came through when this all started.”

“How does one blow it wide, make it like the rift?”

The caterpillar waved about anxiously. “It’s actually quite simple, mate. Once enough stuff that’s not supposed to be here comes through, it basically causes a quantum paradox. And a quantum paradox causes an explosion.”

“Like putting too much water into a balloon?” I said.

“If you say so, mate,” Fronz said. “When we opened it up this most recent time, a few demons came through. Then a few more. Then more. Then boom.”

I’d missed the early days of the season. The thing had already been rent wide open when I got here. But that made a sort of sense.

“Okay, so in order to break open the dimension into heaven, one needs to do the same thing? To get enough stuff through?”

“That’s right,” Fronz said. “But the celestial realm is a special place since it’s basically the source of all this. The connection between here and heaven is both more fragile and much more stout. I suspect when you open the gate, it’s only going to open for a second or two. And the hole will be small. And then it’ll be a while, a week or two before you can open it again.”

“Well, shit,” I said. “How much would have to get through to blow it open?”

“That’s the fragile part, mate. It won’t take much. About a guardian’s worth of foreign material will make it happen.”

“I need to get an entire guardian in there?” I said, thinking hard. “Okay, so if I have someone like you with me, and we jump in together in the second it’s open, all you need to do is transform into your thorn carcass form, and it’ll work?”

“Nope,” Fronz said. “At the celestial place, everyone only takes one form. And it’s whatever form they are when they get there. So if I go in as a caterpillar, I’m staying a caterpillar. And I ain’t going in there with you as a damn caterpillar. Have you seen my other body? It’s way cooler, mate.” He sighed. “Baal promised me I could be a thorn carcass as I walked down the celestial path. That’ll make them angels shit their breeches. I was gonna walk right up to the Creator and say, ‘my father was an angel name Sytri. He died because you didn’t want me to exist. Well here I am, grandpa. What’re you gonna do about it?’”

“If a guardian or demon can’t transform, and the gate will only be open a second, what can I do?”

“It’s a puzzle, mate. Oh, and you can’t evoke us, either. Evocation doesn’t work in heaven. You can ask the viceroy guildmaster about that one.”

“Shit,” I said again. “There’s no way to do it, then.”

“Not with that attitude there isn’t,” Fronz said. “Look, mate. You’re a good lad. But most importantly, you’re a smart lad. If you’re anything like Bernadette, then I know you’ll come up with something.”          

Chapter 74

Days without food: 4.

“You know,” Clara said through the mouth of Avvinik as we approached the line of kaiju guarding the smoking entrance to Medina. “If this were real life, some people might consider this the ultimate dick move.”

Rain poured. Lightning crashed across the sky.

I grunted. “If they really think that, then they haven’t been paying attention. I’d like to think I’ve been true to the spirit of the game.”

“Hardly,” Clara said. “How many times have we switched sides now?”

“This game is about healing,” I said. “That’s what we’re doing. You can’t sew a wound closed without putting stitches into both sides.”

Avvinik made a noise that might’ve been a laugh. “That’s some bullshit a grandma would post on Facebook. This game is about giant monsters and chopping people up.”

I snorted. “That too.” 

I had hoped that Baal would turn into his secondary form, that of a “fallen angel,” and we could get to Medina much more quickly. But for whatever reason, the game decided a slow, deliberate march from the rift, across the hinterland, and through the forest was the most dramatic way to storm the gates of heaven.

If the demon didn’t hurry his ass up, I’d get to the literal heavenly gates before he would. I didn’t know if my meat body’s water needs were being met. Dehydration would kill me a hell of a lot faster than starvation would. Four days. If my body didn’t have water, my situation was already dire. 

Over the past 24 hours, my body was giving me subtle signs that something wasn’t quite right. I would turn my head, and the world would spin. I’d have to blink a few times to stop it. Everything paused for a hair of a second, and then the scene would catch up, reminding me of old-school latency. It had only happened a handful of times, but it had happened twice in the past hour. Clara reported she was having the same issues.

“I don’t see Moritasgus. Or Orthrus,” Clara said. We were in direct control of the Shrill and Avvinik, standing at the edge of the forest, staring at the menacing forms of our former allies.

I couldn’t check their locations while driving, but several hours earlier, Orthrus remained at his respawn area, which wasn’t too far away. Moritasgus had disappeared not long after I’d lost control, and I assumed Jenk had him buried somewhere.

Behind the line of guardians, people streamed out of the city, heading toward the relative safety of Neo-Austin. I knew people were also pouring into Necroshire and a few of the other still-standing towns, such as Yelm. Everything is coming full circle.

Not everyone fled, though. The sundered set everything they had onto the field, including a pair of giant, howitzer-like guns I’d never seen before. Flying attack craft circled above the city. The radiants, who were without a guardian but were otherwise at full strength, marched onto the field, thousands of them armed with glowing staffs and flaming swords that seemed unaffected by the driving rain. A smattering of all the other races took to the field, though it seemed for most of them, their loyalties were torn. Most likely didn’t know what the hell was going on.

We had been forced to kill Colo Colo about an hour earlier. The slug kaiju had gotten herself bogged down in the forest and was inching her way toward Medina when Clara, Banksy, and I caught up to her. According to Clara, the giant guardian was potentially the strongest one if you followed the shade gremlin path. Last season Jenk had played the steam and technology-based race and had been required to build a giant mech to house the otherwise-squishy guardian. With a little bit of work, the slug rat had become an absolute marvel to behold.

But without an active shade gremlin character, Colo Colo was mostly useless. We set upon the floundering kaiju and took her out in only a couple minutes. Clara had popped her massive balloons, I’d ripped off the plates of armor, and Banksy had burrowed into her, splattering blood, guts, and half-formed rat monsters all over the forest. It was the second time in a week the slug had died by being eaten from the inside out. Banksy was now a hair’s breadth from level 50.

I sighed, gazing at the army that spread before us. Every lung-attached mouth in my body blew out a stream of breath. Trees cracked and tumbled over.

I had hoped to do this with minimal violence, but the game gods really seemed committed to making this a spectacle. I sighed again. This time it sounded like a war bellow.

I counted 14 guardians facing us, all spread out upon the still-smoldering battlefield in front of Medina’s gates. The missing kaiju were the aforementioned badger and two-headed wolf, both under Jenk’s control; the Opera, who Clara still controlled; and Paskunji, who still lay dead at the rift.

The rift, incidentally, had closed up and healed the moment Baal and his host of remaining demons had crossed over. Unlike last time, where the healing had created a rocky ridge, the entrance had smashed together and then sunk in. A caldera had formed, slowly filling with molten rock from an unseen source. It hissed and sizzled as the pouring rain pounded onto it.

The lake seemed to be growing, spilling into this world. It was still expanding when we’d marched away. It would have covered Paskunji by now. In time, I suspected the lava would encompass this entire world.

It is truly the end of days.

Baal and his host were currently crashing through the forest behind us, and they’d be here in minutes. 

Clara and I hadn’t been idle the past 48 hours. We’d been working non-stop to make sure this gambit worked. Yesterday, I’d risked teleporting into Medina to get to the worm surgeon mausoleum.

