“What the hell?!” I gasped, my hand instinctively jerking toward the Arcbolt’s trigger. “I thought you were just some big teddy bear?!”
“Oh, sweetie,” Elmo’s voice came through, utterly unfazed. “You should’ve known better. Nothing’s ever as cuddly as it looks, especially in this messed-up world.”
I squeezed the trigger, but the shot only grazed the lion’s plush fur. It didn’t flinch. If anything, it seemed even more determined now, its glittering eyes narrowing.
I gritted my teeth and fired again. This time, the bolt hit it square in the chest, right on the glittering heart emblem. The lion staggered back a step, but it didn’t go down. It just roared, a guttural, almost mechanical growl, and swiped at me with a speed that no stuffed animal should have. The claws caught me across the chest, sending me crashing to the floor with a sharp grunt. Pain shot through my ribs, and I tasted blood in my mouth.
I barely had time to gather myself before the lion lunged again, its claws flashing toward me. I scrambled to my feet, my head spinning, and fired once more—this time hitting the lion’s shoulder. The shot echoed with a sharp, metallic screech, like something that had lived far too long in a toy chest, forgotten and bitter.
But it was still standing. Still coming.
My breath hitched as I felt the pressure in my chest intensify. This thing wasn’t just a stuffed animal—it was a nightmare in plush form. I couldn’t afford to mess around anymore. I couldn’t afford to lose focus.
The lion charged again, claws slashing. I dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the strike, but its tail whipped around with surprising force, slamming into my ribs. Pain exploded through me, and I gasped, clutching at my side, the sharp sting of the injury almost blinding.
I was running out of time.
With every ounce of strength I had left, I steadied the Arcbolt, lining up my shot. The lion’s face was a grotesque display of faux sincerity—its gleaming eyes locked onto mine, daring me to take it down.
“Time for a nap,” I muttered, a dark edge to my voice.
I fired.
The shot hit square in the lion’s head, and with a deep, rumbling groan, the colossal creature crumpled to the floor. It collapsed in a wave of sparkles and synthetic stuffing, disintegrating into a cloud of glitter and foam.
+2000 XP
LEVEL UP
+1 Dexterity
+1 Constitution
Blake took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion. The fight with the giant lion had drained him more than he expected. His head was still spinning, his muscles sore, and his bloodied arm throbbed with every heartbeat. But the +2000 XP notification was impossible to ignore.
He winced as the system pinged loudly in his head. LEVEL UP. He should’ve been happy—he’d just survived a hellish battle. But there was something about it that didn’t sit right with him.
Blake Morgan – Level 2
XP: 3000/6000
HP: 50/65
MP: 48/48
STA: 30/40
Strength: 5
Dexterity: 7
Constitution: 5
Intelligence: 14
Wisdom: 8
Charisma: 3
Perception: 7
Luck: 1
ABILITIES:
ARCBOLT NOVICE
Your aim improves by 5%. Yeah, that’ll help, right?
Tactical Awareness
Your brain's reaction time is 5% faster now, and your ability to form strategies is just a little more efficient. I mean, it's not like you were doing that great before, right?
Blake blinked at the screen, his heart racing. Level 2? Already? He hadn’t even fought that long, right? He’d just barely made it out of that damn lion fight.
He squinted at the XP bar. 3000 to next level. That was still a decent chunk, but the numbers didn’t seem to add up. He’d just defeated a massive stuffed lion, one that had been nearly impossible to take down, and he barely had enough XP for a full level?
Then it hit him.
Blake blinked again, his confusion deepening as the XP bar stubbornly refused to make sense. "Wait a minute..." he muttered to himself. He glanced back at the glowing screen, then around the hall. This wasn’t adding up.
"Hey, Elmo," Blake called out, his voice still heavy with disbelief. "How much was that lion worth, anyway?"
Elmo’s voice pinged into his mind with its usual cheer. “Oh, the big stuffed lion? You’re really gonna ask that now? It was worth a solid 5000 XP. You know, for all the emotional trauma, battle scars, and glitter explosions.”
