Roman groaned. After he had defeated Bella’s possessed form, his knees gave out on him, dumping him unceremoniously onto the ground. The [ Sacred Raiment ] had done wonders for protecting his torso, but he couldn’t ignore the damage he had sustained to his hands and face.

The heat must have scorched his nerve endings, a blissful muting of the agony he should have felt; still, the sensation of his liquid trickling down his neck was disturbing, due to the knowledge it was his own melted face.

To his surprise, Mixie came into view, hovering over him. The keeper plopped Roman’s spatial satchel down within arm’s reach.

Unable to speak through his raw and swollen throat, Roman tried to convey his thanks with a look. He reached over and fumbled with the satchel until he withdrew his remaining [ Heartroot Elixir ]. Hand trembling, he tipped the little vial in the direction of his mouth, spilling more of it onto his ruined face than anything. The amount that made it in seemed to be sufficient, as he immediately felt his flesh begin to mend, and his skeletal hand bloomed layers of flesh and skin.

Once he felt up to the challenge, Roman heaved himself into a sitting position. He definitely needed to find a better defensive technique that didn’t turn every fight into a battle of pain tolerance.

Bella was sprawled out on the ground next to him, limbs splayed at awkward angles. Her eyes were closed, a peaceful expression smoothing out her face in sleep. She didn’t seem to have taken much damage, but a jagged scar smoldered on her forehead from where he had wrenched off her horn.

The curved artifact lay next to her--he must have dropped it from his spasming hand after the fight ended. He had supercharged his [ Chaos Touch ] and flooded the horn in order to snap it off; as a result, swirls of deep bronze marred the formerly flawless ruby. Interesting.

“I must admit,” said Mixie, his voice thoughtful, “I did not think you had it in you.”

Roman hummed low in his throat, testing to see how much it hurt. The elixir had done its job well. “Wasn’t that impressive for one of the Watchers, was it? Aren’t they supposed to be god-like or something? Doubt she’ll be showing her face again for a little while after that.”

John materialized, sitting next to Roman. For some reason, he looked forlorn, eyes downcast. “You couldn’t call Lady Lucia one of the Watchers, really. More like Mixie if he had possessed a human. Mixie is a matured shard of one of Mammon’s souls. Bella had two immature fragments, which gave her a lot of potential if she mastered them, but at these beginning stages ended up being more of a ticking time bomb.”

Roman felt his heart sink into his stomach. His exhausted mind didn’t quite grasp the implications behind John’s explanation, only that something sounded off.

A second glance at Bella made it impossible to avoid the ovbious. Her chest was still. The calm expression on her face was one he had seen before--at funerals, and in some situations he preferred not to think too closely about. Mind blank, Roman scrambled over to the teenage girl, fingers trembling as he mashed them against her throat.

He hunted for a pulse, become increasingly more desperate as the flesh remained cold and lifeless as marble. Surely he just wasn’t good at palpating a heart beat. He grasped her hand, squeezed the tiny, doll-like fingers to see if she would react. Touching her wrist yielded no more of a pulse than her carotid.

Roman shook his head, tasting bile in the back of his throat. “I don’t---what?”

“A decisive victory,” Mixie declared, smoothing out the front of immaculate, weapon-bearing robes. The keeper sauntered over to Bella’s body and leaned over, snatching the phoenix-feather sword from the ground beside her. He placed it back on its hip, beside its elemental brethren. “Unfortunate that she was never able to pay her debt to me. I shall take one of her fragments as consolation, though of course the other belongs to you through right of conquest.. By the way, that is not how you harvest fragments.”

Roman stared at the keeper, mouth agape, letting Bella’s limp arm fall to the ground. The words went in through one ear and out the other. Eventually the denial began to fade, like smoke dissipating into the air, leaving behind the incontrovertible, obvious truth.

He had killed the girl.

[ Player Isabella Hampton defeated. 7500 experience rewarded. Harvest organic and implanted fragments? ]

Roman leaned over and vomited, retching over and over until tears stung his eyes and drool dribbled from his chin. Once his stomach finally stopped cramping, he forced himself to look the girl in the face.

To his surprise, her appearance was subtly different, and not just because she was dead. She looked several years older. The contours of her face had smoothed out, and her lips looked more plump even if they had taken on a cyanotic tinge. After a moment, Roman realized that the passing resemblance to his little sister had faded.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“How did she die?” said Roman.

John frowned. “The horn must have been a manifestation of Lucia’s power in some way. Snapping it off interrupted her connection to the material plane. Usually that would have let the Player regain control, but they must have clashed wills and Lucia thought it better to kill the girl off then return to co-existence. Maybe out of spite, anger, or some other emotion we can’t even begin to comprehend.”

Roman had no idea how to respond to that, so he moved on to the next question. “Why--why does she look different?”

John shrugged. “Maybe an innate ability from whatever her class was or from Lucia. Maybe one of the Charisma quirks, though that would’ve been a weird choice for her. But even to me, she kind of resembled Jenny until now, even if she’s at least five years younger.”

