Kris cursed in frustration as the Golem swatted Michael—or was it Michelle? But then again, who truly gave a fuck when it came to those weirdoes?—out of the air, spinning them backwards to crunch against the wall. He didn’t really have enough Adoration to spare to get the Veiled Stalker back into the game, particularly if he wanted to have a functional tank available to stop the Golem fucking him up too. He was just about to focus all his attention back on Chrissy when . . .

“Heal her!” the downed one's sibling—contextually Michael, from the shout—yelled over to him, knives pointing his way.

Reluctantly, Kris redirected a small burst of toward the fallen woman and was rewarded by a nice, fat dose of Adoration from Michael when his sister stirred ever so slightly. That was the thing about being a healer who powered up on gratitude: it was pathetically easy to get into a positive feedback loop. Speaking of which . . . Taking advantage of Chrissy continuing to, improbably, go toe-to-toe with the monster once again—her certainly did not fuck about when it came to mitigating damage—Kris ducked down and crabbed his way over towards Hild.

Reaching the tank, he pressed his hand onto the small of her back, summoning up the smallest burst of healing necessary to bring her around. The Valkyrie had her own healing Skills, but they were more quality-of-life top-up spells rather than anything that could sustain her through a major engagement. Since Pete had been K.O.’d so early in the encounter, Hild had been soaking up far more damage than she was capable of shrugging off. Kris recognised that he had been focusing far too much of his attention on Zorrobar and, increasingly, Steffan than had been wise. But, hey, it wasn’t like anyone had given him a manual for this sort of thing.

Thinking of Steffan, Kris glanced over to where the Necromancer was pulling his ragtag army back into some sort of shape once again. In theory, a Necromancer who could keep dragging each of his summons back into the fray regardless of how much damage they took was pretty much perfection. Unfortunately, though, it was clear that Steffan took significant damage himself with every resummon. Each time he raised one of those skeletal abominations back to its feet, a little more colour drained from his face, and the dark circles under his eyes deepened. Kris wasn’t sure the Steffan they’d have left when this was all done and dusted would be strictly "all there." But that was a problem for after—if—they survived.

Shit! The Valkyrie wasn’t responding to a little light : she must have taken a harder hit than he had thought. Kris audibly sighed as he broke out the big guns, Hild’s eyes fluttering open as he triggered , by far the biggest mana hog of his Skills, but also the most efficient when it came to generating Adoration. Yep, there it was—just as he predicted. As soon as Hild saw that he had brought her back, a massive burst of Adoration from her replenished his mana reserves. He hadn’t run the numbers yet, but he suspected that if he found a way to keep Hild in a constant state of near-death, healing her just enough to keep her conscious and eternally grateful, he would have access to an unlimited mana pool. That was worth some serious consideration.

Kris paused at that thought for a moment. That didn’t sound like something a “good guy” would even consider, did it? Heroes didn’t tend to keep companions around just for the boosts their pain caused them. Or did they? Robin was basically just a walking trauma catalyst for Batman, wasn’t he? Or was he going too far with that? He was struggling to see where the line was anymore. Kris felt the familiar pulse from the amulet around his neck—a reminder that such concerns were irrelevant. It didn’t matter if he played dirty, not really. His job was to survive, to thrive, and if a little mental manipulation kept him alive? So be it.

He helped the Valkyrie back to her feet, mind already calculating the next play. “You need to get up there and help Chrissy. I’m not sure how much longer she can hold all the aggro without…” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the Chameleon Courtesan’s body flying past them to slam into the wall above where Michael was helping his sister back to her feet. Chrissy collapsed in a heap on top of them, knocking all three out cold.

Steffan’s undead Cheerleaders waded forward to engage the Golem, their broken bodies barely held together by Steffan’s will, with Ent and CCMD lumbering and skittering into the fray to support. A glance towards Steffan didn’t suggest he had many more running repairs in him.

Things were looking bleak.

Fuck! Pete down. Chrissy, Michael, and Michelle unconscious. Zorrobar in full-on mana exhaustion and Lorelei… well, she was nowhere to be seen. Kris had noticed her running back the way they’d come just as things started getting a bit spicy. Sure, the thought of bailing hadn’t seemed like the worst idea right now, but still . . . There was a groan near his feet and Kris looked down at Zorrobar, the Fire Mage’s face nearly drained of all colour, his mouth slack as his last attempt at magic fizzled weakly at his fingertips. His eyes were wide and glassy, panic spreading through them. Yeah, he was as good as dead. The Golem wasn’t just beating them—it was destroying them piece by piece.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Zorrobar’s hands trembled, the mana exhaustion so severe that blood vessels burst under his skin, painting his fingers with dark, spiderweb-like veins.