The worm surgeon neighborhood was in ruins when I arrived. The entire poor section of the city had turned into a war zone. Most had fled and were hiding outside of the city. The fighters remained. The battle-hardened veterans of the Charnel siege had fortified the block, pushing back against daily attacks from sundered and radiants. They were holding their own, but it was only because the two races hadn’t made a concerted effort to expel them from the city.

I had to run and fight my way to the mausoleum. I’d been forced to activate my Invulnerability, ruining my chance to use it in the coming battle. And even then I’d almost died when a groundling mech broke through a building and grabbed me. I’d jammed my flame thrower under the blast shield and roasted the driver alive before moving on. Bodies littered the streets. Humans fought humans. Demons fought demons. The whole town was pure anarchy.

Once I finally arrived, I told Fiona all that had happened, and I told her my plan.

I was expecting her to react with horror, but she did not.

“What do you want from us?” she had asked.

“Help evacuate the innocent from the city,” I said. “And then take all the fighters you can muster, and meet us at the temple.”

“The temple is in ruins,” she’d said. “I’m pretty sure it was your familiar who trashed it, or don’t you remember?”

“It’s only half ruined,” I said. “Don’t worry, we’ll get the rest tomorrow.”

***

Guardian Epsilon floated directly over the battlefield. Bubilas the wasp kaiju was the only other flying guardian, and she floated right next to him.

Behind me, Baal rumbled. Taurisians and zippers emerged from the trees.

Bubilas buzzed forward, her enormous wings scattering debris across the battlefield. Below her, the radiants struggled to remain in formation. The guardian brought her massive stinger up, and it glowed. A blast of wind shot forth, and the smaller demons scattered back into the woods, being swept away like pawns off a chessboard.

“Ah, shit,” I said.

I was worried about that. Bubilas had just used a special attack, probably her 5-minute strike. Normally, the guardians didn’t use any of their specials unless they were under direct control.

But now that the guardians were our opponents, it appeared the system had removed that restriction. Of course it had.

“You’re gonna have to do it,” Clara said.

“I promised Fronz I’d let… holy fuck!”

The wasp exploded out of the sky as Baal’s meteor flail smashed into it. The wasp rocketed backward, falling into the city and bowling over buildings as she tumbled and splattered against the streets of Medina.

Baal roared and burst into the field, emerging west of us. A host of fifty-foot minor hell guardians screamed as they rushed toward the defenders.

The sundered war machines went to work. Blue and red energy pulses poured out of the hundreds of flying tanks as they lumbered through the air.

The twin howitzers fired, the sound terrifyingly loud. One struck Baal directly in the chest, and he staggered back, almost falling. The second blasted a wide swath of forest, creating a crater a quarter-mile wide. A dozen minor hell guardians were simply gone.

Holy shit. If we had access to those things, we’d have finished this game months ago.

Duke: Banksy.

Banksy: I felt them. They will be dealt with.

The guardians attacked. Most turned toward Baal. But a few also turned their attention on us. Bast, Tem, Warble, and the octopus-like Kanaloa roared and shrieked as they barreled in our direction.

“Okay, we have four on the line,” I said. “Time to run.”

Beside me, Avvinik tensed. We needed to kite the monsters into the city, which meant we had to go around them, and we had to keep them alive. I needed at least two of them to survive for this to work.

“Who are we picking,” Clara asked.

“Bast and the beetle one.”

Above, Epsilon burst higher into the sky, unleashing a sonic boom the shook the battlefield. The robot kaiju started to transform as he rocketed upward. He disappeared into the clouds before I could see what he was doing.

Baal, extra pissed-off at having a hole blown into his chest started spinning his flail in a circle. It helicoptered over both Avvinik and me, forming a circle of flames in the sky. Sundered airships, who had been feebly shooting at Baal, scattered away. They started falling like hail.

At this point, the radiants realized that standing on the ground between two armies of kaiju was a terrible idea. Their orderly formation, already blown into disarray by the wings of the wasp guardian, descended into an absolute panic.

That panic doubled the moment Banksy pulled one of his signature moves, rocketing out of the ground and scrapping the two howitzers. My pet looked to the sky and cast Descending Angel on the sundered cars. Nothing happened. Apparently it didn’t work against technology-based vehicles.

Banksy dove back into the earth before he could get attacked.

I cast Xura, hoping the odd charm spell would have some sort of effect on the approaching guardians. It didn’t faze them, but the radiant’s retreat was suddenly much more orderly. Many were trampled underfoot by the charging behemoths. I still didn’t know what the damn spell did. It was almost like it made them temporarily drop acid or something.  

I popped out of direct control, yelled at the Shrill to run like hell toward the temple, and I set my respawn to Bast. I cast Recall.

Entering Bast – Player Base. Restricted area. Access granted by brand.

I waved away the rest of the notifications as I rolled into Anatoly’s apartment.

I burst through the apartment, kicking open the front door and diving into the intestine.

Bast’s interior roiled like a barrel spinning down a hill. I hit the surface, crunching several of the crabs who’d given me my first experience points. I shot out with my hook, attaching to the surface of the intestine as the crabs attempted to swarm. The feeble bites barely tickled me as I shrugged them off. I retracted, pulling myself up. I pulled my Epiviper and fired, not bothering to waste soul points on an incision. I jumped into the first artery I could find and then rode the vessels into the lion’s head. I popped out into the small chamber, looking around.

Small, humanoid parasites infested the sinus cavity just below the kaiju’s brain. I’d never seen this kind before. They seemed somewhat intelligent. The small, hobbit-like things wore armor made of bones and leather. One of them gibbered at me, raising a spear. 

I didn’t have time to adjust my Antiparasitic. If I just cast it, it’d kill everything in the lion, which would result in the monster being much stronger. I didn’t want him stronger.

Instead, I used my pulse rifle. I made short work of the monsters as the world all around us shook.

Finally alone, I opened my pack and pulled out the small wax disk. I placed it on the ground, and without wasting any more time, I cast Evocation.

I only needed Evocation level 1 for this particular demon, and he came easily, popping into existence on the center of the evoking plate. The plates were much easier to use than just pouring the salt onto the ground. One simply had to scratch the sigil out in the wax. The damn things were expensive, though, and they didn’t last as long as the salt if they weren’t placed in containers. The demon took the form of a glowing crow, who screeched loudly and angrily in surprise. Bast shook again, this time violently.

Don’t kill him, goddamnit. I need him alive.  

“What is this? What is the meaning of this?” the angry bird screamed. He turned in the dark chamber, his eyes widening when he saw me. He glowed brighter then charged, attempting to skewer me with his beak. He was stopped by the invisible wall binding him.

Earl Raum

Rank 35 in the demonic hierarchy. A vassal of King Beleth.

May be evoked to steal, open locks, and can identify parts for steam-based automatons. Requires Evocation level 1.

Has three forms: A Crow, a Human Radiant, or a Crown Gargoyle.

Christ, rank 35. When I had purchased the sigil from the shop, he was rank 50-something. The demons were dropping like flies.

“Okay, no time to chat,” I said. “I have another one of these things to plant, and this was the easier of the two. The next one will be a real bitch, so listen up. I don’t need you for any of the crap you normally do.”

The crow demon paused his tirade to look at me, bewildered.

