A dream is like a letter from our unconscious minds, a missive delivered in the stillness of night, penned in the cryptic language of symbols and emotions. Each night, as we drift into slumber, our conscious defenses fall away, and the hidden parts of our psyche come alive. These dreams, often surreal and enigmatic, are the way our unconscious mind whispers its thoughts, fears, desires, and unresolved conflicts.

- On Dreams and Reality by Master Bertrand of the University of Quas.

“Get away from him!” one of the raven-haired sisters cried, her face a picture of delectable distress. Could they be more cliched?

I knelt and picked up the fallen giant’s club. It was unbalanced and awkward in my hand. That was, of course, because I lifted it up one-handed, a display of Strength and surety.

“You heard that… you are payment for this pathetic excuse of humanity’s life. But, there are no slaves in Al-Lazar… so the offer is moot and void,” I explained slowly, tapping the floor and cracking the tiles with my new oversized weapon. Still, energy flowed into me from the pair, a heady elixir that tasted most sweet. Thank you, Greater Drain.

I stepped closer to Randal. “Hey, man. We got a deal. C'mon, our situation’s pretty much the same… We should stick together, we’re both from…”

My hand swung sharply for I could help myself no longer.

An Improved Power Strike-infused blow made his head nothing more than an impressionist’s explosion of pinks and reds.

“We are nothing alike… you are far too low-level,” I whispered softly with a wan smile.

There was a heavy silence at my display of casual and sudden violence.

You have slain Randal Jeffries [Minor] Champion of Kaes-Loka.

You have 1000 experience gained.

3 unassigned attribute points.

1 unassigned skill point.

I immediately felt a burst of power surge the deep places of my being. Something felt right as if a heavy stone had been lifted, a freeing sensation that was most welcome. Euphoria sang its triumphant song. None could stop me.

I shivered in pleasure even as I put all the attribute points into Dexterity and the skill point into Greater Drain. With the Champion’s death, my green and gold-flecked bar had also filled completely. It was flashing now, demanding that I walk once more upon its path.

With Randal’s sacrifice, I was feeling generous. Largesse was expected from great men. “Ladies you may go… you have fulfilled honor’s obligation. You owe this corpse that offered to betray you nothing. Your god has forsaken him for his blasphemy,” I laughed almost hysterically, my voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

The gathered group were all still mesmerized, but here and there a few of the men eyed me with resigned looks. The looks of men who knew their death had come but had accepted their fates.

The two women, on the other hand, were survivors. They simply nodded to one before pushing to the back. Soon after, I heard them fleeing back down the corridor. Good, I thought to myself, it would be best for today’s event to spread. Let the Council and the Bulls of Heaven be at greater odds with one another.

It suited my purpose.

“However, the rest of you. I hope that you fight well… well at least well enough to be entertaining,” I cackled as I threw myself at them with wild abandon.

Already I had begun to utter the mantra that would allow me to walk on the path of carnage.

*****

I mowed through the compound, a measured flash of rage and steel, momentarily lost on my path. When my heightened state finally subsided, I began to kill in a more measure, cold, and clinical fashion. Experimentation was on my mind, and before me I had a score of willing volunteers who threw themselves like lemmings at me.

Unleashing techniques learned in the Dust dream, I found them equally effective in the waking world. Thanks to Fen, I had gained the ability to judge space, discern good timing, and master general positioning. More importantly, I had been taught how to blend all these elements together, creating a seamless dance of death, my weapon an extension of my will.

Numbers flashed, meaningless notifications of the ending of their inconsequential lives. Their fates were nothing more than to be ended by the flash of sharp steel, the hunger of my magic, or the simple bludgeon of my heavy fist.

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The people I faced were, in simple terms, trash compared to me. I made short work of those wearing iron or steel armor, cooking them in an incandescent display of hot metal. For those in ensorcelled bronze, I had to resort to more traditional methods. My Greater Drain spell weakened them as I fought them in melee. I kept some of them injured but alive, using their bodies as living batteries for my fighting efforts. Unfortunately, despite my care, some of them died much earlier than I wanted.

I went through several weapons, casting them aside as they became dulled and broken. Had I drawn the magic weapon at my back I felt it would have been bad sport.

To spice things up, I occasionally picked up a fallen weapon and threw it at my enemies while using Inferno Bolt. Their screams, as hot scalding metal splashed over them, were notes of music in the general cacophony of slaughter.

At times I even closed my eyes, letting instincts take over. Learning to feel with my other senses the ebb and flow of my enemies' movements. It was by no means perfect, but served as good practice nonetheless.

Fear prodded them to act in desperation, yet at the same time dulled their blows. A man who knows he will die, who has given up, is the easiest opponent to defeat. Still, occasionally, I would suffer damage, my armor unable to fully absorb the impact of a desperate blow or a lucky strike finding its way through a weak spot. Unfortunately for those who stood against me, it was a trivial matter to restore what little damage they did, thanks to my Lesser Regeneration and Greater Drain spell.