"I haven’t got much left," Hild’s voice broke through his consideration of the carnage, her face white as she stepped in front of Kris, shielding him from the Golem’s view. "You need to make a run for the exit."

Kris’s eyes flicked toward the glowing neon sign flashing behind the Golem. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been looking at it for a while now. Especially since it didn’t seem locked in any way. From what he understood about the way these assault courses worked—and that whispering voice in the back of his head seemed to have a better handle on these integration games than he did—they didn’t actually need to defeat the Golem. They just had to get past it. A feat that would be much easier if the Golem was looking elsewhere.

"Oh, but I couldn’t leave you!" Kris said, squeezing as much sincerity as he could muster from his Charm Leech abilities.

"Don’t be stupid," Hild replied. "There’s no point in us all dying here. If we can keep it busy, you should be able to slip out. If you set up a in front of it, me and Steffan can hold it long enough for you to get out."

Without another word, Kris conjured the spell on the floor, the golden light briefly pulling the Golem’s attention away. For good measure, he dropped another circle around the piles of unconscious bodies scattering the floor. He wasn’t a monster, after all. And with Hild giving him enough Adoration to replenish his mana, he could afford to be generous. For this last time. And if it was going to be the last time, he wanted to drink it in. He couldn’t deny the thrill of it—getting everyone to rely on him, to need him. They had all been at his mercy, really, whether they knew it or not. They’d fought, bled, and screamed for survival, while he stood in the centre, commanding life or death with a simple heal. Hild's loyalty, Chrissy’s reckless aggression, Steffan’s crumbling mind—all of it fed him in its own way. It was a shame it was over, to be honest.

“Okay, well, if you’re sure…”

He waited until Hild was standing fully in the middle of the Circle, the Golem’s attention now drawn toward her. He could hear the Valkyrie taunting the massive creature as it swung its fists toward her. She was buying him time.

And that’s all he needed.

Kris moved quickly, his feet silent as he neared the glowing exit sign. The chaos behind him—the screams, the grinding of metal, the crunch of bone and stone—faded into the background, just noise now. His mind was already skipping ahead to what came next. He imagined stepping through that neon portal, standing triumphant while fellow tournament members at the exit rushed toward him with congratulations. They’d be looking for a healer of his talent; probably been beaten half to death on their own run through the course, and they’d fall over themselves to beg him to help them survive the impossible.

He could already feel the Adoration filling him like a slow, satisfying burn. His final gesture with the had barely had any mana left, but once he made it through? He’d be swimming in it. He had so nearly been their saviour after all. It wasn’t his fault the group had fallen at the last. After all, he was the reason such a low-level group had made it this far, after all. Chrissy might have taken the hits, and Steffan’s summons soaked up enough damage to flatten a small army, but who was the legend that had kept them all standing? Who had healed their wounds and kept their fragile lives from spilling out onto the stone floor?

Kris.

He’d just need to time the humble nods and self-effacing smiles right. Maybe toss in a few words about how it had been a “team effort,” even though they all knew who’d truly carried them.

But when he stepped through the shimmering exit, something was wrong.

There were only a few people there, some leaning against the wall, others clutching their weapons or armour in expectation. They weren’t looking at him, though. They weren’t even paying attention to his arrival. Instead, their eyes were glued to something behind him, expressions wide-eyed, faces taut with something Kris couldn’t quite place.

Excitement?

No.

Awe.

Kris blinked, glancing down at himself for a moment, then back at the group. He hadn’t imagined it, right? They weren’t even acknowledging him. There was a faint murmur, voices whispering to each other in rushed, breathless tones. Something was happening, and they didn’t care that he was in front of them. Which stung.

He turned slowly, a knot of unease tightening in his gut. The Golem’s fists were still crashing down, Hild barely standing in the . Steffan, his face ashen and hollow, was slumped over, struggling to maintain his skeletal forces. Zorrobar was on the ground, eyes half-lidded, near death. The Golem was moments from victory . . .

And then he saw it.

A glow.

A brilliant, golden glow that was expanding, pushing back the shadows, the fire and all the blood. It was coming from further back in the obstacle course. And at the centre of it all, standing amidst the wreckage of a shattered snake statue, was Lorelei.

The air around her whirled with energy, power radiating off her in waves as her full abilities roared back to life. The same Lorelei who had been running, scrambling, seemingly useless not too long ago. The same Lorelei he’d written off as good as dead.

But she wasn’t dead.

She was levelling up.

He stood there, mouth dry, the moment dragging out painfully as he watched her.

One word slipped from his mouth, quiet and disbelieving. “Lorelei.”