I pointed my Epiviper up at the ceiling, and I fired. Bone chipped away. I fired a second time, and a larger chunk of bone fell to the floor, revealing the beige, fleshy membrane that encased the brain. Bundles of nerves and lymphatic vessels snaked across the outside of the membrane like white, fatty electrical cables. Smoke filled the chamber. I waved it away.

“See that bundle of nerves right there? You’re going to fly up there and cut them in two for me. But you gotta wait for the signal. Got it? Get the signal, complete the task, and you’re free.”

“Wait,” the crow said. “Where the hell are we? And what will the signal be?”

“The signal will come in the form of a small, screeching bat.”

***

Gusion the baboon-like demon threw handfuls of his own poop at me as I set my regen back to my home base and hit Recall.

I’d had to waste the Shrill’s 5-hour attack—Hypnos—on getting Tem to pass out in order to get in here. He wouldn’t be out for much longer. Outside, Avvinik still grappled with Kanaloa, the octopus kaiju of the leechers. It was the only one of the four who hadn’t succumbed to my sleep spell. The octopus kaiju had cast a terrible spell that caused the Shrill to start smacking himself in the face and trying to dig out his own eyeballs. He was in the process of pulling out one of his larger eyes when I returned from Bast. I’d cast my Soothe talent, which negated the psionic attack. Meanwhile, Tem the beetle blasted Avvinik with a fireball while Bast slammed the panther to the ground in a whirling, ferocious special attack. I’d been forced to knock all of them out. All except the octopus.

The fire-breathing stag beetle had a completely different interior system than any other biological kaiju I’d been in so far. I had no idea how to kill him easily from the inside. The invertebrate didn’t have a traditional brain as far as I could tell, and in the precious minutes I had, I didn’t have time to figure out what made the thing tick. It didn’t have blood, and I couldn’t use my BloodBorne skill. The majority of the bug’s larger cavities were filled with a gooey substance called hemolymph. So instead, I crawled to the back of the fire-breathing beetle’s head, burrowed through the chitin until I found an empty space, and I placed the demon in there. I cast Diagnosis, and I learned the long, snake-like heart muscle was just about the most important organ. It ran the length of the beetle’s body, where a spine would be on a mammal. In addition, other mysterious organs surrounded the area, including something that was like a brain, but not quite. Hopefully I had it covered. I left the baboon a gun and asked him to “fuck up as much shit as you can when you get the signal.”

He did not like the idea, but he reluctantly agreed to the contract, which caused the seal to fade away. And that allowed him enough movement to throw his poop at me.

Entering the Shrill – Player Base.

I sighed with relief as I instantly popped back into my living room. I was afraid Recall wouldn’t work now that everyone had crossed over what remained of the wall and into the city. One couldn’t normally use movement-based skills within Medina. But all those protections were now gone, lost with the shield.  

I entered the cockpit, strapped in, and reinitiated direct control in time to watch Epsilon’s attack.

Five smaller Epsilons rocketed from the heavens and slammed into Baal from above. He’d broken apart. The machines were still huge, each a couple hundred feet long. The force of the attack staggered the demon lord. He looked like a person beset by angry, mechanical babies. One of the five epsilons had a drill for a head, and he started penetrating the demon’s side. Another shot electrical charges. A third appeared to be attempting to inject some sort of liquid into the demon.

I watched in horror as Baal went crashing to the ground.

Damn it, Fronz, I thought. Where the hell are you? I couldn’t open up my guardian menu while I was in direct control. I was going to have to jump out to assist.

But then, a mini Epsilon went hurtling through the air. It skidded and crashed against the ground before zipping away, trailing sparks. Then a second did the same.

I watched, fascinated as the thorny Count Fronz jumped directly upon his emperor and fired a massive gun. The boxy, blue gun fired ring-shaped pulses at the mini-kaiju.

It was a quantum gun. I’d seen smaller, human-sized versions for sale in the tech shops. They were a technology-class only weapon. The human version was one of the only weapons stronger than my Epiviper. But this one, wherever it came from, was much bigger.

The former caterpillar was about fifty feet tall, yet he remained much smaller than the individual Epsilon pieces. He screamed and bellowed as he fired the gun over and over, pumping and firing like a shotgun, causing the remaining robots to disengage and retreat into the sky. Baal sat up, shaking his head.

Fronz ran after the retreating machines, continuing to scream. And once they were too far away, he threw his weapon at the flying robots. He fell to his monster knees and turned both of his middle fingers up at them.

And then, he saluted.

A moment later, a new sun appeared in the sky, burning through the clouds, turning the dusky light into a bright, unbearable radiance. For a moment, the fighting stopped as we all turned to this new source of light.

The rain boiled, turned to steam.

I’ll help you, Fronz had said. I’ll deliver your message to Baal, I’ll tell you what you need to know about Vinea and the gate. But you gotta promise to let me hit the button. I get to be the one to blow him up this time.

Every non-guardian that still remained on the field flew off their feet as the shockwave ripped over us. I cringed as the roar whipped at me, burning the south-facing half of my body. My health dropped by 30%.

The entirety of the forest was now in flames. Demon, angel, monsters, animals alike. If they were closer to that explosion, they were now dead.

I turned from the action and proceeded through the city, knocking over buildings like they were made of cardboard. I pushed ahead, trying to get to the temple. Behind, Clara continued to grapple with Kanaloa. I kept an eye on her, hoping I didn’t have to turn back. And beyond them, Tem, Bast, and Warble started to wake up. I slowed. I wanted to make certain they saw and followed.  

Banksy: Father. Watch out. Buried ahead of you, coming up fast.

I stopped dead. I felt the cobblestone street buckle underneath me. The spire we’d used to frame Olga groaned and leaned. It started to topple all around me, rising a plume of smoke into the wet air.

Moritasgus appeared, burrowing up from the middle of the city street. The badger emerged in a shower of dust and soot, rising like a nightmare, blocking my path. The distinctive indicator of a player driver glowed over the guardian’s head. But then it blinked out. I tensed to attack, but the badger did not move. He appeared frozen in place.

After a moment, I realized he’d been put to sleep.

What the hell are you doing, Jenk?

A moment later, Jenk prime—not the groundling version, but the lycan—appeared on the badger’s head. He must have logged out and then quickly logged back in, taking on his more powerful lycan character. The lycan produced what looked like a lawn chair and made a show of unfolding it. He sat down and crossed his legs like he was sunning himself in front of a pool. The tiny player looked up at me and waved. Olga teleported onto the kaiju, appearing with a pop. 

“Asshole,” I muttered.

He yelled something back, but I couldn’t hear. I resisted the urge to lash out with a tentacle and whack him into the next century. He’s holding up his part of the bargain so far. Leave him be.   

Behind, Kanaloa tumbled to the ground and did not get back up. Tem, Warble, and Bast scrambled toward Avvinik.

The remains of the temple loomed before me. I crunched my way around the badger and headed toward it. I kept an eye on Moritasgus as I rushed the temple.

Oh you fucking asshole, I thought. I saw it, the jaws of the trap in the moments before it sprang.

The familiar semi-circle shield popped up around Jenk at the same moment Avvinik turned and finally noticed the badger sitting there with her arch-enemy sitting on top, ripe for the taking like a tiny, wrapped present.

Avvinik only had one special attack left that would work against the badger. The fatal attack.

Hail and Kill.

