I thrust my dagger straight into the clurichaun’s chest. Or where his chest should have been. Instead, I only made contact with the empty air. The image of the clurichaun, where he had been standing moments before, faded to nothing.

I heard snickering laughter and wheeled around. The little brute was behind me, standing at the far end of the aisle between the wall and one of the center displays. He appeared wobbly, his strange speech slurred.

“Amadán mór tú! Seo go léir trioblóid le haghaidh fíon lousy. Ní fiú fuisce nó beoir.”

I turned, brandishing the dagger. I could sense my opportunity slipping away.

No!

I rushed forward again, trying to squeeze every ounce from my 20 Speed rating across the short distance. This time I swung the blade in a downward slashing motion, anything to make contact.

Another trick! Another illusion.

Pain exploded in my skull and a terrible crash filled my ears as the clurichaun, materializing at my side, smashed a wine bottle over my head.

Ahhh!

I stumbled away, inadvertently knocking several bottles from the display rack. They shattered on the floor, purple liquid mixing with the blood trickling from my matted hair.

[Damage received.

Essence: 10 remaining]

Oh frag!

My head pounded and my vision blurred. I wiped blood and wine out of my eyes just in time to see the creature throw a bottle at me. I dodged to one side, the glass bursting on the ground like some hand grenade.

Another bottle. Then another. The clurichaun cackled spitefully, ripping the bottles from the racks and lobbing them at me.

I thought these things were supposed to disappear to avoid capture! Instead, my uninhibited bounty seemed to be enjoying the sport.

I ducked for cover behind the nearest end row and held my dagger ready. I couldn’t withstand another blow like that. I could hear the creature laughing, muttering, stumbling over the broken glass.

Then, all at once - it was silent.

I feared the worst, that my quarry had vanished back into its hole. Well, maybe that wasn’t the worst case scenario, all things considered. I slowly craned my neck to peek around the display wall.

“Diabhal mór!”

The clurichaun suddenly appeared on the other side of me and struck at my hand with a cobbler’s hammer. It made contact with my dagger, hard enough to knock it from my grasp. I watched it horror as the dagger went skidding across the slick floor.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

I attempted to back away, but slipped and fell. The drunk imp advanced, hammer in one hand, broken bottle in the other. It stabbed at my torso with the broken bottle, glass shards ripping into my coveralls.

“Diabhal mór! Diabhal mór!”

I scrambled backwards on my hands and feet, feeling broken glass cut against the palms of my hands in the pooling wine until I reached the far opposite end of the aisle.

I opened the front of my coveralls and reached inside, gingerly searching my skin for wounds. I felt none. My coveralls were damaged, but I was okay for the time being. And it seemed the cuts on my hands, although painful, weren’t enough to bypass my 10 Defense and reduce my Essence any further.

I looked up as the clurichaun stumbled forward, tripping on half of a broken wine bottle and crashing sideways against the wall. It let out some curse and struggled to right itself, taking up its hammer and broken bottle once more, narrowing its bloodshot eyes on me.

I had one chance at this. With my hand still buried inside my coveralls, I concentrated - materializing my snubnosed revolver beneath the black fabric.

The clurichaun stalked closer, purplish lips curled back over stained teeth.

I tried to aim the short barrel of the gun upwards at the center of its mass.

Then I fired.

Once! Twice!

[3 / 5 ammunition remaining]

A hole ripped through the fabric of my coveralls and the revolver recoiled painfully against my ribs.

The first shot went wide of the mark, ricocheting off some hard surface in the cellar.

The second was a gut shot.

The clurichaun screamed, dropping his weapons and collapsing to the ground, small gnarled hands clutching at his belly as bilous blood seeped generously from a hole in his ruddy shirt.

I slowly rose to my feet, pulling the revolver out. I trained my eyes on my wounded prey and stepped forward, grabbing it by its lapels and aiming the gun straight at its forehead.

I recalled the information I had gathered from the Archive: ‘If he is caught, a clurichaun has the power to vanish if he can make his captor look away for even a moment.’

I didn’t dare even blink. I readied myself to pull the trigger and put an end to it.

“Stop. Beidh mé a thabhairt duit rud ar bith is mian leat!” he / it suddenly protested, raising one wrinkled hand in the air while keeping the other pressed against his gushing wound. His breath smelled awful.

With a raised hand, the clurichaun snapped its fingers.

Suddenly, two items appeared - one to my left, one to my right. Both were just out of reach. I kept my eyes ferociously trained on my target, daring only to strain with my peripheral vision at the mysterious objects. They seemed to be constructed of brown leather.

[invasive anomalies detected]

Invasive anomalies?

[{rare} anomaly detected - Apothecary’s Satchel]

[{rare} anomaly detected - Magic Coin Purse]

I sensed that the creature was somehow willing me to know what these objects were. It was offering them to me in exchange for its life.

I kept my eyes focused straight ahead. They were watering from the exertion of not blinking.

The last thing I wanted was to fall for another trick, another illusion.

Anomalies. Inanimate objects birthed from foreign code.

What if one, or both, were fake? Could I kill this thing and then seize the plunder? What if they vanished the moment I killed their owner? Was it worth losing a 5,000 Crypt bounty for a chance at obtaining one or both of these rare items? Maybe I should just pull the trigger and try to grab one.