Roman’s eyes widened in surprise, both at the sight of the woman’s pale face and the next streak of silver heading his way. He rolled to the side, coming up behind Mixie. A spray of loose asphalt pattered against him as the attack gouged the earth where he had been standing a moment before.

Mixie reached behind himself and whipped the prismatic shield up and over his head. After a begrudging glance back at Roman, he interposed the bulwark between them and their assailant.

The barrage continued, hammering into the shield and throwing up sprays of colorful sparks. Roman took the opportunity to strategize, ignoring the whiny little voice in the back of his head wondering why she was attacking him. Reasons didn’t matter. Survival did.

This early, he hoped that he had encountered an overeager weakling trying to profit from a risky ambush. Between his rare class and already reaching level five, he liked his odds in any truly random encounter. But the impact of each silver energy projectile rang against the shield like a gong, and tremors shook the ground around them. She had reserves of energy Roman doubted he could muster.

He tested his injured right shoulder. A line of pain flared whenever he stretched his arm out, but the injury was manageable.

Then a flash of orange filled his vision. The air roared. Roman flung his arm over his face, bracing himself for the wave of flame, but no trace of heat made it past Mixie. His shimmering earth barrier had materialized, forming a wide half-circle around them.

No immediate attack followed up. Roman shoved himself forward, Willing bronze energy to flood his feet. [ Flash Step ] closed the distance in a moment, placing Roman right at the base of her tree. He considered a second use of the movement skill to place him next to her perch, but he wasn’t confident enough in the ability to risk impaling himself on a branch instead.

The woman stared down at him, mouth open in surprise. Clumps of lank hair clung to her surprisingly young face--she couldn’t have been older than a teenager. An employee at the Applebee’s, judging from her torn black slacks and collared shirt.

He hesitated, surprised at her appearance. She leapt from the tree, snagging the branch the one beside her; like a monkey she swung away, heading for the safety of the forest, her movements so fluid and precise she was either an expert gymnast or an Agility specialist.

“What’s your problem?” he shouted.

She glanced back at him, then resumed her determined swinging as she noticed him surging in her direction. Despite his bulk, Roman’s own Agility had surpassed the rest of his attributes. Without the annoyance of navigating through the trees, he easily kept pace with her, reveling in the feel of being an apex predator.

That annoying little voice in the back of his head reminded him she was just a kid.

Then she grabbed the next branch with both hands and swung herself upward, releasing her hold at the apex of her swing. Like some circus acrobat she flipped and twisted in the air until she faced him. For a moment she hovered in the air, face scrunched up in savage focus, then she pointed a butter knife at him.

Silver energy flashed.

Roman was ready. He wouldn’t risk using using his movement ability to land directly onto a tree branch, but an adjacent tree at about her level had an expanse of bare trunk that would do. He squatted down and activated [ Flash Step ], visualizing his desired location.

The world blurred around him. Without [ Dancer’s Grace ] the sudden shift in perspective may have thrown him off even if he was ready for it. Instead he immediately reoriented to his new position, crouched sideways against the trunk of the tree, a moment before gravity took root and pulled him back to earth.

He pushed off the the trunk, his newfound strength shaking the tree behind him. No matter how much Agility the woman had, she was midair, still blinking at the spot where he had disappeared.

Some two hundred and forty pounds of Roman Miller slammed into her, completely burying her in his bulk. She struggled in his arms, spittle flying as a shout escaped her mouth. Then Roman spun in the air and flung her at the ground with all his might.

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She plummeted like a meteor, crying out until she smashed into the ground with a resounding thump. Pine needles sprayed from the impact.

Roman landed next to her in a crouch, nimble as a cat.

Fuck sake, he thought as she raised her left hand, her entire arm trembling from the effort. A scarlet sigil burned in the palm of her hand, its intricate details almost hypnotic in their violent beauty. It flared with deadly brilliance.

Why couldn’t she just stay down?

Roman poured all of his focus into [ Impose Will ] and his sphere of influence expanded outward in all directions, encompassing both of them. The scarlet sigil dimmed, suppressed by his Domain at such close proximity. He smiled, pleased with his choice of skill.

