Teeth crunch to pieces as skin and lip tear open in the path of his blade.

The sickening mouth utters a long, pained moan. Its limbs tremble, and it suddenly gasps, choking out clouds of putrid, rotten mist as it hyperventilates. The worm screams, wasting precious time with panicked flailing of its body against the walls.

As Strangelove hugs himself against the wall, he watches the stranger prepare a second attack. He watches how the man crouches low to the floor, forcing all of his body to compress like a spring pushing itself down.

Recognition flashes through Strangelove's eyes. “Holy shit, I know who you are… You're Blackout!”

Blackout laughs as he clenches his body down further. “Took you long enough to piece that together.” His muscles burn under the strain, building more pressure every second. When the pain reaches its climax, he releases all of it in a powerful running leap.

Blackout swings the sword as he unleashes it all at once in an unstable explosion of kinetic energy. Afterimages trace Blackout in a path that runs across the length of the demon and back.

He slows down, visible again to Strangelove. He whips the blood off of his sword and splatters it across the demon's gaping mouth.

With a long, desperate groan, it falls into scattered dog size chunks.

Blackout scoffs. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. Looks like your new friend ran away.” He drags the sword towards Strangelove. “Don’t worry about suffering. I'll make it quick.”

Blackout’s footwork speeds up again. He leaps to Strangelove for the killing blow. “One less weakling, wasting away the dwindling-”

“You talk too much.” Strangelove equips his Unbreakable Spell Gun and pulls the trigger. He watches the pellets explode from the barrel to the center of Blackout’s chest plate. Tiny, etched chaos runes inside the pellets combust, erupting into a ball of fire burning up into his mask.

He pulls the trigger again.

Blackout easily swings the blade in the way, but the chaos runes inside the pellets work differently every time. These dig into the rust of the sword, melting into blistering acid, which splashes onto his armor.

“You're just full of neat little tricks. It's time to end this, cripple.” He rips the gun out of his hand and tosses it aside. “No one is coming to save you. It's over.”

As he raises the sword to hurl it down on his head, Strangelove covers his ears with his arms, and clenches his eyes.

This is really it. I'm fucked.

He pictures himself lying in a hospital bed. Remembering the day he first put on the helmet, he wonders what it's going to look like in real life when his death in the game triggers its kill function.

Is my family watching me? Will they see it happen?

He imagines his skull heating up, cooking his brains. Jello in a crock pot. Blood might run from nostrils, and eyes. His hair would singe, spreading pungent smoke. His father would have to do his funeral with a closed casket, hiding the disfigured face of an unrecognizable son.

He clenches himself as he waits for the pain; for his brains to run out of his ears; but it never comes.

“Leave him alone!”

Blackout stomps a metal boot onto Beam’s foot as he reappears, saving Strangelove just in time. The boot pins him in place.

“So you’ve come back. Now I can kill both of you.”

He grabs Beam’s wrist with his free hand and throws him into the ground. Beams back cracks, and the floor ripples. Beam rolls and narrowly dodges the sword impaling the floor. His next roll is too slow, and Blackout’s armored boot hammers into his ribs. Beam rolls backward, and tumbles into the wall next to Strangelove. Text appears in the air, only visible to him.

HEALTH LOW.

Blackout groans as he saunters towards him. He stomps on Beam’s head, rubbing it into an old scab on the wall. “This has taken too long. Time to move on to bigger things.” He raises the sword, and prepares the final blow.

Before he can, Blackout’s confidence is suddenly shaken by an inexplicable sense of dread. A disturbance crackles and glows in the surrounding air. Impossible shapes arrange next to him that ring in his ears and unfurl from crumpled static. Two bottomless, alarming eyes stare from inside the otherworldly body.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He swings the sword through the dreamlike body, but the blade harmlessly passes through. He can't help it as he trembles in the shadow of its aura.

The eyes! I can’t pull myself away from them!

The wise, unblinking eyes of an owl gouge into his brain like a parasite. Amber irises shine inside black, turbulent oceans, sunset in a black hole. Behind the eyes, Blackout feels a storm of wisdom beyond years, paired with a terrifying well of malice; more hate than a human heart can cling to and survive.

“You! Why are you here…!” He backs away, passing his gaze between the players, and the problem at hand. “Are you protecting them?! Why would you possibly-- why would--”

The creature does not answer.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

Beam stares in disbelief, watching the armored assailant back away, then turn into a blur of motion as he retreats at breakneck speed. He tries to pull himself up, but he can't move. He moves his attention to the creature from the well, gawking at his unearthly form.

“Why are you doing all of this? What are you?”

He heaves out a distorted sigh. “You'll know only what I want you to. If you live long enough, it might change, but…” The eyes blink, scouring into Beam’s mind. “I've already said too much.” The eyes begin to fade, and the air returns to its normal, unwarped stench. “Join the Institution guild. When you do, I will make it so the conditions will be met for the final update to the game.”

Beam feels an invisible smile brush past him.

When he checks, he finds his health has been completely restored.

Final update? Just who, or what is this guy?

Beam shrieks in surprise at the feeling of a hand snatching onto his arm.

