Roman almost died that in that particular instant. A stream of text flooded his vision, obscuring a quarter of his sight, while at the same time an almost-familiar surge of pain scoured him from head to toe.

At first he thought he’d triggered some defensive measure meant to paralyze him. But no, the inferno devouring him within represented a sudden, massive spike in his physical attributes. Every fiber of his being felt as if it was being shredded apart and tied back together. He released Mixie and stumbled back, focusing the entirety of his Will on withstanding the torturous reshaping of his physique.

Vivid red energy flared as Mixie’s ruby eyes finished charging.

Roman intended to duck and roll away, interposing the counter between him and the shopkeeper. Some nerves got tangled along the way, and he instead flopped backwards like a fish out of water.

Carmine light flashed overhead. The sheer heat of its papssage eclipsed even the soul-withering agony that filled his body; it stole the moisture from his eyes and cracked his lips, transforming the store into a desert. The sulfurous scent of burnt hair filled his nostrils.

His twitching body slammed into the ground, followed by the sharp crack of his skull against the tiles. The world vanished for a moment, returned as he snapped back into consciousness. Red afterimages floated through his vision, but he found that the pain had vanished just as quickly as it came on. His body once more obeyed him, even better than before. Much better, actually.

He rolled, anticipating a follow-up attack, and shoved himself back to his feet in one fluid motion. In his peripheral vision he noticed a smoldering line of molten stone leaking along the far wall: the aftermath from the shopkepeer’s heat rays.

“What the hell?” said Birch.

Roman growled, “Shoot him!”

He had no time to explain he hadn’t attacked Mixie out of brutish pride. Getting their hands on the sheer wealth flaunted within the Store would mean the difference between scrambling around in the mud and prospering over the coming days.

Birch hesitated.

For his part, Mixie appeared completely at ease despite the fact his initial salvo failed and the luster of his ruby eyes had dimmed to near nothing. He blinked and the gems swapped into brilliant sapphires.

Truthfully, Roman hadn’t thought this far ahead. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a plan, it just hadn't worked. He'd attempted to channel the same bronze energy from before into his hand while bashing Mixie’s head into the counter. A punch infused with that chaotic force had turned a carrion golem’s brains into a spray of random objects.

Unfortunately, his innate class skill [ Chaos Touch ] did precisely nothing against the shopkeeper. And that left Roman in an awkward position.

Turquoise light swirled before Mixie’s eyes. The temperature within the store plummeted, frost accumulating along the windows and glass doors of the refrigerated section.

“Wait--” began Roman, shivering from the sudden chill.

In a burst of speed, Mixie leapt onto the counter. The hem of his golden robes drifted upwards, revealing a flash of several multi-jointed limbs almost like spider legs. Their tapered points pierced deep into the counter, securing him in place.

“A Chaos Disciple, are you?” he said. “Path of the Corrupted Monk? Do not tell me you believe yourself special, Mister Miller. As gluttonous as the system is, well over three hundred million humans survived the initial cost of creating this Chaos Playground. And you believe some level four with a Rare class may simply waltz into my Store, overwhelm me, and plunder my wares?”

Mixie grunted several times into his palm; it took Roman a moment to realize he was being laughed at. He gritted his teeth at the revelation, but any time the shopkeeper spent yakking it up meant less time attempting to kill him.

“I must admit,” continued Mixie, “it has been some aeons since I last entertained a customer, let alone witnessed such a pathetic attempt upon my physical form. Kowtow to me, and perhaps I shall take mercy on your soul and keep you around as a pet. Even if you do reek like a barbarian.”

Roman spat a wad of bloody phlegm to the side. Why was the shopkeeper talking so much when he hadn’t even won yet? Was there a delay before he could fire off another attack on the scale of that heat ray? How does one kowtow, even if he wanted to?

Either way, Roman’s respite wouldn’t last forever. He looked around for anything that might save his skin.

