It made sense that this would happen.

Every time Chase upgraded his arsenal, it felt like some cosmic presence immediately exposed a different weakness that he didn’t even know he had. When he started using the Luger, he found its magazine capacity lacking. When he bought the Beretta, he was capped by its power. The MP7 was great, but the Two City Disaster had shown him exactly how much he was lacking in comparison to some other Hunters.

And now he felt nearly useless against this hulking, stinking, teleporting boss.

Each time he scuffled around, adjusting his position and training in his scope on the monster, it slipped into another muddy puddle and disappeared from view. He was struggling to think of any weapon that would help him here, short of a heat-seeking, submergible ballistic missile. A Talent would be nice, something to do with ice so he could freeze over the boss’s escape routes.

And with every wasted opportunity, the boss came closer. It travelled a hundred-metre distance every time it plunged into the watery depths, and the only reason it wasn’t on him already was that it couldn’t take a direct route. It zig-zagged across the undulating terrain, playing with him like a game of Whack-a-Mole.

Of course, the Gate was right behind him. As long as he didn’t wait for the boss to be on top of him, he could slip out any time and leave the rest to Estapanza. But it rankled him to be caught out like this. It dulled the sense of achievement he’d felt after his hours of training at the range.

Nebula would just go down there and dice it up with one of her giant crystal swords.

He refocused on his task, once again switching position as the monster jetted up from a well. A waterfall of water cascaded down its shoulders, and the cloth around its head was soaked. It was effectively waterboarding itself, but it didn’t seem to care.

There has to be a pattern. Some way to predict its movements.

The puddles all looked largely the same. They were each wide enough to fit the boss’s broad shoulders, but there wasn’t much wriggle room. That, at least, would make Chase’s shot easier if he ever had the chance to take one. Each time it slipped in, it barely made a splash, as if its body momentarily became one with the water.

He looked closer. One with the water.

It was only four or five-hundred metres away from him now, but the first nugget of an idea came to him. Just before the monster entered the pits, the tattoos beneath its feet would flash in that golden hue he’d noticed before.

It’s activating the teleporters, or whatever construct runs beneath this place.

Seeing as it burst from the corresponding puddle with its head breaching the water first, he wondered if he would see a golden glow before it exited.

The next time it looked like it would submerge, he scoped in on a random section of puddles about a hundred metres closer to his vantage point.

At first, there was nothing. There was no roar of malice and hunger as it breached the surface, so it had to be underneath still.

Then, the faintest shimmer of a gold glow flashed into the edge of his scope. He’d been slightly off in his estimate, but not too far.

Not so much that he wasn’t ready.

It ascended from the void of the puddle in one mighty leap, flying into the air and landing on the solid ground to the left. In his haste, Chase took a shot as it was falling, and the bullet caught it in the meaty flesh just below where its ribs might sit. He fumbled with the action, trying desperately to get off another shot while the monster was stunned, though he only caught a glimpse of the wreckage he’d cause before it slipped into another pond. The entry wound, usually not much bigger than the size of the bullet itself, was a mangled mess. Nebula’s explosive shards had detonated on impact, instantly flowering over the boss’s skin and sending needles of brittle crystal into its flesh, which at this point would be shattering and digging in further, causing brutal pain. The effects of Hestia’s residue weren’t as visually pronounced, but he still noticed a difference in its movement speed. He’d been so close to getting off that second shot.

In his analysis, Chase missed the boss’s next resurfacing. His instincts screamed at him to pack up his things and go, for the puddles at the base of his hill would be the boss’s final destination, and by then it would be too late.

But he was so close. If the powers of the cosmos were going to insist that he needed some new weapon or gadget to beat this boss, he would tell them to go shove it. His armour could probably take a glancing blow, and he could grab his rifle and ditch the Gate in less than a second. However, he wouldn’t have to.

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Because this fight was ending now.

The tell-tale yellow glow erupted like a spotlight from only a hundred metres away, and Chase fired another shot. This one took the boss in the arm, and it immediately went limp as Nebula’s crystals embraced its bicep like a cast. Even with his earmuffs, its roar nearly deafened him, and he clapped his hands to his head, pushing the soft material further onto his ears.

Last chance.

When it came up next, it would be right on him. He reverted to a sitting position with his legs bent somewhat in front of him. It was awkward, but by placing an elbow on each of his knees, his arms became his bipod. He needed the extra manoeuvrability in case it chose a puddle other than the one directly in front of him.

It was lucky that he wasn’t lying down. A geyser of water shot up behind him, and he spun on his butt, completing nearly a full one-eighty-degree turn. Only twenty metres away, the boss towered over the Gate and his hilltop like an omniscient god looking down on its creation.

At the peak of its leap, Chase pulled the trigger.