She didn’t even hesitate. I watched in horror as the panther stood up on its back paws, pulling his front claws out. His body flashed three times like a camera shutter as the skin started to peel off his body.

Moritasgus, asleep, was immediately affected by the spell.

Hail and Kill caused anyone in its area of effect to cast their most powerful spell, and Moritasgus’s most powerful spell was Batshit Berserker. The badger leaped to its feet and started to glow. I knew in a moment, his insides would come out of him, reaching forward to melt and kill anything stupid enough to be close to him.

The Shrill was also in Avvinik’s wide area of effect.

My mind registered all of this in slow motion as my brain reached for the Eject button. Too slow. Too slow.

Shoggoth Activating.

Chapter 75    

Dread.

Every eye, every mouth, every nerve on the surface of my body snapped shut. I was frozen in place. Frozen in time. I stood upon an empty, colorless plane.

Go, a voice intoned in my mind. A deep, ancient voice. If you must defy me, then begone.

Why, why must you do this? Another voice asked. I immediately recognized it as a much younger-sounding Lamashtu.

Why? I will show you why.

A single eye on my flank, once the eye of a mouse, snapped open.

I saw, then.

I saw the mouse’s life. I was the mouse. Searching for food. Food, food, food. A mate. Children. So many children. I saw them die, one by one. Some starved, some snatched away, some eaten by my mate. Some eaten by me, when resources were light. I felt the pain, the loss. I felt it all, compressed into a single moment.

Condensed. Squeezed into a soul.

That’s it, isn’t it? Souls weren’t something one was born with. No, I knew that now. Souls, and the resulting power, they were the sum of one’s pain, one’s joy, one’s laughter, and one’s wanting. All captured and distilled and expelled upon death.

Energy doesn’t go away. It just takes another form.

And with the opening of that single mouse’s eye, the soul power shot forth. It wasn’t much. A blink. A flash. It had been a short life, but it had been a joyless one.

The beam of light reached no target. 

But the mouse’s eye was but the first to open, to see. Next was that of a frog, and then a fox, and then a boar, and a snake, snapping open one by one. I experienced their lifetimes one after another, until there were too many. And then I experienced them all at once.

A human. A woman. Her life flashed. My life. I lived it. I experienced it. I felt it all. My brain swelled. It cracked. It broke.

This eye, this human eye. It opened, and the light that shot forth finally hit a target. Another human, by chance. An NPC, fleeing the battle with his child. The man would eventually drop to his knees, and he would die screaming, his body overwhelmed by the sins of a woman he never met. His daughter, falling to the ground would get hit a moment later, but she would not die. This game did not kill children. But they suffered all the same, as all must suffer.

Another human eye opened, then another, and then all of them.

The demons came next, the angels. Aliens. Monsters. Gods, big and small.

I experienced all of their lives in a fraction of a moment.

This is what the Shrill was. This was the burden Zagan bore. This was his form. He chose to follow his brothers, but he did not choose to forget the suffering of the universe. Their father had tried to show them, and he absorbed it all.

With each opening eye, with each screaming mouth, with each nerve on fire, light shot forth from the Shrill, obliterating any mind it touched. And while I suffered, I also felt relief. Zagan felt relief.

It wasn’t much. A drop in the bucket. But some of the suffering was gone, let out into the void, released like a balloon into the heavens.

But not before it first filtered through my very human, very fragile brain.

Do not eject, Duke. Stay with me a voice called. I recognized it. Zagan. You have healed me. I will heal you.

“I have to eject,” I muttered. My brain was in a thousand pieces. Marbles rolling in a circle. A poster torn. Get home now. A pair of policemen standing at our door. A man sitting in a Starbucks. A groundling mother sobbing as I give her child away.

A small, crumpled form. Alone and dead on the freeway.

“You’re about to die,” I heard myself say. “I gotta leave your body before you move to your respawn.”

This is too much, I thought. This is too much.

No, Zagan said. It is not too much. It is the price we pay, the contract we sign.

I never signed a damn contract, I thought.

You did the moment you took your first breath, said Zagan. And then, when you decided to care for others, you signed it again. Every friend, every love, every child. None of that is free.

It’s not worth it. This pain is too much. Fuck. My brain. It throbbed.

You’re wrong, Duke. It is worth it. Every second. Would you trade it? Would you end it in exchange for never knowing him? Would you remove Chris from all memory?

A distant part of me wondered how the Shrill knew anything about Chris. But in the moment, I was overwhelmed. My brain felt as if it was shaking itself apart, like a hunk of space junk shredding its way through the atmosphere.

No. No, I would never trade it away.

Chapter 76

Entering Banksy the Gurt – Player Base.

An entire page of notifications scrolled by.

I crashed onto the floor, my head pounding.

Duke: Banksy, what’s going on?

Warning: You do not have a familiar. Obtain a familiar to use the chat feature of this pet carrier.

What the hell?

I shook my head. Everything still spun. The world flickered. I didn’t know if it was the latency or the… The what? I couldn’t remember what had happened. There was a mouse… That didn’t make sense. What the hell? Am I crazy? No, no I didn’t think so. But that’s what crazy people always thought, wasn’t it?

I remembered Zagan’s soothing voice.

No. It is not too much.

I couldn’t worry about it now. I knew the Shoggoth attack had activated. Light had blasted out of all the guardian’s eyes at once. And then I was here.

It took me a moment to understand what had happened. Banksy had leveled up to 50. He had transformed into his final form. He was now my associated guardian. My player base had transferred here from the Shrill. It looked exactly the same. It was the same. My Gross Anatomy map showed Banksy’s long, rippling form, perfectly healthy. Strange organs dotted his body. He was currently coiled like a snake, wrapped around something.

My former pet was bigger than ever. I couldn’t quite see how big from just the map, but if the size of my base, right in the back of his head, was any indication, he was one of the bigger ones. Not as large as the Shrill, but longer than sleek Avvinik and stout Bast. He’d at least doubled in size once again.

My brand access appeared to stay with the base, not the guardian. But what about my cockpit brand? I moved to the sliding door, my head still pounding. I needed to see what was going on out there.

The moment I touched the door, I received an error.

You do not have access to this area.

I pulled up my guardian menu. I still had control of the Shrill. But it was the only guardian on my register. He was listed as dead. He’d regenerate in 15 minutes, far from here. I didn’t have a controller for Banksy. My Epsilon controller was now gone, too.

I turned toward the vein wall and startled at the bright purple tube that now snaked through the room. Oh shit. I feared Banksy would be like Tem and not use blood. But on closer examination, it did appear to be blood. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen Banksy bleed. I hadn’t. He’d been injured multiple times. I remembered long, deep gashes on him. But he never actually bled. I didn’t know how scientifically accurate bright purple blood was.

I pulled up my talent menu, and I saw that many of my surgical skills had changed. I still had some of the basics like Antiparasitic, Incision, Patch, and BloodBorne. But several of the others, like Reroute, Detoxify, and Patch were gone, replaced with odd talents like Mutate, Emulsify, and Reclaim.

I suspected I would never learn what some of those did. For a moment, a fraction of a moment, it made me sad.

Clara popped into the room.

She looked about, eyes wide. “Oh shit, Banksy hit level 50,” she said.