At some point, a cry had come up from the guards of the compound calling me a ‘Sleeper’ or some other such nonsense. I was very much awake, thank you very much.

But what truly enraged me was when they beseeched their gods, especially the goddess Avaria. Did they not see that I was their judgment come? It spurred me to greater heights of frenzy as I continued my harvest for more and more experience points.

For kicks and giggles, I even used Freezing Aura, enjoying how it slowed my enemies and made them easier prey. Despite its name, Freezing Aura made me feel a heat in my core that spread to all my extremities when activated and enervated me.

A particularly educational encounter was when I burst into a room. A boy stood with a cooking knife in the corner, warding me away from his sister who lay trembling behind him. I sighed and turned away, only for the boy to stab me through my lower leg.

My Greater Drain spell reduced him to a shriveled husk of dried meat. No mercy, I reminded myself.

It was all rather jolly good fun.

But like all good things, my time in the compounds of the Bulls of Heaven came to an end. A quiet crept up on me, replacing the earlier screams and sounds of fighting. Peace. In short, all who were left had broken and fled. As an added bonus, the City Guards had not come.

I estimated that about thirty or forty minutes had passed as I let my Entropic energy wash over me. The dried blood and offal that had gotten on me turned into fine dust and fell away like false tears. Shedding the viscera of battle like an old skin, I walked clean through an abattoir of my own making. The stench of copper was cloying as the last few notifications of some nobodies deaths filtered into my view.

Dismissing them, I took the time to glance at my overall status and was annoyed at the lack of gains despite the festival of carnage.

After all of that song and dance, there were no improvements to my attributes and only one point improvement to one of my skills, Blind-Fighting. Still, I had gained just over fifteen hundred points in experience so it was not a bad haul at the end of the day.

I finished making my way through the aftermath, passing by the seneschal Vivek’s corpse. Red-faced with indignation, he had been surprisingly brave, coming at me with a short club. Unfortunately, he had been less than skilled as the hole in his prodigious stomach attested to.

Coming back to the chamber where I had started the killing, I breathed a long sigh. Perhaps there would be some loot that I could quickly pillage before making my exit. Also, Deschanel had looked especially interested in a sconce on the wall. Most likely it would lead to a safe room or an exit from the compound.

I pulled at the sconce, stepping over Deschanel’s corpse. A slow rumble followed, as a section of the wall rose, revealing a flight of stairs leading downward. Sighing at the predictability of it all, I rifled through the fine desk, my fingers closing around a golden letter opener, its dull blade erupting from a chameleon’s mouth. In a drawer, I found a wad of Lazarian gold notes, which I pocketed with a small thrill. A small fortune by any standard.

To add to my spoils, I relieved the corpses in the room of their jewelry, stuffing the most valuable pieces into my bag. Rings, necklaces, and bracelets—each glinting with promise—were added to my growing collection. Perhaps, I could open up a shop, I thought jokingly.

My business concluded, I cast a final glance around the room. There had been a time when the sight of a corpse would have filled me with shock and horror. How desensitized I had become, I thought bitterly. I had become what this damn world forced me to be.

To sow more confusion, I cast Decay on the corpses. It felt, oddly enough, like desecrating a temple. The sour-sweet smell of rot filled the air as my magic took hold of their bodies, the stench lingering and following me as I descended the stairs.

*****

The stairs eventually led to a narrow passage that was lit with expensive Zajasite lining its wall, providing a dull but constant glow. More than enough to see by.

Now that it was over, I entered a state of thoughtful clarity, not too dissimilar to the one felt after a good rut. My system informed me that I had slain a Champion. There had been a reward, but would there be repercussions? Were all Visitors, like Randal and I, chosen by the gods of this world? I almost felt sickened using Randal in the same thought as myself. Low-level useless scum.

More importantly, what would happen if I killed them all? Would I finally be able to return home and escape this awful place?

The passage finally stopped at a dead end. Before me was a wall of bricks and mortar. Enraged, I kicked at the offending obstacle, surprised to see it crumble easily, revealing another space.

Stepping through, I found myself in an empty building, the glow behind me illuminating a room filled with dust and the detritus of years. Disinterested in further exploration, I soon left the building and stepped out onto a quiet side street. A few passersby gave me odd looks before visibly looking away, pretending that I did not exist.

Surprised, I looked down at myself and found that I was at least presentable. Perhaps, it was because I left that old building I wondered. Most likely the people around here knew well enough to avoid the business of the Bulls.

Shrugging, I made my way to the main thoroughfare. I needed to inform Larynda about what had transpired and make our next move.

Suddenly there was a rattle, the sound of something vibrating insistently against wood. It was the box that the Necromancer had given me, demanding to be opened.