Somewhere along the fourth corridor, while George was heaving as he walked back towards the camp, sweat visible on his face, his face started burning again.

He fell over, already exhausted from using his Heals repeatedly, and clutched at his face. It was a familiar sensation, even if it was slightly weaker than the first time it had happened.

George was in mild shock, sweating and swearing profusely, and the two lizardmen behind him slowly picked him up and started supporting his steps.

He couldn’t even fathom what was happening. He was exhausted, and he was now apparently going to get used as a line of defence for his malevolent contractor. There was no way he was capable of being of use to these people.

They made their way to the camp, only to see the lizardmen already running about, clearing tents, picking up arms and gathering in tight groups.

Gaz’Ruk appeared before them, took a single look at George, and shouted something at someone far away.

“I… can’t do anything,” George slurred the words as the world around him spun in pain.

“Nonsense, Grrrg,” Gaz’Ruk replied. “You just need some good stuff.”

George’s curiosity and disorientation had peaked as he saw someone handing Gaz’Ruk a small vial with greenish goo inside.

Gaz’Ruk opened George’s mouth forcefully, George’s feeble attempts at defending himself moot, and shoved the contents of the vial into George's throat.

George gulped, swallowing the sticky, sour goop. Almost immediately the pain in his head stopped completely and he could feel coherent thoughts forming in his head again.

Whatever that was, George would need to learn to make it. It seemed invaluable, even compared to him being able to Heal wounds away.

Before he could voice any concerns, questions, or comments, Gaz’Ruk replaced his gooey spear with another one, put some sort of a leather piece that should function as armour for his chest, and gave him his book back.

Apparently, they considered the book a part of him, and George couldn’t but agree that there was an attachment towards the book in some way.

He noticed Kr’thra among the crowd of lizardmen running about and gave her a quick wave. He could hear her say “good luck” before Gaz’Ruk and the group he was apparently with started walking into a corridor, prompting him to follow them.

The group, now counting ten, made a makeshift ambush to wait for invaders in the same cavern they did before, George considering they’ll utilise similar tactics as before. He wasn’t nearly as sure in what Gaz’Ruk was thinking at any point in time, but it would appear that the rest of the group went along with it regardless, so he resided to do the same.

Another sharp pang coursed through George’s face as he tried his best to reserve his spells for later, realising that his adventure with the Hunting Spiders could have serious, and dire, consequences.

He sat down and tried to calm his thoughts, looking through the book for any possible advice. He remembered why he went to kill the spiders, in anger for being denied one single avenue he knew of getting more information and help.

At the same time, he thought what would constitute a compatible Deity, but decided to not delve on the matter for long. He didn’t even know of any others, let alone what he’d have to do to get the book to acknowledge them.

The group sat mostly in silence, occasionally exchanging a word or two, but generally waiting to hear something significant coming their way.

None of the corridors seemed to be interesting or lively for a while, and then one of them didn’t.

It was a similar situation from last time. Yells and screams could be heard in the distance as other sounds rose above them, namely of clashing metal. The sounds continued, slowly getting closer and more intelligible.

The corridor was then lit in a bright orange light as a sound of a fire swept through it, eliciting more yells from whoever was in the corridor and gulps from George. Whatever these people were doing, it seemed they were not having a good time.

He wondered what exactly can the Guardian do and if it was behind such things. These looked to be traps, but George was certain he didn’t notice, or trigger, any on his way through the corridors. He considered that not all of them would be trapped but that would seem bizarre. If he were to be defending something, there was no reason to put traps in only a few of the routes.

He could now distinguish steps out of the corridor and peeked above the stalagmite he was sat behind.

There were eight people in front of him, and not all appeared to be human either. One was too short to be one, although the huge beard and a stubby body made was a telltale sign of George’s worldview of how Dwarves looked in fiction.

The other non-Human was tall, lanky, and had long ears. That, alongside him having blond hair and carrying a bow, made George ever so curious if where he was wasn’t actually a game all along, and he just glitched out.

But the pain he felt before was definitely weird.

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The eight people just outside the corridor looked around the cavern as George’s own group lay in wait, until Gaz’Ruk made a slight noise and all of them got up and charged at the ‘enemy’ as George would brand them for the time being. After all, the people next to him helped him lots, and the people on the other side were coming here to kill the Guardian. That made them enemy enough for now.

George gripped his spear and lied in wait again, trying to see if he could reproduce what he did the first time. He found a spellcaster, by his standards, in the enemy’s ranks. This time there seemed to be two of them, as there were two people in too little armour to be warriors like the people with large weapons in front of them.

He picked one of them and charged the Holy Light again, trying to focus on something that didn’t move much or at all. He decided to go for the cowl of the robes of one of the people, the one that looked to be oldest in the bunch and imagined a light beaming out of it.