She ran to me and grasped my hand. Her tiny hands were warm, but they felt rough, worn, nothing like how fairy’s hands should feel.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I saw him, and I just reacted. But that fatal attack. Wow. The Shrill killed almost everything in the whole city.”

I didn’t have time to be mad. I couldn’t be mad at her, not for that. Jenk was practically controlling her like a damn puppet. “What about the guardians who were following us? Tem and Bast?”

“They’re okay,” Clara said. “Or they were, last I saw. It’s been a few minutes. Warble isn’t okay. You hit him with a blast from one of your biggest eyes, and he just collapsed to the ground. You got Jenk, too. His shield didn’t stop it, and I watched him die. He fucking exploded like you’d shoved a grenade down his throat. Even Avvinik died. He was about to die anyway, but it was your fatal attack that killed him. It hit Avvinik, and all I heard was screaming. So I ejected before it got worse.” She shuddered. “I don’t know what the hell that attack is, but holy shit. Anyway, we have to get out there. We have to do it now before Jenk decides to come back. He can still mess this up.”

I twitched. I felt on my shoulders where the hawk had grasped me as I fled across the field. I blinked. The mouse again. No, not a mouse. This one was a rabbit. No, that’s not your memory. Stop that. Whatever had happened to me, the Shrill had removed it from me as he died. But not all of it was gone. Crumbs remained.

I blinked, bringing myself back to the present. Again, the scene stuttered. “Are they still there? Tem and Bast?”

“I don’t know,” Clara said. “You just asked that. Remember? Are you okay? We need to get out there. What does Banksy see?”

“I lost him. I don’t think I can talk to him.”

“Wait, wait,” Clara said, holding her hand up. “Dickinson just regenerated and is coming up. He’s describing the scene. He says Banksy is huge now. No surprise there. He’s curled around the remains of the temple, wrapped around it like a snake protecting his eggs. Bast and Tem are just outside, not daring to attack. I don’t think they know what to do. There’s a bunch of worm surgeons out there, too, he says. Baal is in the city, swinging his flail about, grappling with that clockwork centipede kaiju and the rhinoceros one who walks on two legs. …And Dickinson’s dead again. Damnit.”

“Okay,” I said. “We’re going out there. You protect my back, and I’m going to do this. We’ll do Tem first. The moment he dies, set a timer. Ten minutes. No more, no less.”

Clara grasped my arm. This was it, and we both knew it. End game. If we succeeded, we would never see each other again. Not on this side of the veil, at least.

“Duke,” she began. “I should…” She stopped. Her eyes had taken on that sheen, the watery, uncertain look, like a wild animal. Just like that. She’d been fine just a second ago. I didn’t see this particular version of Clara often. She was next to useless when she was like this. This was scared Clara, panicked Clara, not-in-her-right-mind Clara.

“Clara,” I began. “Jenk is getting into your head. Take a deep breath and…”

“I’m sorry,” she said, cutting me off. Her hands turned to fists as if she wanted to beat me. “God damnit. This is not what I wanted, not how I wanted it to end. If I could take it back, I would. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was going down the road, and I saw them there. Just stopped. And I did it. I did it. I did it. It wasn’t an accident. I did it on purpose.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. Jenk had known you were going to pull that attack. That’s why he stopped right there on the road. He can’t stop us, and he knows it. So he’s watching, trying to get into your head. He knew you’d attack. He knew exactly what was going to happen.”

Her eyes clenched shut. She took a deep breath, and I saw the calm come over her. “Okay, okay,” she said. The switch flipped once again. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

Banksy had several anal tubes, and I used BloodBorne to get as close to an exit as possible.

I’d been so worried about shoving Banksy up my own ass when I’d first gotten him, and here I was. I dropped out of my worm’s massive bunghole. I laughed as I used my claw to lower myself to the ground. I laughed and laughed. The cackle even sounded unsteady to my own ears.

“Banksy,” I cried as I hit the rocky, unsteady ground. “Banksy!”

I landed in the rubble of the Temple of the Chained Gods. I knew exactly where in the temple I stood, right at the intersection of the T. The roof of the building was gone. The ground was like churned earth after being plowed, but with rocks and smooth hunks of marble. The place smelled of blood and smoke.

No radiants remained, but I could hear the distinctive thwump of energy weapons. Clara and the worm surgeons were out there now, holding them off. Banksy wrapped around me, protective, keeping the other kaiju back.

And beyond that, Baal and his family finished mopping up the resistance. He wouldn’t approach, not yet. His part in this was mostly done. The game wouldn’t allow me to take this path without Baal at the gates, ready.

A massive head emerged from the top of the coil, looking down at me. It completely blotted out the sky. The rain had stopped for a while after the detonation of Epsilon, but it had returned. It stopped once again as Banksy blocked it.

“Father,” Banksy rumbled.

“You’re all grown up, kiddo,” I called up to him. “You don’t need me anymore.”

“I will always need you,” Banksy said. “Just because I’m bigger doesn’t mean you’re no longer my father.” He looked up for a moment then back to me. He still didn’t have eyes, but I somehow felt his piercing gaze. “You don’t have to do this. You can stay here, with me. I can protect you now.”

I felt the tears start to stream down my face. I’d cried a lot since I’d come here. I’m not ashamed to admit it. But it had stopped, for a while. I reached, and Banksy lowered his head further, straining to get it low enough to touch me. We held that way for a moment before he drew back.

“I would if I could,” I said. “But I’m leaving, one way or the other.”

Banksy nodded.

“I’m not real, am I, father?”

I was taken aback by the question.

We’re using the new quantum stacks for the server, Anatoly had said. Expensive, but their processing power is… it’s unbelievable. The AIs are getting better and better. It will change everything.

“This world is fake,” I said. “But you are real, I promise you that. You are just as real as I am.”

“When you’re gone, what’s going to happen to me?”

Jesus. “I don’t know,” I said. “But if it helps, some of us struggle with that same question out in the real world.”

“Maybe I’ll go to the same place.” He sounded hopeful, wistful. “Maybe there will be stars.”  

I nodded. “Maybe. I hope so.”

“Okay then, father,” Banksy said. “Go. Cast your spell, and I will protect you. Say hi to Ruth for me. Say hello to my sister.”

“I will,” I said. “I promise.”

“Goodbye, father. I love you. And if I do go to that place, I promise I will find your Chris, and I will tell him you said hello.”

Chapter 77

Thankfully, Gusion, the poop-throwing baboon managed to figure out how to kill Tem with minimal effort. I knew of the two kaiju I had demons planted within, Tem would be the harder to kill, so I had him go first.

A few minutes earlier, I had placed myself at the very tip of the T. At the space where the blinding statue of the creator once sat. At the place where the now-shattered statue of Paskunji had stood for a thousand years.

I’d felt it, the moment I stood over the correct spot. It was as if I had stepped upon a nail made of celestial power. It was an invisible thread, shooting straight into the air. I could pass my hand over it. Pain lanced through me, though I took no damage.

I swallowed hard as I opened up my spell menu. I had never told Banksy about Chris. How had he known? Clara must have told him.

But then, I no longer had time to think about it.

The moment Tem fell, my soul power bar surged to the very top, glowing yellow. Explosions ripped behind me. A new, final battle raged. But it was not for me.

I cast Rend Dimension.