Blake froze, the words sinking in like a lead weight. "Five thousand?" he repeated, his voice flat. "Then why the hell am I only at level 2? I should have been, like, level 3 by now, right?"
“Oh, sweetie,” Elmo’s voice purred, dripping with mock sympathy. “It’s not that simple. You lost the XP over level, duh. You think this game just hands out freebies? Nah. You gotta earn it, Blake. That’s how it works in the real world… or, you know, whatever the hell this is.”
Blake’s eyes narrowed as he processed the insult. “So what, I got robbed? Because I leveled up too early?”
“Exactly! Welcome to the party!” Elmo laughed. “The game doesn’t care if you just got your ass handed to you by a stuffed animal. It’s all about efficiency. You were supposed to get more XP by, like, surviving a bit longer. But, you know, you shot your load too soon.”
Blake ground his teeth together, resisting the urge to scream. "Great. Just... great."
“Hey, at least you leveled up. Not everyone’s so lucky.” Elmo added, as if trying to soften the blow. "Anyway, you better keep moving, unless you wanna stand here and wallow in your XP-less sorrow.”
Blake scowled at the screen for a moment longer, then shoved it back into his mental pocket with a heavy sigh. Whatever. The game was rigged, the XP was a joke, and the lion was a nightmare. He’d deal with it. For now, he had to keep going.
The hall before him stretched on, dimly lit, with the faint scent of... something sweet lingering in the air. Blake didn’t know if it was a trick of the environment or his own fraying sanity, but he had a feeling this next section of the labyrinth wasn’t going to be any better. He took a cautious step forward, his senses on alert.
The moment he rounded the corner, he froze.
In front of him stood a dozen tiny horses, maybe three feet tall at most, their coats shining in a ridiculous array of pastel colors. They stood in a neat little rows their eyes wide and sparkling, with manes and tails so bright they could put a unicorn to shame. One had a cerulean mane that glittered like the surface of the ocean. Another sported a neon pink mane that looked like it had been dipped in bubblegum. There was a pale lavender one with a silvery-white mane that practically shimmered in the dim light.
Blake stared at the scene, completely dumbfounded.
"What the hell...?" He muttered, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating from all the stress. blake
“Oh, sweetie,” Elmo's voice chimed in with way too much enthusiasm. “Look at them! Aren’t they precious? Just adorable little ‘dream ponies’—the pride of the labyrinth. You can pet them, brush them, or... well, you could try to ride one, but I don’t think that’ll go as planned.”
Blake blinked. “Dream ponies? They look like something straight out of a...”
“Nope!” Elmo interrupted. “Don’t even finish that thought. These beauties are 100% unique. No copyright infringement here, no sir.” There was a pause, and Blake could practically feel the AI’s smirk. “I’m sure you’d love to take one for a spin. They’re super friendly.”
Blake blinked, still processing the absurdity of the situation. These weren’t just cute little ponies—they were dangerous, and he wasn’t about to start thinking of this like some kind of game. He hadn’t clicked “start,” he hadn’t chosen this, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let himself be swept up in some weird, twisted fantasy.
The ponies, their pastel coats shimmering under the low light, continued to prance in a tight circle around him. He could hear the tap of their tiny hooves against the stone, each one moving with an unnatural precision, like they were part of some sick choreography. Their manes were all different colors, impossibly bright—like someone had taken the entire spectrum of neon colors and dumped it onto their heads.
One of them—a bright pink pony with a purple mane—trotted up to him, its big eyes looking up at him with a disturbing amount of affection. Blake froze, watching it closely as it nuzzled his leg, its nose brushing against him like some kind of oversized cat.
He jumped back, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah, not happening,” he muttered, swatting his leg like he was trying to brush off an annoying bug.
“Oh, sweetie, don’t be rude,” Elmo’s voice chirped in his ear. “They just want to be your friend. Look at those eyes. So sweet, right?”
Blake didn’t even look at the damn pony. “I’m bronie,” he shot back. “You can keep your fairy tale nonsense to yourself.”
But the pony wasn’t about to take the hint. It nudged his leg again, pushing him back a few steps. And then—without warning—it kicked out with its tiny hooves.
