The practice grounds were filled with the sound of clanging weapons and bellowed commands, and Lorelei felt her stomach tighten as she watched their upcoming tournament opponents put on what could only be described as . . . an intimidating display of confidence.
These guys were no joke.
All five of them were Level 22 and looked like they’d been chiselled out of granite, their movements in perfect sync as they drilled with the kind of efficiency Lorelei’s team could only dream of.
If her team was a group of misfit adventurers on an unexpected pub crawl, these guys were a precision dance troupe mid-routine. With armour. And weapons. And all the Skills.
“Let me guess,” Zorrobar said next to her, “former soldiers?”
Lorelei shook her head, her gaze fixed on the five-man team. They wore matching rugged overalls, the sort that had nothing to do with “fashion” but had a passionate commitment to “durability.” Reinforced plates were sewn across the shoulders, knees, and elbows in a way that showed they’d been through a fight with a sewing machine and won. The faded logo across their backs reads, “Barnet Council.” They looked like they’d power-wash an alleyway at dawn and tackle ancient eldritch horrors for lunch, armed with little more than steel-toed boots, reflective vests, and an endless supply of taxpayer-funded grit.
“Nope,” Lorelei said, “I reckon they were bin men.”
“Whatever they were, they look like the business,” Chrissy said, squinting as she studied their movements. “These old guys look like they could crush me flat with one finger.”
“Yeah,” Lorelei said. “That’s what worries me.”
The team’s leader, a paunchy man with a beard that looked like it had seen three world wars, was barking orders. Each of his teammates moved with the quite, calm efficiency of someone who had been hauling more than trash bags for most of their life. It wasn’t just physical strength—they moved with a quiet intensity, as if they had all agreed on a silent mission to bring some order to the chaotic mess that was this world.
***Help Message***
Hey there, sparkles! Bit of advice: staring too long might make you seem, y’know… impressed. Remember, confidence is everything, even when you’re the underdog. Maybe especially when you’re the underdog.
“I’m not impressed,” Lorelei said. “I’m . . . evaluating the threat.”
***Help Message***
Aww, don’t go all stone-cold on me. Remember: you don’t have to be better than them. You just have to be luckier.
“Yeah, I’ll take that under advisement.”
Her Guide went, mercifully, silent, allowing Lorelei to focus on the ‘Dust Worms’ as they continued their training drills. One of them, a wiry man with silver hair and a scar down one cheek, threw a spinning kick at a dummy, landing it with a force that split the wood clean in two. His teammates nodded approvingly, giving each other gruff pats on the back and a few quiet grunts of approval.
All manly-like.
These were men doing manly things.
Chrissy gave Lorelei a nudge. “They’re even worse than they look. I heard that their whole team integrated together on the job. Apparently, the System took one look at their work records and decided they were ‘naturally suited’ for combat.”
“Fucking hell, guys! What’s with all the doom and gloom?” Hel said. “This lot look like they’ve been scrapping since before I was born.”
Pete cuffed Hel on the back of the head. "Aye, an' what of it, eh? Just ‘cause they’re a bit older doesn’t mean they’re knackered or past it! Bloody hell, lass, ye think just ‘cause someone’s got a few grey hairs they’re ready te keel over? These fellas, look at ‘em! Built like brick shithouses! That’s what ye get from a lifetime of liftin’ bins and dodgin’ seagulls.
Hel turned to face him, an outraged look on her face. Lorelei tried to hide a grin at her shock at the old tank smacking her one. “Nowt tougher than a council worker, an’ that’s the truth. Years of chuckin’ black bags an’ outrunnin’ stray dogs’ll do that to ye. They’ll be the type who go out for a quick pint after shift, liftin' a pint glass like it’s nothin’, an’ you’ll never hear ‘em complain. An’ while yer stood there, moanin’ about a little ache, they’ll be back up at dawn, ready te toss more rubbish bags than ye’ve seen in yer life. ‘Scrappin’ since before you were born,’ she says. Well, maybe that’s why they look like they could drop-kick a troll if they had te!"
Pete shook his head. "Doom an’ gloom, my arse. I’d bet good money those lads could outlast half the young’uns here!"
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“If they’re that good, how’d they end up finishing the obstacle course slower than us?” Zorrabar asked. “We’re hardly nailing this.”
Lorelei shrugged. “They look like they’re built for comfort and not for speed. But who cares? They’re here now, and if we’re not ready, we’re going to end up tossed aside like yesterday’s rubbish.”
Michael and Michelle broke into a strange, synchronised laugh at that, a sound that was part giggle, part unsettling echo. The rest of the team turned to stare.