The spell took twenty minutes to cast, and it required a constant, unending source of soul power. That was easy in hell where soul power permeated the very world, but here, I’d had to improvise.

I received my soul power bonus for just about ten minutes after the death of a kaiju. There was a residual trickle for the remaining ten minutes before the guardian blinked away and went to their respawn. But for this spell, I needed a constant, uninterrupted supply. So in order for this to work, I needed two guardians to die at a precise interval.

I rose into the air as the soul power leeched into me and then out again. I was cocooned in magic as that painful thread of celestial power pierced me. I was but a capacitor. I could not move. I could barely see. I was aware of the fighting around me, above me.

My health did not move, but that single, infinitely-thin thread of celestial power was the single most painful thing I had ever felt. I hadn’t realized it would be like this. I screamed, but no sound came.

This is too much. This is too much.

It is never too much.

If I’d learned anything in my time in this godforsaken place, it was one thing: to take pain.

It was all conditioning for this, I realized. Training, grinding. All preparation for the moment I would cast this spell.

Worm surgeons, radiants, sundered, and others had somehow gotten through Banksy’s protective circle. Then I realized Banksy wasn’t even there anymore. Several bolts crashed against my side, but I was protected, somewhat. With each hit, I could feel the spell falter. Enough hits, and it would fail.

Keep me safe, I cried wordlessly through the pain. Keep me safe.

Tem’s death waned. But then, right on time, Bast fell, and my soul power raged anew.

A whirlwind of fire spun around me. I caught nothing but glimpses. Banksy and Baal fought side-by-side, grappling with a new threat.

Paskunji. Of course, Paskunji. She was in her angel form, but she burned like the phoenix. She’d transformed. Her body was made of lava. She fought with a sword of molten chains, and she whipped it at me while Baal and Banksy blocked.

Baal alone would never have been able to hold her back. Clara flew by, firing her gun. Guildmaster Fiona was there, as was Renault. They fought the radiants. They died. They died protecting me.

Baal smashed Paskunji with his meteor, and the very world shifted. But I did not move. I was pierced by the pinprick within reality, held in agonizing place.

Banksy wrapped himself around the flaming angel, and he squeezed. Paskunji fell onto her side. She screamed, fire and lava flowing from every orifice in her body, washing over Medina, crashing toward me.

Banksy crashed to the ground, releasing the angel and throwing his body between me and the waves of lava. A moment later, Banksy was gone. I felt his soul power pouring into me.

Behind his body, Paskunji ceased to flail, and she died yet again. Baal fell right beside her, three terrible rents down his chest. First to his knees, then to the ground. He also crashed to the earth.

That’s not the plan, I tried to call. Don’t you fucking die, Baal. Not after all I have done.

Then it was just Clara, by herself, floating before me, screaming. She’d lost her gun in the fray, but she had that enormous soul mace she’d pulled off the dead demon. She swung it back and forth as the radiants and sundered advanced. The onslaught poured into me, and my spell faltered and sputtered as Clara died.

But then, the spell was done.

A hole opened in the world directly below me, yawning like a mouth. A small hole, but it was big enough.

I activated my shield as the spell released me, and I fell right through the hole in the second before it snapped closed.     

Chapter 78

Entering Heaven

Warning: You do not have access to soul power within this realm.

I emerged onto a solid, white plane. There was nothing here, no features at all. It was as if the game designers had decided to eventually make this a place, but they never got around to it.

Uh-oh, I thought as my soul power bar drained away on its own.

A light emerged. Whether a tiny light growing in size or coming toward me from a distance, I could not tell. A voice spoke, and the white, round light pulsed with each word. A woman, surprisingly. She sounded oddly like Mary, my wife.

“Duke,” she said. “You almost did it. You almost won. You got into heaven. But the gate is now closed. Everyone who was helping you is dead. The game won’t end until it is won, and winning will be difficult for you since you are stuck here.”

“Why aren’t there any features?” I asked, looking around. “There should at least be white, fluffy clouds or something. Fat, naked babies with harps, that sort of thing.”

My view changed, and a field emerged, growing from the ground. Cotton grew, bloomed all around me. The field didn’t end.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” I said. “But it’ll do, I guess.” 

The light didn’t answer. It hovered near me, expectantly.

I sat, falling down in the field. God, I was exhausted. And not just my body. I brushed my finger across the cotton. It didn’t feel quite right. A cool breeze whipped across my shoulders.

“You’re not the real god,” I said finally.

“How do you know?” the voice asked. Her voice was more curious than accusing.

“Well, first off, this is a fucking video game. But if it wasn’t, I would know you’re not the real god because he or she or whatever doesn’t exist. And you know what? That really sucks. I want to believe in you. That’s something people don’t understand when it comes to people like me. By god, I want to believe in you. I want it so bad. No pun intended. But even then, even if you were real, and I knew it, and I was here right now before you, I would look directly at you and say, ‘Fuck you, god. Fuck you for putting me in this situation. Fuck you for making me do everything I’ve had to do to get here. Fuck you for throwing my daughter down that path. Fuck you for creating this world, just so people can suffer while others look on and laugh. Fuck you for allowing my child to die. That’s what I would say.’”

The light pulsed. It did not answer. I had the feeling it was still processing.

“Besides,” I added. “You’re obviously not omniscient.”

“Why do you say that?”

Sometime in the past hour, my ability to cast Invulnerable returned. My ability to use that spell came from my armor, not my soul points, so I was fairly certain I could cast it if I wanted. I toyed with the idea as I watched the countdown timer plummet toward zero.

But in the end, I decided against it.

I stood and brushed myself off.

“If you were omniscient, then you would know what I chose as Banksy’s permanent respawn point.”

I grinned at the game AI in the second before I exploded.

***

Two minutes and twenty seconds never felt so good.

***

I never got to see the gate blast open, nor did I see the remaining demons rush the new rift and pour into the heavens. I don’t know if my fellow worm surgeons and other humans joined them, but I hoped so. I hoped whatever they found was everything they wanted in an afterlife.

After all, that’s what I found.

I didn’t respawn in my home base, nor did I respawn in Bast, nor the cockpit of the Shrill. In those last seconds I’d made a decision and changed it one last time, in the off chance I still had time to right one of the many wrongs of this world.

Entering Oblation Chamber.

I popped back into the room filled with screaming children just as the credits started to crawl across the screen. Music played. Low, haunting orchestral music, the kind that usually played at the end of a sad movie.  

All my status bars and menus were gone. But I could still move. I still had my gun. I still had my knife. The words floated in front of me, crawling up the screen, half obscuring everything. 

A game like this, the credits would probably take a long time to finish. Twenty minutes at least.

Long enough for me to kill every damn heartworm in this chamber. I pulled my knife, and I went to work.  

Just as I eased a gasping and wide-eyed Gulch to the ground of the now-silent oblation chamber, Jenk wandered in.

He sat down, sitting right on a pile of dead worms. He observed all the dead and dying children, an eyebrow raised.

“So, you’ve done the impossible. You won the game by leading Baal out of hell, something, mind you, that has never been done before. You survived the fabled Shoggoth casting while under direct control. You discovered a new form of Paskunji. You somehow figured out how to blast open the gates of heaven. And you celebrate this incredible victory by somehow also becoming the first player to figure out how to kill children?”