Then an inferno erupted from the palm of her hand. As it entered his Domain, Roman felt the heat on a mental level before it reached him. Heat scoured his mind, then a moment later scoured his body.

He roared as the sea of flame washed over him. Orange filled his vision. The Domain muted the intensity of the flames a touch, on top of his superhuman Endurance, but the heat was still more than enough to steal the air from his lungs. His skin cracked and split, and he screamed soundlessly.

A desperate [ Flash Step ] took him out of the conflagration. He stumbled, collided with a tree he had almost accidentally fused into if he had moved himself a few feet more in that direction. He wheezed and clawed at his chest, desperately trying to force air into his scorched lungs.

The crown of agony around his head overwhelmed his panic; his hair burned like a torch. He flung himself to the ground, rolling side to side, batting at his head to extinguish the flames. The pine needle floor pricked into his tender skin like a bed of broken glass.

He laid on the ground, dappled in the gentle moonlight, chest heaving. Despite his fears, air managed to trickle into his lungs, even if it felt like swallowing napalm. His eyes half-closed, shock threatening to pull him deep into the safety of unconsciousness, but he gritted his teeth and focused on the agony. Accepted it, welcomed it, let it cleanse him.

It was something like madness. The spiritual scars of his many mind-shattering visions had, in a way, strengthened his soul. He had suffered, he knew. When the apocalypse had descended, he had witnessed horrors beyond comprehension: impossible shapes and colors, beings whose very existence warped reality, a succession of cosmic malevolence that ruined him.

He forced himself into a sitting position, heedless of the protests of his boiled flesh.

[ Through pain, renewal. +2 to Endurance. +2 to Will. ]

The pain faded slightly, improving with every passing second. His red and blistered skin peeled, hints of fresh pink skin visible beneath. It all seemed distant, as if it was happening to someone else. He could almost pretend nothing had happened, if not for the lingering flames from the aftermath of the inferno. They burned themselves out quickly, either failing to spread because of the unnatural wood of the dark forest or some limitation of the skill itself.

Roman sat there for a while, watching the woman. Her eyes were closed, chest rising and falling softly--lost in the sweet embrace of sleep. Hell of a trump card, there. How peaceful for her, to die in her sleep. Still, some part of his mind shied away from killing this young woman, with her sharp features and her scrawny frame shoved into her oversized work uniform.

John appeared on the ground beside him, sitting with his arms wrapped around his bent legs. “She really fucked you up.”

Roman tried to speak but it came out as a whimper. Even if he could mentally ignore the pain, his body was still suffering.

John nodded, apparently understanding without needing to hear the words proper. “Yeah, you won, but she still really fucked you up. Honestly, smart thing to do is to kill her. Depending on why she attacked you, it might increase your bounty a bit, but what does that matter compared to the risk of leaving an enemy alive?”

Roman didn’t respond.

“I know it’s hard,” John continued. “She kind of looks like Ella, but--”

Roman slowly turned his head to face the guide. He croaked out a single word, “Don’t.”

The last thing he wanted to think about was his late little sister. The young woman was at about the same age she would have been, but the similarities ended there. Again he wondered if this thing sitting next to him was John, or a manifestation of the cruel system meant to fuck with him.

Thinking about Ella made him think about his parents. Hadn’t spoken to them in about a decade but they were still family. At least one of them was dead after the Initiatizing--very probably both.

Roman gingerly forced himself to his feet and stood over the woman. He didn’t turn as Mixie walked up, the prismatic shield returned to its tortoise shell position.

The shopkeeper’s tone sounded disappointed. “You survived, Mister Miller.”

“Both of them did,“ said John, sounding just as unhappy. “Tie her up, Mixie.”

“I will not waste my supplies on such a trivial matter. Kill her and be done with it, then.’

Roman turned to face Mixie. Something in his eyes must have unsettled the shopkeeper; Mixie complied, shaking his head as he removed a coil of gleaming rope from his satchel.

She'd live, at least for now. Roman had some questions first.