A “Reaper” to rake his soul in this flaming wooden hell, the same “Reaper” he’d hallucinated that warm summer day when he had hiked with Pern to the caves. A hooded haunt that was a dark smudge through the window, but this time he was no hallucination—and nor was he truly a ‘Reaper’ either.

“I was hiking with Pern, Isaac, and Constance when I saw him,” Rick muttered. “That leaves us with just one person he could be. Cheers!”

He jumped through the tavern glass —

Rick’s gloves and armor protected him from the shards, but a stray piece still left a bloody gash on his cheek. Another two rivulets ran down his arm, and the initial shock made the street unsteady beneath him; he had forgotten that his Phys Resistance C was drained and gone.

But what he had lost from his stupidity he had gained in surprise.

“Haaaa!”

He punched the robed man in the head and the hood fell off. His face had been handsome once, at a time that had been approximately two seconds ago. The broken-nosed man spat out a tooth and spoke in a rich, indignant voice.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Matthew.”

“That’s my name, not yours!” Matthew said, as he backed away to the distressed street block across from the Inn.

The first building on that block, a toy shop, was engulfed in flames, with embers crawling up colorful banners that now served as fuses. The second building was a cozy home, illuminated by the enormous “fireplace” that now comprised its entire bottom floor. The third was a skeleton of flaming support beams. There was no fourth house.

Matthew sent another ember up a toy shop string.

“Oh, I recognize that painfully average face. You’re that Failure Adventurer!”

Normally Matthew would immolate Rick with a snap of his fingers, but he had spent most of his energy destroying the town. He cast floating wisps on his knuckles that would serve as red-hot spikes.

“You pissed I’ve added a little fire to this backwater mix?” Matthew said.

“I am. But not just at that,” said Rick. “Fwoom!!!”

Rick spread his arms like an eagle.

“I don’t speak birdbrain, Failure.”

“Then I’ll dumb it down for you even more. When we hiked in the woods you followed us, and you met with Constance and Isaac while we were bathing at the lake. That explosive sound when the avalanche happened later was fire magic, and that fire magic was yours, not the goblins’.’”

“Well, yeah, it should have been obvious I did that avalanche. If the goblin sage did it he’d have been trapped outside the cave, and fire magic isn’t exactly a common skill either. Perhaps if you’d deduced this a little sooner than this town wouldn’t be an ash pit, but what could Mazevale have expected from a lazy, despicable, good-for-nothing conniving—”

Scrick!

Rick punched him in the mouth.

Rick specialized in having high resistances. Fire didn’t burn him, water droplets would part from him and thunder refused to course through his body. Physical attacks would sink into him and then bounce away.

Those skills had all been stolen from him, but their after effects remained. Especially that of Phys C.

Each time he had been hit, his muscles had broken down and rebuilt themselves. He essentially underwent “resistance training,” a complete workout, whenever he was physically struck. It was no super strength, but it made him far stronger than a mage who relied on spells: all of Matthew’s muscles had been built from caviar and steak.

The Blazing Mage flared his knuckle-flames, and spat out another molar.

Smack!

“Staph it, rat!”

Even that movement cost him; Rick followed up by swinging a piece of timber, then Matthew grabbed it, pushed it, forced it to halt. He kneed Rick.

“Ungh!”

Rick jerked and propped himself up, gasping.

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“Thath right, whoth the bawth?”

Rick made a muttered rasp that could have meant any number of things, though its most direct translation was “I’m in great pain.”

Rick swept again with this wooden stick, which flamed where Matthew had clutched it. He missed his blow and caught Matthew’s cloak, the mage shoved him, and Rick collapsed into a pile of ash.

It was then Matthew realized his cloak was alight. His Fire Resistance A stopped his skin from burning, but soon—

“Ow! Ow! Hoth! Too hoth!”

“Dumbass. You’re a fire mage, and you don’t bother to fireproof or heatproof your cloak?”

“Shit!” He flung his cloak aside, leaving him shirtless. The following brawl had no grace, honor, or dignity; it was an all-out struggle between a bully and a bum.

“Thumb!” Rick said, pausing as grass buds sprouted in the soot. The soil cilia danced around Matthew’s shoes, slowing him enough for Rick to get in another good hit. Matthew reeled, stomped, then had embers rain from his palm and burn them all out.

“Ember Punch!” Matthew said, and knuckled into Rick’s chest. The knuckle-embers seared him and left tiny flames on the leather coat: Rick ripped off the cloth before it could spread, and then his shirt was also gone.

“Ember Punch!” Matthew said again, whiffing this one as he wheezed.

“So you can still talk clearly. And I was worried you’d been hurt,” Rick grinned, and Matthew flashed a jagged smile in return. “Flesh Fire!”