Time seemed to slow as his training fell into place. It seemed like the adrenaline in him was slowed by sheer willpower, and he felt the butt of the stock slip into the protected section of his vest. His elbows found solid purchase on his kneecaps, and his whole body leant back as he aimed high.

For the head.

The noises of the Dungeon were erased by the blast of his weapon, and the recoil bowled him over backwards, sending him rolling down the hill in a jumble of limbs and poking gun barrels. He clutched the Blaser tight to his chest, trying to stop the gun from hitting the wet earth.

When his tumble ended at the base of the hill, only a metre from the endless pit of a puddle, he swivelled his MP7 to the front of his body and clutched it in one hand. His lungs felt like they were in his throat, and his back was hot with sweat.

The sound of the boss crumpling to the ground gave him flashbacks to Two City’s destruction, as skyscrapers collapsed in on themselves and fell to earth in a rapture of thunder-like roars. It ended in an almighty splash that sounded like a sea mine detonating, and plumes of mist mushroomed in the air, covering Chase in a light sheen of spray.

He lay on the wet earth with his arms and legs in the shape of a starfish.

Then he laughed, a full-bellied guffaw that brought tears to his eyes and relief through his entire body. His body was loose, like he’d had the best stretch of his life.

“That was…” He couldn’t pick the word to describe the cocktail of feelings swirling inside him. It was…what was it?

“Gratifying?” said a voice behind him.

Chase was on his feet in an instant, his MP7 trained on the skull of the man before him. When he noticed they were…somewhat human, he lowered his weapon. That wasn’t the best display of gun safety.

The man was old, perhaps the oldest person Chase had ever seen. His face was so wrinkled that it was almost impossible to differentiate one wrinkle from another, and his skin was pockmarked like Swiss cheese. Bleach-white hair fell just past his waist, and his robes were a series of greens and greys that matched the murky Dungeon’s palette. But his eyes were the strangest of all. For starters, they were slitted like a lizard and the entire iris was bright orange, but just as odd were his blank white pupils.

Actually, pupil. His right eye was orange all the way over.

“Who are you?” Chase demanded. “If you’re from Esperanza, you shouldn’t be here.”

“That was quite an impressive kill, you know.” The old man completely ignored Chase’s question. As if to emphasis his care-free nature, he walked over one of the teleporting puddles, his weight not even creating a ripple on the surface. “Not as graceful in the aftermath, but still.”

Chase kept both hands on his MP7 as he inched backwards up the hill. “I’m going to make sure the boss is dead, then I’m leaving. How about we talk somewhere less…dangerous.”

The old man chuckled, and Chase noticed that his voice wasn’t nearly as old sounding as he would’ve thought. His laugh was loud and strong, not crackled and wheezing. “I assure you, the great brute is dead. Your bullet didn’t quite penetrate the necessary part of its brain, so I guided it with my own hand.”

“You guided it?”

“In a way.”

Chase nearly scoffed at the ridiculous notion, but something about the man’s attitude and poise gave him pause. Perhaps this was a member of Sanabria’s rumoured team of Ultras, come here to test out the new prospects.

“I’ll ask again,” he said, nearly halfway up the hill now. “Who are you?”

The man took one step, and in a flash he was next to Chase, within touching distance. His movement was a blur, completely beyond Chase’s senses.

His blood froze. Standing next to this man felt like there was some kind of pressure on his skin, like a sodden blanket constricting around him, sticking to his skin and holding him in place, ready for—

“Eris,” he said. “If you must name me, you can call me Eris. It’s what your friends do.”

“My friends?”

Eris waved his hand, as if the question was nonsensical. “People you associate with. Talk to. The ones you call Lucia Sanabria and Aimee Rose-Alton.”

“Aimee Rose-Alton…wait, you mean Nebula? Nebula’s real name is Aimee?”

Eris shrugged and rolled his eyes, showing that the orange did indeed encompass his entire eyeball. “If you say so. But that is beside the point. I thought I’d come see you personally.”

They were at the top of the hill now, looking down on the form of the destroyed boss. It had fallen in such a way that Chase could see the hideous exit wound in the back of its head. Apparently Hestia’s addition to the concoction did have a physical effect, unless the blue ooze leaking from the wound was from something else.

Chase was slightly revolted by the sight, but Eris seemed to take it in stride, as if they were walking through a lovely garden.

“I’m sorry if there’s been a misunderstanding,” Chase said. “But I’m not friends with those two. In fact, I’m pretty sure Nebula— Aimee hates me. If they told you something about me, or you were expecting me to know something about whatever it is you guys do, I’m not your guy. Sorry.”

Eris stared at him for a moment — stared through him, as if his mind was suddenly elsewhere — then clapped him on the back, which nearly sent Chase down the hill for a second time. When he recovered, he turned around, massaging his spine.

The old man was gone.