“Do you know who that was?!” Strangelove holds tight, digging his fingers into Beam's skin. “Blackout is the most notorious player killer right now. He murders anyone he can, and leads the Culling Sect.”

“The Culling Sect…” Beam rubs his head. He can finally move, and pulls himself to his feet. “Sounds like a load of edge lording bullshit.”

Strangelove ignores him. “Also, where the fuck were you? And who was Blackout so scared of?”

“I don't know if he was a player or something completely different. Whoever it is, he somehow pulled me out of the tutorial. Down the well, now I'm here. And just earlier; when I was pulled into the floor, he made me finish my character creation. I couldn’t come back until I chose my class and skills.”

“You've been dicking around in the tutorial this entire time?”

“You saw the video everyone was sent when the logout function was deleted! If we die here, it’s over! I didn’t want a risk like that! And I still don’t!” He continues as he loots the worm. “I don't want to fucking die!”

Beam stops talking, and hushes Strangelove before he can speak. He hears voices in the distance. “Shut up for a second…… Do you hear that?”

He cups his hand around his ear, and closes his eyes, focusing. His eyes widen as he listens. “No more talk. We need to get out of here.”

A moment of awkward silence passes as they both look down at Strangelove's missing legs.

“How do you want to–”

“Just lift me to hold on your back.” He hisses in pain as he clutches the exposed wounds. “I'm gonna have to buy black market legs later.”

He holds onto Beam's shoulders from behind, closing his eyes and conjuring an image of a mini map. “I'll tell you where to take the turns. Let’s get moving for now.”

Beam holds Strangelove's hands tightly so he doesn't fall off of his back. “Guide me to the Institution. That's where the freak told me to go first. Something about an update.”

Beam can’t help feeling panicked as he recollects everything which has happened in such a short time. Especially about whatever, or whoever, forced him to come this way.

Could have been a game admin…? No, he must be a broken NPC or something. Either way, this makes so little sense.

“Crouch as you go,” Strangelove whispers in his ear. “It makes enemies less likely to become aggro. And remember, if you see a player…” An uneasy silence stains his words. “Look, things got bad really fast down here.” His arms stiffen their grip. “If someone sees you, you need to be ready to kill them.”

“It can’t be that bad with every player...” Beam stops at a three tunnel intersection with a demon lingering on one of its corners. The thing is almost motionless, apart from shaky breaths, and long, snorting, snores. A brittle, bony head slumps against the soft wall. Its ribs poke out of a gaunt stomach that wiggles as it rises and falls with each gravelly snore. More intimidating than the malnourished demon is the shotgun resting in its claws.

The conversation is put on hold. They share an understanding look. To make any kind of noise now, would be a horrible idea.

Beam's feet gently squelch on the floor with each careful, deliberate step. He almost considers going down lower, to his hands and knees, but ten steps have gone by now. So far, it's still completely asleep.

Halfway across, Strangelove's throat feels a tickle; small at first, but quickly growing. The small tickle gives into an irritating sensation coming up and down the inside of his neck.

He clenches his jaw.

Just a little longer. I can hold it.

They pass the napping demon.

Five more steps. Almost there. Beam glances at its closed eyes again, then to the two tunnels, leading in opposite directions.

Strangelove forgot to say which way to go, fuck!

He glares into both tunnels’ dim, bioluminescent lights, determining which way to go.

Strangelove swallows again as he tries to contain the overwhelming urge to release the discomforting cough. The only distraction is the aching, itchy wounds, festering in place of his legs.

Inside the game world, one has a shred of hope to regain legs through high level magic and a few black market purchases, but the pain is still there.

Something shifts inside him as he hangs off of Beam's back, cracking loudly enough for both of them to hear. The sensation seizes Strangelove's throat like a claw, unleashing the coughing fit he had been holding in for far too long.

Blood specks rain from his open, drooling mouth in bursts. His head throbs with each succeeding cough, and stars decorate his vision. His weakening fingers unfurl as he loses grip on Beam, and falls to the floor. The coughing continues, grating against his throat. He finally smacks his chest with closed fists until it stops. Another moment passes, and the coughing fit is over.

The snoring stops.

They look into the creature's eyes. For now, they remain closed. After an agonizing minute of silence, the snores return.

Beam releases a sigh of relief. Lowering to help his friend up again, he whispers.

“I thought it'd be a lighter sleeper… Anyway, left or right?” Beam hoists him onto his back again.

Strangelove switches his vision back to the map. He whispers back. “According to the map–”

As he inspects the map, the demon's breathing changes. He can hear Beam's feet shuffle, and the demon snorts and shudders. Strangelove hastily closes the map in his mind when he hears the sound of the demon's claws clacking on the shotgun.

Beam’s erratic movement makes it difficult to hold on to him, and Strangelove can only catch glimpses through Beam’s long, red hair and the hectic sounds of battle. All he can do now is squeeze with all of his remaining strength to his shoulders. Staring through the red hair, he clings to every detail and sensation he can.

Gunfire. Blinding smoke that stings in his nostrils. Glowing open sores in the tunnel blur across his eyes resembling neon markers running across a black wall. Voices that do not belong to either of them shout from around them.

“Beam! What's going on?!”

One of the voices booms beside them, to Beam.

“Take this.”

“Ahh!!”