Plenty of merchandise on display, including various healing concoctions and the limited armory. His Perception had raised to 14 following his investment into the [ Hunter’s Eye ] nodes. Some of the objects had a faint shimmer about them, as if they were potent enough for their auras to affect reality. One in particular caught his attention: a massive kite shield, pristine white and covered in golden runes, emitted a dense maelstrom that warped its immediate surroundings.

The turquoise around Mixie’s eyes flared. “I do not enjoy repeating myself. Mister O’Neill, I shall add five additional fragments to our deal if you execute this buffoon where he stands.”

“Wait, wait,” said Roman as the barrel of the rifle swung his way. “Did you got get a cultural overview of this area when you set up shop?”

Mixie rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes. “Of course not.”

“Well, that sort of sudden assault on someone we’ve just met is how we show respect around these parts. It’s a way of testing someone’s strength, to demonstrate respect to another warrior.”

Mixie threw his head back and released his most aggressive fusillade of grunts yet. One slender finger wiped away a tear of golden ichor. “Oh, a most convincing tale. You must not have reviewed your notifications quite yet. Do take your time.”

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Roman’s eyes shifted between the shopkeeper and Birch. Neither made a move.

Base Attributes

Strength: 28

Agility: 23

Endurance: 27

Will: 23

Perception: 20

Charisma: -1

Hope blossomed in his chest as he scrolled down the massive increase in his attributes. His body indeed felt amazing, though both the pain from the attribute boost and the resulting changes to his physique were more muted than expected from such a large gain. Maybe his increasing Will offset the debilitating aspects and centered his mind so the burst of newfound power didn’t disturb his equilibrium?

Then he read the last line.

Shit.

With a thought he pulled up the flood of notifications from earlier.

[ Watcher Mammon of the Plundered Vault has declared Player Roman Miller a nemesis. Rare bounty placed. All of the Watcher’s Chosen are compelled to hunt him down for all eternity. ]

[ Title granted: Shameless Bully. -5 to Charisma. +5 Node Points. ]

[ Title granted: Outlaw Renegade. -5 to Charisma. +5 to all other attributes. +5% to all other attributes. -100 Reputation with official representatives of the Chaos Playground. Starting Bounty: 50 fragments. ]

Given the fact his Charisma was somehow in the negative, Roman could almost forgive Birch for pointing that rifle at his face. Almost.

“I saved your life in that parking lot, Birch,” he said. “You might value my life at five fragments, but how much do you value your own? Look, I received some sort of curse that lowers my Charisma because I attacked this asshole. Not exactly sure how all this attribute stuff works, but if my words sound particularly unconvincing, that’s the reason.”

Birch frowned and lowered his rifle a hair.

Roman, unwisely, decided to continue, “I could tell from the start you’re a man of reason, of logic. If we take this shopkeeper out and steal all this stuff, imagine--”

A sea of turquoise light swept through the Store. Roman’s enhanced Perception offered just enough warning for him to activate [ Flash Step ]. He materialized in the armory section, within a hand’s reach of the rune-covered shield.

No mattered how much he wrenched at the shimmering artifact it refused to budge. He glanced over his shoulder and paused for a moment as he absorbed the sight: a thick layer of frost coated the tiled floor in a broad path between Birch and the shopkeeper. A cluster of massive ice stalagmites jutted from the floor where the tattooed man had been standing; his shadowy form hovered within the central glacier.

Mixie shook his head and blinked. Topazes gleamed within his eyesockets.

In his desperation, Roman imagined bronze energy radiating from his hands and into the shield. His mind lit up with an image of his own body, filled with an intricate system of networks that circulated bronze liquid between his organs and down into his extremities. A peculiar hollowness spread throughout the rest of his body as the inner energy was shunted into his hands. The bronze liquid accumulated within them, and to Roman’s horror his fingers bulged and elongated. He gritted his teeth against the agony, his hands two blazing suns, until, finally, the shield detached from the wall.

[ Chaos Touch (I) has evolved into Chaos Touch (II). ]

[ New skill discovered: Soul Circulation (I). ]

He stumbled back a few feet, managed to adjust the shield and mostly crouch behind it before a vibrant storm of blue-white lightning slammed into him. It buffeted the shield, sought to wrap around it and electrocute him, but the errant streamers changed course as they were redirected back into the front of the shield.