I looked about the room. Each child I freed gasped a few times, looked at me long enough for their minds to register they were free, and they died. I had no idea why the game allowed them to perish now, as the endless credits rolled, but I was grateful for it. It was a mercy, something rare in this place. And while I could no longer collect soul points, I felt their weak souls slide away.

I grasped Gulch’s hand. His eyes fluttered.

“She didn’t lie to you,” I whispered. “I was the one who was wrong. It is going to be okay.”

A long, raspy breath escaped the boy’s throat as he died.

“You never cease to amaze,” Jenk said, looking between the boy and me, eyes registering an amused shock. “This is quite heartwarming. It’s like a Hallmark movie of the week.”

I sighed, finally looking at the man. I sat down across from him on the bloody floor.

“Soliloquy time?” I asked.

He laughed.

“All right,” I said. “So what’s it gonna be? Is this where you tell me I’m not going to really wake up? Or my rig is buried under 10 feet of concrete? Or am I already long dead, and I’ve been an AI the whole time? I just thought of that one a few days ago.”

“No,” Jenk said. “Like I said before, I don’t lie. I want you to live. I want you to tell the world everything that went on out here. A couple minutes ago when I saw that you had won, I made a phone call. The Seattle police received a tip about a secret room hidden behind a wall in a building in Capital Hill.”

“I’m still in Seattle? Are you sure? You said you didn’t know where I was.”

“I suspected, but I wasn’t certain. But then I pulled up the power usage for the building, and now I’m pretty sure my hunch is correct. Your rigs and the servers don’t take up as much juice as you might think, but nobody is supposed to be living there.”

“So the police are coming right now?”

“Yes. In fact, they’re already there, trying to break the wall down. I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t won, in case you’re wondering. I wouldn’t want you to think all that work was for nothing. Our window will be tight. They’ve been on high alert for a couple weeks, and they’re in an absolute frenzy. It’s nail-biting stuff. I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to watch the news in the last few days, but someone,” he paused dramatically, so I knew exactly who that someone was, “tipped off the press as to why the authorities are in such a lather. When you and Clara began running low on food, the system started spamming warnings about your sustenance levels. I allowed a single message to get forwarded to one of the many email addresses the FBI is monitoring. They’ve been running around like chickens the whole time trying to figure out where you and Clara are. CNN was running a countdown timer on the corner of their screen. Just last night they had a whole panel of doctors talking about how long someone could stay alive in one of those rigs without food.”

“But why? Why are you doing all this?”

He shrugged. “Some of us like to solve jigsaw puzzles. Some like to take machines apart and see if we can put them back together. When I was a kid, I would spend months setting up elaborate rows of dominoes, just to watch them all fall down. It’s my thing. It’s all part of my plan. And this part will be pretty exciting, let me tell you. One last quest for the indestructible Duke.”

“Yeah, and what is that?” I said.

“The credits are going to run dry in about five minutes. According to the police scanner, the cops will breach the chamber in less than 15 minutes. I timed it pretty well if I say so myself. So you’ll only have a couple minutes to kill Clara.”

“I’m not going to kill Clara,” I said.

“Okay, I guess I did lie to you once. Way back when we first met, I said, ‘I have no interest in you.’ That was a bit of a fib. And I apologize. I pride myself in being as truthful as possible. It’s a sign of respect, you know. When Clara first said she wanted you in here as her payment, I made a point of finding out why. How do you two intersect? She wouldn’t say. But when I finally figured it out, oh boy. An opportunity like this doesn’t come along often for a guy like me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“Like I said, Duke. This is my thing. The Duke who first came into this game would never kill her. He had some inhibitions that first needed to be whittled down. The Duke who is about to wake up is a different animal. By the way, her real name is Samantha Dillon. Clara was the name of the doll she had as a child.”

“Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

He shrugged, a stupid smile on his face.

“Bye, Duke,” he said as the last of the credits rolled. “I can’t wait to read about you in the papers.”

“Bye, Jenk,” I replied. “Oh, and by the way.”

I shot forward with my grappling hook. I grasped him by the face and pulled him to me. He struggled in surprise as I used my right hand to pull the amplification knife across his throat.

I was greeted with a crimson spray. I leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “I’ll be coming to visit you and Nadia and Melinda and little Peyton in Toronto soon enough.”

I was rewarded with a look of horrified recognition on his face.

Thank you for playing Kaiju: Battlefield Surgeon. We hope you had a great time!

Chapter 79

Jenk was right. We had never been moved. I don’t know if Clara had been wrong about the warehouse thing, if she’d been lying, or what. But when I woke up in the Honda Labs penal rig, I was less than 15 feet from the spot I’d been when I first was captured.

My body felt simultaneously rigid and made of jelly. Multiple needles remained stuck in me.

Everything felt dull. My body was weak. Colors were muted. The pain, while probably incredible, was nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Anatoly had said the penal rigs had a system to keep muscles from atrophying. But when I sat up in that rig, I didn’t believe him. I had a tube down my throat, and I grasped it. My arms were shorter than usual, weaker. My hair longer, my fingernails obscene. I pulled on the tube, pulling it up and up and out. It scraped. My bone dry mouth filled with blood.

Outside, I could hear hammering. I pulled needles from my arm. The neural cradle was still on my head. I ripped it off. I snapped it in half.

The room was freezing, and I was completely naked. A small stack of computers hummed in the corner, and the blinking red and blue lights were the only illumination. The stack was the size of three pizza boxes piled atop one another. That was it. The whole world in that tiny little stack.

My catheter came out next, followed by the tube that was stuck up my ass. Diodes covered my body. I pulled them all off, tossed them to the floor. As I made the motion, I saw my hands. My human hands. I flexed my fingers, and it burned.

Finally, gingerly, I stood.

A light snapped on in the room. A motion detector. My eyes screamed with pain, but again, it was duller than normal. A minor inconvenience. It wouldn’t even knock my health down. Then I remembered I didn’t have a health bar anymore.

I took three, tentative steps toward the second rig. My stiff legs were purple and covered with welts. My stomach screamed with pain, and my head swirled.

I looked down upon the awakening form of Clara.

That’s not Clara, I first thought as I saw the thirty-something, frail, emaciated woman in the coffin. The bright, sterile light highlighted her naked, paper-like skin. Shades of yellow, green, and purple bruises dotted her dry and flaking skin. Her brown hair was a tangled jumble. Her unkempt legs, crotch, and underarms were a mess.

Samantha Dillon. That was her name. She was awake, and she struggled to pull the tube from her mouth. I reached forward to help her.

And then, as I pulled the tube from her throat, I did recognize her. Through the hair and grime and sores and bruises, I recognized.

They had said she’d been a teacher. A fifth-grade teacher. She’d taught abroad a while, too. I’d forgotten that part. She’d lived in Korea for years before moving to Seattle.

I’d never spoken with her before. I could barely look at her that last time I’d seen her. But she was there the day Ruth had been sentenced. She was going to be a witness at the trial, before Ruth made a plea deal.

She’d been the other driver. She was there when Chris had died.

I remembered what she said to me, then. Just an hour earlier.

If I could take it back, I would. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was going down the road, and I saw them there. Just stopped. And I did it. I did it. I did it. It wasn’t an accident. I did it on purpose.

