Roman had pretended to be in the know while Mixie underwent the initial negotiations with Abigail and Noah. He stood around, nodding in explicit approval at what seemed like the appropriate moments. Once the talks had died down, he retreated back towards the truck and, obscuring his mouth with one hand, began muttering to John.

“What’s the benefit of being a Mercenary?” said Roman.

John glanced over, eyebrow raised. “It’s a smart way of blending freelancers with an established Party. You two can work together while operating under different parameters. Meaning, it’s an alliance, and the groups don’t have to play by the same rules as long as you both contribute towards a common goal.”

“And the dungeon?” said Roman. “This is something we want to tackle soon?”

“Absolutely.” John stared off into space for a few moments before returning to reality. He resumed speaking just as Roman started to feel concerned. “They’re basically miniature Gates. They usually wouldn’t be spilling monsters out this early. I take it as a sign that some of the Watchers want to see a clear attempt, and they’re goading this group into it.”

“And we want to go along with their voyeurism?”

Mixie climbed into the back of the truck, joining them. “Certainly. It would have been an amusing spectacle for these mortals to run straight into their deaths. However, as long as we use them as meat shields, this dungeon should prove inconsequential for us. We clear the instance, secure this location, and use it as a base of operations for dominating the surrounding area.”

Roman thought about this for some time. “At least I’m not the meat shield in this plan.”

“Yes,” said Mixie. “A shame.”

An angry voice in the distance caught Roman’s ear. Not too aggressive, but loud enough for him to detect with his enhanced Perception.

“Fifty percent?” That was Scott’s voice--the shifty man in the leather jacket. “We’re going to give those two half of everything from the dungeon?”

After concluding negotiations with Mixie, Noah and Abigail had taken the proposal to the other members of their group. As expected, not all of them were thrilled, but that wasn’t really Roman’s problem.

Beneath the veneer of civilization, the grocery store was no democracy. Like the rest of the Playground, power reigned here. Noah and Abigail were the most powerful from their group, so they made the decisions; Roman was more powerful, so he delegated the small matters like making the others fall in line.

Still, he was not exactly thrilled that Mixie was attempting to hire them out without consulting him. In the end, it made sense, and Roman had been heading in the direction of lending their assistance in the first place. Regardless, It was a matter of principle. The power dynamics of their Party necessitated a careful balance. Mixie would be all-too-happy to treat Roman like his attendant if he could get away with it.

“So, I’m guessing we scammed them in this situation?” said Roman.

“Absolutely,” John and Mixie said in unison. They glanced at one another, equally disconcerted.

“Mostly in these sort of situations,” John continued, “different Parties band together and do an equal split between members. So, here, one-ninth for each member of the Alliance. Sometimes, if someone is notably stronger than the others, they’ll get a double-share. Mercenaries in particular are hired as reserve forces and usually receive a fixed sign-on fee with a few bonus clauses. A pair of Mercs getting half the loot is daylight robbery.”

Roman folded his arms, chin tucked to his chest as he considered. “They should have guides, right? Or at least some of them should? Did their guides not inform them that this is a shit deal?”

“They know,” said Mixie. His diamond eyes gleamed with sinister brilliance under the fluorescent lighting. “They also realize their deadweight Players will be devoured within the day if nothing changes. This is the final stage of haggling, Mister Miller, and the most lovely of all: waiting for the customer to admit their total defeat, to surrender to the elaborate trap in which you have ensnared them. I do not care if it takes a million years for them to agree; the result is inevitable. This is what I have been designed for, my evolution meticulously guided through aeons innumerable: I exist to prosper.”

Abigail and Noah returned within a couple minutes.

“We have decided to decline your gracious offer,” said Noah.

Roman slowly turned to face Mixie.

The ghoul appeared unconcerned, steepling his long fingers together in front of him. “May I ask why?”

“We were originally pretty tempted,” Noah admitted. “One problem. My Perception is high enough that I overheard you plainly discussing how you plan on using us as meat shields, you’re scamming us, the megalomaniacal monologue, so on and so forth. I relayed these words to my companions and we unanimously decided to tell you two to go fuck yourselves.”

“Truly shameless,” Mixie scolded. “Eavesdropping on a private conversation.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Roman rubbed his forehead. “Look, Mixie always talks a bunch of shit. He does it to me more than anyone. The disdain is part of his charm. It grows on you.”

“I’d rather it wouldn’t,” said Abigail.

Mixie grunted laughter. “You and the male are clever. I would beg one of you to switch places with Mister Miller, if you were not both so pitifully weak for this stage.”

Abigail started towards the ghoul, who mockingly hid his face behind his oversized hands as if he was too terrified to watch her approach. Noah reached out and held her back with an outstretched arm.

Roman clapped loudly. “Alright. Here’s the deal. You said that monsters have been periodically coming out through the dungeon, each stronger than the one before. When was the last time they attacked?”

Noah glanced at his watch. “Thirty-six minutes ago. They attack on the hour, every hour.”

“And the last wave gave your group some real trouble?” said Roman.

“Yes,” Abigail growled.