Chrissy leaned closer to Lorelei, her voice a whisper. “Look, I recognise I’m crushing on a Necromancer, but I find those two creepy as hell.”
“You’re not the only one,” Lorelei whispered back, glancing at Steffan, who was currently muttering to himself in a way that suggested he was having a very intense conversation with . . . absolutely no one.
Zorrobar and Pete joined their little conspiracy. “Any idea what’s actually going on with those two?” he asked, jerking a thumb toward them. “The whole ‘speaking at the same time’ thing is getting a bit intense.”
“They’ve always got something going on, mate,” Pete replied. “Creepy, aye, but they’re fookin effective.”
“I kind of think that should be our team slogan,” Chrissy said. “All hail the Useless Drags! Creepy but Fucking Effective. I tell you what, though, if they start chanting in Latin, I’m out.”
Lorelei laughed. “Yeah, you and me both.”
Suddenly, the air around Lorelei shimmered, and she felt an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her.
“Uh, guys…?” she began, but before she could finish, a voice rang in her mind.
Hello, my little troublemaker, Fortuna’s voice purred. Enjoying the spectacle?
Lorelei’s eyes widened, and she glanced around, but it seemed no one else could hear.
“Fortuna?” she whispered, feeling her pulse quicken. Nothing especially good had ever come from her patron speaking directly to her. “Everything okay?”
Oh, you know how it is. Can’t complain. I thought I’d drop in, Fortuna said It looks like you’ve got quite the fight ahead of you. So I thought, why not even the odds a little?
“What do you mean, ‘even the odds’?”
Nothing terrible, I assure you … just a little nudge in the right direction. There was a pause, and then Fortuna’s voice grew more deliberate. I’m going to be doubling your Luck stat.
Lorelei’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”
Don’t say I never do anything for you, darling. And then, as if she’d forgotten a little detail, Fortuna added with a chuckle, Oh, for the form of things, it’s via a title ‘Lady Luck’s Loophole.’ Enjoy your shiny new 100% boost to Luck.
Just as suddenly as it had appeared, Fortuna’s voice retreated, leaving Lorelei standing there, heart pounding, the weight of her new title sinking in. She looked down at her skin, which was faintly glowing with a golden hue.
“Lorelei?” Pete asked, watching her with a raised brow. “Everything alright, pet?”
Before she could respond, her Guide chimed in, seemingly unaware of the exchange that had just occurred between her and Fortuna.
***Hang on a moment . . . Message***
Ooh, looks like something’s tickled your stats, sugar! But this isn’t anything I authorised. Did you do something?
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Lorelei said, trying to keep her face neutral. “Aren’t you supposed to be in charge of all that sort of thing?”
***Help Message***
This reeks of interference. Unauthorised buff detected. Attempting to undo—
There was a flicker, a momentary stutter in the ticker-tape running across her vision and then a flurry of panicked error messages began to flash across her field of vision.
***Help Message***
Error. This action is prohibited. The unauthorized buff remains active. System override in effect. Re-attempting—
Her notifications continued to sputter out, and then, as if throwing up its metaphorical hands, her Guide seemingly gave up.
***Help Message***
Alright, listen here, toots. Whatever you just did, the bigwigs upstairs aren’t happy. You’ve got alarms ringing all the way up to management! Interference logged. Please hold while I contact—
The message cut off abruptly.
Lorelei’s team was staring at her, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright alarm.
“What did you just do?” Chrissy asked.
Lorelei shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. “Oh, you know… just got a little favour from a friend.”
Zorrobar squinted at her, suspicion. “And this friend is the reason you are suddenly glowing, right?”
But before she could respond, a series of odd little coincidences began happening, one after the other.
First, a sudden gust of wind blew across the practice grounds, sending a stray arrow flying off course. It struck one of the bin men dead centre, killing him instantly. Then, as his teammate turned to him, he tripped on a – hitherto - invisible root, falling onto the drawn sword of another of the group.
Lorelei blinked. “Well… that’s new.”
A butterfly landed on her shoulder, wings iridescent, and she watched as it fluttered away. She didn’t even have to look over at the Dust Worms to know a small, localised hurricane had just descended on the final three of them.
As their screams faded, and the clean-up crew moved in, Hel turned to her. “Was that you?”
“Kind of. It’s complicated.”
As her teammates shared glances, half in awe, half in horror, Lorelei turned back to the practice grounds.
She didn’t like to think that she’d been responsible for what had just happened to those guys – it was hardly their fault they’d drawn the short straw at the precise moment Fortuna wanted to tip the scales. “It was just their bad luck,” she said.
Michael and Michelle began laughing again.