Before I can reach level 5, Verkremond's hand grabs the branch below mine.

I yell and stab down with the spear, slicing across his knuckles. He's wearing some kind of armor, and the spear skids across them without leaving more than a scratch. His other hand comes up and grabs the end of the spear in a relentless grip.

"Bless, bless, haste, haste, haste, bless, haste, bless..." The strength and clarity and speed provided by those two spells are still not enough to level the field between myself and Verkremond the Slayer. Unfortunately, it looks like effects don't stack.

He tugs hard on the spear, threatening to topple me from my perch if I don't let it go.

The weapon is the only chance I have of not dying. Desperation lends my grip strength and I let myself topple rather than give up the spear.

Verkremond's face registers surprise as I fall toward him. I slam into his face with both feet, sending him swinging out of the way while I fall past and crash into a branch below. The impact jars directly into my injured arm, and if I weren't already in a haze of shock far beyond feeling pain it probably would have been unbearable. As it is, I distantly register the impact, but I'm too focused to give it much thought.

"Bless, bless, bless, haste..."

I wrap my good arm around the branch and twist up to grab it with my legs, then painstakingly roll myself up to the top. I crawl awkwardly toward the trunk, but don't have time to reach it before Verkremond swings back my way. He flips off the branch he was holding and lands perfectly balanced on mine.

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Throwing caution to the wind, I jump to my feet and back away, Bless keeping my footing from slipping until I have the trunk at my back and spear raised between us.

"I have given you every opportunity to end this easily." He sounds conversational now, his earlier rage faded as something like amusement colors his voice. "You are simply too stubborn for your own good."

My response is only my continued mantra, casting spell after spell.

*DING!*

[Healer level increased! Keep up the good work.]

"Heal!"

[All available spell slots are filled. Please try again later.]

I've really, really been hoping that level 5 will be the one where I get a third spell slot. The thought that I need to get all the way to ten... or higher?

I'm in too much pain to be fully coherent, and the disappointment pushes me over the edge.

"NO!" I scream at Verkremond, smacking him with the spear like it's a flyswatter. "NO. No no no no no!"

Then Verkremond grabs the spear, and my burst of manic energy is expended. I feel light and heavy, empty and overfilled, I open my mouth to resume casting, but there's no strength left, my breath too ragged to even form words.

Verkremond easily tugs the spear from my suddenly weak grip as if I were a child. I slide down the trunk of the tree until I'm sitting on the branch, my legs no longer strong enough to hold me up. My vision is blurred.

Too much blood loss. Too much stress. Too much everything.

Verkremond twirls his spear, silver light spinning through the blur as he raises it and steps forward. "Goodbye Nameless the--" he stops abruptly, spear poised to strike, staring down at me. "Healer?" His voice is suddenly faint. "By the eighteen and four, you weren't lying? But... how?"

I don't have the energy to respond. I barely have the strength to recognize his words have meaning.

So at level 5 it finally flips me from 'the weak' to 'the healer', huh? Fat lot of good it does me now.

The world darkens, and I feel myself falling sideways.

If there's an impact, I don't feel it.

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