I had thought she was talking about Jenk.

I did it on purpose.

The concrete wall to my left rattled and chipped as the police burrowed into the room. On the other side, I heard a shout. There’s a room there! There’s light! Hurry!

Clara—Samantha—gasped like a fish as I finished pulling the tube from her throat. She stopped moving, looking up at me. We locked eyes.

I did it on purpose.

“Did he really kidnap your child?” I asked. My raspy voice sounded odd to my ears, too close to the inside of my head. This is your real voice. This is the real you.

She nodded vigorously. “He did. I swear, he did. Anatoly promised me he’d give my baby to someone who would take care of her. I never thought it would’ve been… I objected, and they laughed. My baby was payment for getting in on the Beta. But after a while, Anatoly offered to hire me. So then I became an employee.”

“I… I don’t understand,” I said. “You did it on purpose?”

“Give up my child? Yes. Duke, you have to understand. My brain… I can’t be trusted. I can’t be trusted with children. I say I want them back. But it’s a lie. It’s all a lie. It’s always a lie. Sometimes it changes in my head. Sometimes it’s clear, and when it is I have to act fast. I have to act before it’s too late.”

“I don’t care about your fucking kid. Chris. I’m talking about Chris. You did it on purpose?”

She paused. She glanced at the wall then back to me.

“He wants you to kill me. If you kill me, he’ll win,” she said.

“Answer the fucking question, Clara.”

“My name is Samantha. I’m sorry. It’s complicated.”

My fists clenched. “It’s a simple question.”

The rattling sound stopped, replaced with a heavy hammering. 

Samantha’s eyes changed, just like they did in the game.

“It was serendipitous,” she said. “It was the hand of god. I just knew there was a child in the car. I couldn’t see, but I knew. God told me. She was stopped on the side of the road, facing the wrong direction. It was late, and it was dark. The voice told me to do it. I was going home. I saw the lights, and I switched off the autopilot. I took over, and I turned into the light. I went straight for it. I saw him, Duke. I saw your son. He was like an angel at that moment. It happened so fast. He flew from the windshield and went right over my car. His eyes were just like Solomon’s. And it was good, Duke. He was free. I did it for Solomon, my boy. He needed a friend. And later, when I saw that mural you made, I knew we were connected. I looked it up, that mural, and I saw you were the artist. There’s no such thing as a coincidence. I needed a friend, too. It was meant to be. Don’t you see how we’re connected? Don’t you see it? So I…”

I lunged forward, grasping onto her neck. I squeezed. I squeezed. I squeezed.

Epilogue

The cops wouldn’t let me take the Manet. I told them it was mine, that I brought it with me to the original interview. They seemed to believe me, but they said it was evidence. It had to stay. I would get it back eventually. I tried making the paramedics bring it with me in the ambulance. They said I was delirious, babbling on and on about the stupid painting. I barely remember any of it.

It was waiting for me when I eventually got out of the hospital. Neither the cops nor the feds ever mentioned it. It was just there, sitting in the guest bedroom of Mary and Doctor Calhoun’s place along with my portfolio, which had been on the floor next to my rig. The large, oil painting now hangs in the living room of my new apartment. If anyone ever asks about it, I just say it’s the last loot drop of my time in the game. 

I ended up charged with murder two weeks after the police found me screaming in the stark, cold server room, naked with my hands wrapped around Samantha Dillon’s throat. A week after that, the charges were dropped. The charges were re-filed six months later. And then they were dropped again after a second public outcry.

The world is on my side.

I tell them I don’t remember that moment when I choked the life out of Samantha. But I do. I remember every second of it. I dream of it, sometimes. It’s not a bad dream.

I choose to think of them as two different people, Clara and Samantha Dillon. Clara was my friend, my partner. I wouldn’t have survived without her. It was Samantha who brought me there. It was Samantha who played a part in the death of my child.

I will never forgive Samantha. I don’t regret killing her. Not for a second.

But I mourn her. I mourn her every day. The Clara I knew and had grown to love. She had lied about almost everything. But in the end, she had done all she could to help me get home.

I know that’s stupid, unhealthy to think of her that way, as two separate people. But you can do that. You can make unhealthy decisions and still be okay.

Ruth is still in jail. She’s not clean, but she says she is. The truth about Samantha Dillon didn’t help. I had hoped it would, but it didn’t. In the end, it didn’t matter. Not to Ruth. She was still drunk that night, still high. She’d still driven down the wrong side of the freeway. Chris was still dead, and nothing was going to change those hard, terrible facts.

Ruth says she found god in prison. She says she wants me to believe. I haven’t the heart to tell her what I really think.

She did have her baby. A beautiful girl. Kayla is her name. She’s named after Ruth’s mother, who had abandoned her when she was just a child. I don’t pretend to understand.

Mary and I… It would never have worked out anyway. Deep down, I think we both knew it. Most couples don’t last as long as we did after the death of a child. She didn’t stay with Dr. Calhoun, either. Not after I emerged. We’d made love the night I came home, right there in the guest bedroom of her new home. It was a confusing time. She ended up marrying some asshole reporter guy. Dr. Calhoun kept the dog.

Lucas Jansen aka Anatoly mysteriously died in prison a couple days after I was freed. I originally assumed Jenk had been the head of some international conspiracy with a wide reach. But after learning all I could about the man, a computer programmer and IT security specialist from Toronto, I started to suspect the real culprits behind the suicides were someone else. I don’t know who they are or why they killed all the players in the conspiracy. I suspect there’s a bigger story there, a shadow that looms beyond what I do know. Sometimes not knowing all the details is for the best.

I know my part in this story is done. Almost.

Jenk.

I never told them about Jenk. I never told them about Peyton. His fate is not to be decided by the police or the mysterious group pulling all the puppet strings. He’s mine, and his time will come. But not yet. I still have some dominos of my own to set up.

They tell me I need to see a shrink. I have PTSD. Anger issues. I need to remember to eat. My lawyer tells me that sometimes I just stop talking and stare off into space for long moments without saying a word. I don’t remember these moments. He tells me I need to get help. I could lose custody of Kayla. I tell him to stay in his lane. I say I am fine.  

I do it at night. I can’t help it. I hide the cuts, the deep, penetrating slices in places where the others can’t see. It is the only way I can feel now. This world, this outside world. It is too dull for me. But when I cut, I come close to feeling again. I can cry. I can breathe. I’m getting good at it. I cut deeper each time, closer and closer to the twilight area, the beautiful place. Sometimes when I cut, I think of a wide, endless field of cotton.

I should have stayed. I can’t tell people that. They won’t understand. But I want it so bad it hurts. I should have stayed.

The End

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Other Books by Matt Dinniman

The Shivered Sky

Trailer Park Fairy Tales

The Grinding

Dominion of Blades Series:

Dominion of Blades

The Hobgoblin Riot

The Thieves of Grandeur (Forthcoming)

Do you enjoy Gamelit books? Hang out with fellow fans over at the Gamelit Society on Facebook!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/LitRPGsociety/

Want to hang out with the publisher of some of Matt Dinniman’s favorite LitRPG books? Magic Dome runs a nifty group on Facebook.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/LitRPG.books

So, you like LitRPG? Why not check out the LitRPG group on Facebook!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/LitRPGGroup