“Well, there you have it. Mixie and I will put on a little demonstration for you with the next one. We’ll forget about your refusal for now, pending your final judgment afterwards. If you’re impressed with what you see, we have a deal. Fifty-fifty on the dungeon. Don’t be petty just because Mixie pissed you off.”

Abigail and Noah shared a look.

“Twenty-four minutes on the countdown, huh?” said Abigail, most of the annoyance faded from her tone. “Plenty of time to make some popcorn.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Mixie and Roman stood before the door leading to the dungeon. It looked like any other set of scuffed metal doors, presumably leading out into a loading bay. For now, they did not have to enter the strange dimensional portal, only wait for it to birth the next monstrosity.

After some deliberation, they had decided to leave the pickup truck behind. Even though it was a valid part of their arsenal, they wanted the other group to understand the full extent of their lethality. Using Earth tech would give off the wrong idea.

For his part, Roman was feeling quite cheery about the situation. The first step of his quest to repair his reputation with Mammon had finished. The other Party had taken all of their equipment from Mixie’s spatial satchel, fulfilling the conditions of the quest.

[ Side quest partially completed: Kowtow for Mercy, Part 1/5: Specially requested items have been procured for a Party of nearby Players. Deliver the products to their respective customers without any use or damage. Reward: +20 Reputation with Mammon. 5 organic fragments. Thimble of Heartroot Elixir. ]

[ 5 organic fragments automatically transferred to Keeper Mixie as agreed. ]

More out of habit than anything, Roman confirmed the thimble of Heartroot Elixir had been deposited into his bag. He did not particularly care for the rewards, especially the implication that he needed to redeem himself to earn the grace of one of the cruel gods. It did, however, free him from his contractual obligation to this Party. If things went south, he had full impunity to act.

Roman glanced over at his partner. Mixie was lost in his own little world. The shredded remains of a box of strawberry mochi ice cream decorated the floor around him. In one hand he still held the cheap plastic tray that contained the five remaining treats. After consuming the first one several minutes ago, Mixie had simply stood there, transfixed by nothingness, an inscrutable expression on his face as if one of God’s own angels had descended upon him.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Roman muttered.

Mixie remained still as a statue.

Roman whistled tunelessly as he waited for the monster to appear. A minute before its designated arrival, Mixie snapped out of his trance. He slipped the mochi tray into his satchel with the reverence of one handling a sacred relic.

“You good?” said Roman.

Mixie nodded. “Gratitude for the fragments, meatsack.”

Sighing, Roman returned his gaze towards the double doors. Less than a minute remaining. He cracked his neck, feeling something like anticipation.

The other Party had gathered a safe distance away. Jessie and Abigail had settled into a pair of dingy aluminum chairs, sharing a pack of popcorn and pointing at Roman and Mixie. While he couldn’t hear their conversation, he didn’t imagine it was anything flattering. The others had taken up defensive postures in case the overconfident wannabe-Mercs ended up falling on their faces. Noah stood off to one side, opening and closing a Zippo lighter with absentminded flicks of his thumb. He studiously ignored Mary, who hovered over his shoulder, trying to get him to bet on the outcome of the exhibition.

A strange atmosphere, but Roman wasn’t one to judge. They were coping with the horror of their situation with a sort of forced levity, seeking absolution via absurdity.

“Have you figured out any sort of pattern to the monsters?” Roman asked the air. “Any idea what the dungeon might be?”

John materialized at his side. “Not yet. It could be anything. An arena, part of an old fallen territory, a temperate wilderness. The others weren’t exactly falling over themselves to give us all the details.”

Mixie grunted and selected one of the swords from around his waist. The hilt was turquoise, adorned with a tassel of mixed white and purple. Even without [ Hunter’s Eye ], Roman could sense the flood of icy energy leaking from the blade. The ghoul blinked, and his diamond eyes were replaced with light sapphires.

“Not going to bring out the full shebang?” said Roman.

“I do not know what that is.”

“Not going all out to impress our friends?” Roman tried again.

“Unnecessary.”

Abandoning his attempts to engage with the ghoul, Roman circulated bronze soul energy through the mental pathway for [ Impose Will ]. Sudden clarity swept away his uncertainty, his doubts. Everything within a ten-foot radius belonged to him--well, almost everything, besides the obstinate stone in the pond that was Mixie.

Mary started shouting a countdown from thirty, clinging to Noah’s arm and excitedly fixated on his watch. Noah, for his part, continued ignoring her as best he could.

An oppressive heaviness seemed to descend over the area as Mary’s countdown neared the end. his heart beat in rhythm with each announced second, slow and powerful, filling him with adrenaline and vitality.

“Three! Two! One! And…zero!” Mary whooped.

The doors burst open, revealing an eerie block of pure darkness. For a few moments nothing happened, then a massive, flayed arm reached out through the void, larger than Roman’s entire body. Bone crackled as the limb bent unnaturally, its stubby hand grasping for purchase. It seized the wall beside it, elbow inverted at an angle that made Roman wince, then slowly, laboriously, began to haul the rest of the titan through.

Always the big bastards. Roman sighed.