He didn’t focus on the extravagant amount as the last time, seeing as there appeared to be limits to it, and settled for remembering the Holy Light from his first encounter with humans.

A moment later a bright light burst from the wizard’s cowl and everyone dropped what they were doing momentarily until people started to adjust.

George thought that he could possibly be of more use if he could actually delay the spellcasting of the enemy more instead of retrying the same old tricks.

He powered up a Heal and ran quickly to the first wounded lizardman he saw, eliciting some shouting from the enemy. He glanced towards them and saw a snippet of confusion on their faces, before steeling his resolve, gripping the spear, and charging headfirst into the closest human he could find.

His spear didn’t connect, naturally. In fact, it didn’t even come close. A sword came between him and the target and George was forced to stop and look at his new enemy, a large heavily-armed human in shiny armour.

He spotted Gaz’Ruk by his side and hoped the lizardman could help him if George managed to attract enough attention.

In hindsight, maybe he should’ve considered his actions better. The human in front of him swung his sword towards George, and he tried his best to dodge in return.

The blade reached just far enough and searing pain lit up the right half of George’s face. The next thing he saw was Gaz’Ruk’s blade going through the human’s neck.

He immediately grasped his face and backed down screaming. Everything around him was covered in red. The pain coursing through his face was insufferable. Whatever the Guardian had been doing was nothing by comparison.

George immediately started the Heal spell. He couldn’t see the wound to concentrate on it, but there really wasn’t anything else to concentrate on.

Light erupted from his palm and removed what little sight he had left for the moment.

He staggered back to his feet and touched around until he could lean against a wall. He started stumbling in what was to him a random direction.

There were screams and grunts and clashing behind him, and that was enough. He was moving away. He wasn’t made for this, and cursed through his yelps as he staggered on.

His left hand, the one that grasped his face, was warm and wet. The Heal couldn’t even work properly when he needed it the most, apparently. He was utterly useless at everything.

George turned just in time to spot Gaz’Ruk impale someone with his sword. But the lizardmen were still overwhelmed. He turned back and staggered again, his face still in agony.

He powered the Heal once again, already starting to feel the familiar fatigue. His breaths were shorter and shorter. He wished there was more green goo to gulp down.

Another sear of pain erupted from his lower back and George fell to his knees. What little he could see was the blood that dripped from his hand and face. He tenderly touched his back with the other arm and felt hard wood sticking out just above his right hip. He looked to his stomach and a tip of the arrow stuck out.

He glanced back towards the fight. There seemed to be more chaos and screaming than before. He could no longer discern who was fighting whom or who his allies were. They were all a mesh of screaming and clashing.

He saw a lizardman fall just a few meters from him, arrows sticking out of his chest. He turned back, staring at the end of the cavern where his book was.

George knew he shouldn’t take the arrow out, but it just hurt so damn much. His breaths ragged and shallow, he crawled towards the book on two legs and his free hand, each crawl another piece of agony, still grasping at his face, futilely trying to Heal himself.

Reaching the book, he took a final glance towards the fight. Gaz’Ruk was still standing, but barely, surrounded by two people he couldn’t discern. There were a few more lizardmen around, one sat against a wall, and a few more people around them.

He turned towards the useless book. Page one was still as useless as ever, the three lines stood unmoving in their mockery.

To the glory of ___________

Please choose a Domain

Please choose a Deity

He started yelling.

He yelled at the world, at whichever God might be listening, at his life. But mostly, he just yelled.

“I don’t know any fucking Gods that work! What kind of a stupid book is this!”

On his first day here, he thought this was so similar to a game. Everything just looked too unreal to be true.

Drops of blood splattered on the yellowed page, slowly staining it red before the book started cleaning itself.

“This is crap! Does this look like a game to you?” He shouted at the air, hoping someone would hear.

George knew this was so far off from a game.

His breaths became more ragged as he tried to yell some more. He put the bloodied hand away from his face and onto the first page of the book.

He was losing and they were most likely going to die. And this was not a game.

He needed someone to help him. Anyone. Someone strong. He needed salvation.

He needed a victory.

Because this wasn’t a game, but war.

And he couldn’t afford to lose. His mind started scrolling through images as if anything would help.

He thought of women in scantily clad clothes on wings with swords in their hands, old wise men with spellbooks and staves. People with bows, axes, hammers, swords, tanks, and piloting aeroplanes. Fearless warriors with nothing but a weapon challenging many.

He imagined whatever he thought a battle would be, blood and chaos and yelling and death. He wasn’t sure why he was obsessed with those images, but there was no real reason to think of anything else.

The book started glowing in a bright yellow light, the pool of blood on the first page distorting slowly, and George winced as he tried to look at the pages.

Written in blood-red, bold letters were three words:

“Domain chosen: War”

George’s consciousness gave way and all he could see was white.