Blake barely managed to sidestep the strike, the air near his ribs thick with the force of the pony’s attack. He hissed as he felt the wind whoosh past him, and his body instinctively shifted into a combat stance. This wasn’t some weird dream or a virtual game. This was real. These things were real, and they were dangerous.
The pony didn’t wait for him to recover; it charged again, faster than Blake thought possible for something that size. It lunged for him, hooves striking the stone floor with a rapid, rhythmic thud.
Blake didn’t think, he just acted. The Arcbolt was already in his hands, and he brought it up in one fluid motion, aiming for the pony's face. He squeezed the trigger.
The shot hit its mark—right in the pony’s snout.
The little horse reared back, letting out a shrill whinny that rattled through Blake’s bones. He didn’t stop to enjoy the satisfaction of a direct hit, though. Not with the other ponies closing in, their bright eyes locked on him.
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Another pony—a deep blue one with a wild, fiery mane—broke from the group, charging straight for him. Blake dove to the side, narrowly avoiding a hoof that scraped the stone just inches from his chest. As he landed in a roll, he heard the unmistakable sound of hooves following him.
They were faster than they should’ve been, and they were everywhere.
“Alright, enough with the happy horse show,” Blake growled under his breath, scrambling to his feet. He needed to take control here, not let them swarm him.
With a snarl, he raised the Arcbolt again, locking eyes with the fiery-maned pony. It was right there, charging him head-on. This was it. He couldn’t keep dodging forever.
Blake steadied his breathing, and with a sharp exhale, he pulled the trigger. A bolt of energy shot out, catching the pony in mid-charge. The creature let out a strangled whinny, its body skidding to a halt as the energy blasted it back.
It crumpled in a heap at his feet, twitching once before going still. The others stopped momentarily, but Blake wasn’t about to let them regroup.
+250XP
He didn’t care if they looked cute. He didn’t care if they were just some twisted side-effect of whatever messed-up world he’d been dragged into. This wasn’t a game, and he wasn’t here for anyone’s sick entertainment.
Blake’s eyes scanned the remaining ponies. There was no going back. He wasn’t dying here.
“Let’s see if you’re all as fragile as you look,” Blake muttered, tightening his grip on the Arcbolt.
The fight wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
Blake’s fingers twitched around the Arcbolt’s grip as the remaining ponies shifted into a tighter formation, their little hooves scraping the stone like they were gearing up for another round. The eerie silence that followed the fallen pony’s defeat was thick with tension, each of them waiting for him to make the next move.
The pastel-colored creatures circled him, their eyes gleaming with unnerving intelligence. The pink one with the purple mane let out a high-pitched snort, pawing at the ground like it was preparing to charge again. The others followed suit, narrowing their eyes as if sensing the shift in the air. Blake felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead as he scanned each of them carefully, his pulse thumping in his ears.
“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Blake muttered to himself, keeping his stance wide, ready for the first one to make a move.
The pink pony was the first to dart forward, but Blake was faster. He dropped to one knee, aiming the Arcbolt at the approaching blur of color, and fired before the creature could even fully leap at him.
The blast hit its target, but the pink pony twisted mid-air with surprising agility, its small body barely dodging the shot. The energy blast cracked the stone behind it, sending sparks flying. Blake cursed under his breath. He couldn’t afford to miss again.
Before he could react, another pony—a pale yellow one with a tangerine mane—charged in from the side, its hooves thudding against the floor with increasing speed. Blake didn’t see it coming, but his instincts kicked in. He threw himself backward just as the yellow pony swung its hooves at his chest, narrowly dodging the strike. The force of the pony’s movement nearly knocked him off balance, but he landed hard on his back, eyes wide.
“Son of a—” Blake swore as he scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding.
The Arcbolt was still in his grip, but it felt heavier now, the adrenaline making his arms feel like lead. He was still catching his breath when the pink pony came charging in again, but this time, he was ready. He aimed high, targeting the creature’s head.
The shot rang out with a sharp crack, hitting the pony square in the face.