Roman chuckled bitterly. That hated, nervous tic of his again--laughing in inappropriate situations. “So what, it was a coincidence? Her name?”

“Ah,” John said. “I’m a fucking idiot. Of course you saw her as your little sister reborn. I’m sorry, man, really.”

A moment of silence hung heavy between them. Roman chose to act as if he hadn’t heard anything.

After a few awkward seconds, John continued, “Kind of a coincidence, I guess. Maybe it’s partially why events occurred in the way they did. Sul’gurrath and the Watchers probably saw it as an interesting potential confluence--maybe even granted her the illusory appearance power in the first place to see how you two would play off each other.”

Mixie grunted laughter into his hand. “Welcome to the Chaos Playground, Mister Miller.”

Roman spit blood to the side. “Fuck you.”

Mixie waved a hand as if Roman was being ridiculous. “To be fair, like the rest of you mortals, she would have died eventually. Though someone with her potential should have survived at least a week or two. You, on the other hand, probably should have died along with Mister O’Neill the moment you were foolish enough to assault me. Speaking of which, you do not have the best history with companions so far, do you?”

“Look, ignore him being an asshole,” said John. “You can’t feel too guilty about it, Ro’. She was already possessed. There was pretty much no way she would have wrestled control back from Lady Lucia, and who knows what the avatar would have done if allowed to roam the world freely. You told Bella not to follow you into the Chaos Gate, she fell victim to a trap she couldn’t deal with, and her fate was sealed from there. Bella made her choices.”

Roman ignored the pointless commentary. “I have a question for you, Mixie. Why, exactly, do you think you’re entitled to take that sword and one of her fragments? What the fuck did you do in this situation?”

Mixie froze for a moment, then his hand drifted protectively to the hilt of his orange sword. “What do you mean? I loaned this blade in exchange for a sum of fragments which was never paid. In exchange, I will take back my ware along with equal compensation in the form of that Watcher shard.”

Roman shook his head. “Way I remember things, you sold it to her and never agreed on when it would be returned.”

“Your poor memory is your concern, not mine, Mister Miller.” Mixie scoffed. “Regardless, claim to recovered wares after death is a fundamental part of the Greed Accords.”

“Well, I don’t remember signing your stupid little accord, did I?” said Roman, tilting his head to the side.

“Well, that does not--”

“And, pray tell, how is that shard equal to the sword? From what I saw, that weapon amplified and concentrated her fire magic. Useful, but equivalent to a Watcher fragment? I don’t think so.”

Mixie blinked, his eyes returning to their normal diamond form. He rubbed his jaw, propping his elbow up on the palm of his other hand, the tip of his tongue protruding slightly. “I see the brute has finally learned the basics of negotiations. I must admit, you have gathered enough favor at this point that you may very survive multiple weeks in the Playground. As it is likely we will encounter some interesting opportunities along the way, I have a new proposal.”

Roman immediately wanted to decline without hearing the keeper out, but he held his tongue. Part of him argued that even associating with Mixie, an avatar of one of the Watchers, was not much different than accepting Patronage or even just endorsing their presence on his world. Mixie and his ilk were invaders of his homeland, killing the vast majority of them and turning the survivors’ lives into a literal game.

The weight of Bella’s death hung heavy in Roman’s mind despite the others’ half-hearted assurrances of his innocence. She was a victim of her circumstances, though he couldn’t deny his prominent role in her demise. Maybe it was deflection, but they would have never been forced in this situation if it wasn’t for bastards like Mammon and his spawn.

But another part of Roman wanted to survive. To prosper, even. He didn’t want to be a victim. Just thinking along those paths was spiraling his mentality into the abyss. His progression left some visceral aspect of him positively euphoric watching his attributes rise, his Titles accumulate. What would martyring himself with guilt and resentment accomplish? He’d stagnate and end up food for some eldritch horror soon enough.

“Talk to me, then,” said Roman, greed winning out over obstinence in the end.

Mixie sighed. “I propose we become an official Party for a week. Despite your higher level, I remain significantly more powerful and well-equiped than yourself. We will share loot and experience equally. I will, however, not freely share my current inventory with you. As long as it does not result in certain death or grieveous harm, I will also lend my assistance to you upon request, under the condition you do the same. Either of us may disband the Party at any time. In exchange, I will keep the sword and one of the Shards.”

“It’s not a bad proposal overall,” said John, “but--”

Roman held up a hand. “Sounds like a shit deal, buddy. We Party up, you take the loot, and you immediately disband the group? Even if I wanted to do this, you can’t just back out like that. The sword is useless to me, so I’ll let you keep that as long as we party up for three days. If I think it’s worth it after that, we can extend it for, say, a week in exchange for the Shard.”

Mixie muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse in a strange, guttural language. After a few moments of thought, he steepled his long fingers together and looked Roman in the eye. “Two days and one night for the initial Party up, in exchange for the sword. I agree otherwise.”

“One more thing, then.” Roman clenched his fists, and his voice went soft. He glanced down at Bella’s corpse. “Help me bury her.”