An orb shot right by Rick's heart, and blistered his skin. A bright dot sparked up on his chest and brought with it a lingering pain that started as a pinprick, buzzed into a sting, iced into a searing burn.

Rick threw another three punches, and each one made Matthew bleed. Matthew countered; Rick caught the fist in a glove and bent it up to the smoke-filled sky.

Crack!

“Agh!”

Rick didn’t know whether that cry came from him or from Matthew. The mystical fire near his heart burned ever harsher, and Rick’s focus became akin to a sniper’s. Chin! Nose! Eyes! Collar! Gut! Whatever shot was open he took.

Matthew countered just as viciously, but he was more poser than brawler. His punches went from a flurry to a storm to a light spring breeze. All the houses behind him were gone, and with one last punch— “Haaa!!!” — Rick’s opponent twisted into a pile of timber.

His chiseled face had been hammered into new, ugly proportions, and his glowing skin shined black and blue. A gurgling emerged from the remains of the snuffed out mage.

“Ahahah… hahaha.” Matthew giggled. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve the strength of an imbecile. That A-Rank skill, Flesh Fire—it’ll be impossible for you to put it out!”

“I’ll wait.…” Rick said. “However long it takes…”

“Phoenix Flame!”

A green fire enveloped Matthew’s body and lifted him to his feet, and the man shifted to a fighting stance. “You understand the difference between an A-Rank and a nobody now? So long as this Phoenix Flame goes on, I can fight forever. And you’ll keep burning til you die.

“Don’t look away! Look me in the eyes! Look at the man that killed you… the God that was kind enough to waste the last of his mana on a pathetic grub!”

“I’m looking… at everybody…” Rick agreed, heaving.

Matthew whirled around, and behind him a one hundred fifty year old elf girl was leading a sea of tarnished brown. It was a crowd full of D and E-Rank Adventurers; they wielded leather bucklers and holsters, rusted swords and daggers, wooden bows and spears. Some had wooden buckets too, and all their equipment was smeared with a familiar blue.

“The firewatch,” Eliza declared, “has returned.”

She dumped her bucket of slime over Matthew’s head, and his “Phoenix Fire” was reduced to a speck that couldn’t even boil an egg. Pern pitched another glob at Rick and his “Flesh Fire” was splashed out too.

“Revenge!” Pern mouthed, and threw yet another glob at Rick—but Matthew’s raw voice overpowered her.

“Elfie! Traitor whore! This is a fight between the human and—mfff!!!”

Rick decked him. Then, when he reached up to protect his scalp, Rick punched him in the balls. When Matthew reached down to protect his balls, Rick hit his noggin again. It was a perfect combo, and Rick repeated this loop til Matthew the Fire Mage was a Gibbering Mess.

“Ricky. Flunky. Tricky, Derelict Rick. This can’t be happening! This can’t be! You’re supposed to be weak!”

Matthew gazed glossy-eyed at the crowd around him. It was as if he were pleading to a jury, but not to a jury of his peers— only to those who Matthew considered to be like children.

“You know all about him, don’t you! His reputation—he’s a liar, an idiot, a cheat; all this doesn’t count!”

“He’s well-known around for being someone who always fails his quests,” said Righteous Tim. “But we never said a thing about him being ‘weak.’”

“And do you think we’re stupid or something?” Eliza said. “You obviously set those fires! Why in Andrestia would we bail you out?”

Matthew no longer had a party to support him. Isaac was dead, Constance was wandering somewhere all trussed up like a turkey and Pern was standing next to Rick. But there were forty-odd Adventurers in the crowd ‘interested’ in him, eying the arsonist as if he were one of the slimes they had just slayed.

Righteous Tim sharpened his sword. Tom Hawk hefted his tomahawk. And Matthew’s last capable party member returned to his side.

“Wait wait wait wait!” Pern said. “There’s justice, there’s such a thing called justice here!”

“S-Rank! Of course you’d understand!” Matthew said. “I was just following orders. If you’ll let me go I’ll put in a good word for Mazevale. Come, let’s return to the King!”

“It’s obvious he’s a minion in a bigger conspiracy. If we want to find out what’s happening, we’ve got to talk to the grunts.”

“Minion…? Grunt…? Minon? Grunt!?That’s not me. That’s not my role!”

“Come on, prisoner,” Rick said. “We’re taking you in for questioning.”

“I’m an A-Rank! An A-Rank, you hear me! There’s only one hundred in the world!!! I was given that title!!! Give me respect, dammit! Give me what I deserve!!!”

And soon Matthew the Fire Mage got exactly that, as did Rick.