Roman felt every hair on his body standing on end. The chlorine stench of ozone filled the air. He let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, half-expecting to find that he had indeed been electrocuted and his mind hadn’t quite delivered the bad news.

“You dare?” said Mixie. For the first time, his voice held a hint of anger. “This is an egregious violation of Article 2.c.f of the Greed Accords. It is only a shame I cannot kill you twice for your offenses. Though, I may have just the treasure…”

Content to let the shopkeeper listen to his own voice, Roman focused on his node system. He had five Points to spend from his Shameless Bully Title. Huddling behind his shield, he dropped the final point into [ Hunter’s Eye ].

The immediate effect nearly blinded Roman. Motes of multicolored energy drifted through the air--mostly yellow in the aftermath of the lightning strike, interspersed with blue and a scattering of red. The white shield no longer shimmered like a mirage; a kaleidoscope of various colors streaked along its surface, including some that Roman couldn’t identify but suspected represented infrared and ultraviolet.

He spared a second to focus inward, pleased to note the bronze energy had resumed its normal circulatory patterns throughout his body, though the quantity appeared diminished by a tenth or so.

All around him, Mixie’s inventory had taken on a whole new life. The tumultuous clash of variegated auras turned the area into an unrecognizable mess of color. Thanks to his new Soul Circulation skill, he felt the sheen of bronze energy coating his eyes, and could even dial back the intensity until the flood of visual input became manageable.

He seized a bone handaxe that emitted a wicked purple glow--fortunately his grotesque fingers had returned to normal. Bronze energy surged through his hand and into the weapon, overwhelming its aura just long enough for him to dislodge it from the wall.

“Put that back this instant!” shouted Mixie. “That Soulrender Axe is a unique treasure born from the fusion of--”

Roman drew back and, channeling all of his Will and physical prowess behind the exaggerated motions of his body, flung the axe with all his might.

It spun through the air, right on track, until Mixie blinked his brown tigereyes into existence. A stone barrier materialized in front of his perch on the counter. The bone head of the Soulrender Axe sank deep but failed to penetrate all the way through.

“Do you have any inkling of how difficult that will be to resharpen, Mister Miller?” Mixie’s muffled voice drifted out from behind his barrier.

In response, Roman wrenched a short sword from the wall. A tremendous fiery aura raged about its orange blade, and prickly feathers he suspected had been harvested from a phoenix wrapped about its handle. Imagining himself as some legionnaire from his namesake forced apart from his phalanx, he hefted the shield into a comfortable guard and pointed the short sword over the top of it.

“Don’t rightly give a fuck,” said Roman, shuffling sideways in the direction of the Potion Dispenser.

He peeked over the shield enough to notice Mixie had dropped the stone barrier and merely stood atop the counter, ichor dripping down his face. His original diamond eyes had returned. Did he rotate through his collection, maybe? There wasn’t nearly enough data to analyze Mixie’s skillset.

Seeing no hostile movements from his opponent, Roman set the short sword down next to the Dispenser and grabbed the largest size of plastic cup available. He slipped it under the spigot labeled Heartroot Elixir and with a push of a button filled it with a viscous fluid disturbingly reminiscent of blood.

“You tricky little son of a bitch,” said Mixie with venom. “Let us negotiate before you destroy the entire Store in your foolish attempt at commandeering my wares.”

Roman sipped the Elixir. Yup, definitely chunky, half-congealed blood. He gagged, but immediately a comforting warmth rushed through his body, pushing away much of his exhaustion and reinvigorating his movements.

“Jesus,” he muttered to himself. Louder, he called out, “I’m open to talking. What’re you thinking?”

“You may have any one object from the Store, as long as you promise to never step foot here ever again.”

“Deal.” Roman’s eyes widened in glee. Yes, he definitely was better suited to this world than the old one. He licked his lips as a ridiculous thought occurred to him.

“What is it, then? You have one minute to decide.”

Finally it was Roman’s turn to laugh. “Alright, then, Mixie. I choose you.”