It staggered back with a piercing screech, and Blake didn’t give it a second to recover. He darted forward, pushing his legs harder than he thought possible, and swung the Arcbolt down in an arc. The metallic rod slammed into the pony’s side with a satisfying crack, sending it sprawling to the ground in a heap of twitching limbs.
Blake gritted his teeth as the system flashed in front of him.
+250XP
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his shoulders. “One down. A few more to go.”
The remaining ponies were circling him now, moving faster, more erratically. The yellow one with the fiery mane was still in front of him, but now there were two more on his left flank—one with a teal coat and a lavender mane, and the other with a sky-blue coat and an electric-green mane. They were all sizing him up, waiting for an opening.
Blake’s eyes darted back and forth between them, his mind racing. He had to think fast. They were too quick to rely on straight shots alone, and the Arcbolt wasn’t exactly designed for quick, close combat.
"Come on, come on…" Blake muttered to himself, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His fingers twitched on the trigger, ready to fire at a moment's notice.
The teal pony charged first, its hooves making an unsettling clopping noise as it raced towards him. Blake shifted his weight, using the momentum to roll to the side, narrowly dodging the attack. He kicked out with his foot, sending the teal pony stumbling off course, but it quickly righted itself and turned back toward him.
Blake fired a shot at it, hitting the pony square in the chest. The energy blast knocked it back, but it wasn’t enough to stop the damn thing completely. It reared up and let out an ear-piercing whinny before charging again, even faster than before.
“Okay, this is getting old,” Blake muttered.
He side-stepped once more, but this time, the blue pony with the electric-green mane wasn’t going to give him the same luxury. It darted in from behind, catching him off-guard. One of its hooves scraped across his back, sending a sharp pain radiating through his spine.
Blake gritted his teeth and spun around, bringing the Arcbolt up just in time to deflect another attack. He slammed the rod into the pony’s head, and it went down in a flurry of sparkles and smoke.
+250XP
Blake barely had time to register the notification before the yellow pony pounced, its hooves slamming down toward his chest. With a frantic twist, Blake managed to catch the strike with the Arcbolt, but the force of the impact drove him backward, forcing him to the ground.
The yellow pony wasn’t giving him a chance to breathe. It lunged again, but this time, Blake rolled out of its range and pushed himself up with his elbows. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he gasped for air, feeling his heart racing.
This is insane. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, and the weight of the Arcbolt felt like it was dragging him down.
But he wasn’t going to back down.
“Let’s finish this,” Blake growled, his eyes narrowing at the remaining ponies. He was running out of time. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep dodging.
The yellow pony, now joined by the teal and blue ones, advanced. Blake took a deep breath, gripping the Arcbolt tighter.
He wasn’t going to die here. Not to some creepy, pastel-colored ponies.
He fired again, this time aiming for the yellow pony’s legs. The blast hit its knee, and the pony staggered, giving Blake just the opening he needed.
With a savage roar, he surged forward, swinging the Arcbolt with everything he had left. The rod collided with the teal pony’s skull, sending it crumpling to the ground in a heap.
And just like that, it was over.
+250XP
Blake staggered back, his legs weak beneath him. His breath came in short gasps, his body covered in sweat and dirt. The ponies, now defeated, lay motionless on the floor, their vibrant coats already fading away in a swirl of smoke and glitter.
He wiped a hand across his face, trying to catch his breath. “I really hate horses,” he muttered, glaring at the pile of twitching bodies. “I really hate them.”
XP: 4000/6000
HP: 30/65
STA: 20/48
MP: 8/40
He let out a low whistle. “Well, that explains why I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.” He rubbed the back of his neck, still sore from the earlier fight. “Half dead, half drained, and a sneeze away from completely tapped out. Fantastic.”
Blake let his head fall back against the wall with a soft thud. The fight with those... things had taken way more out of him than he’d expected. His stamina was tanking, and his mana reserves were barely a trickle now.
A sharp, mocking chime rang out, and the AI’s gratingly cheerful voice followed.
“Well, look who finally noticed he’s not invincible! I was starting to think you were trying out for the World’s Dumbest Hero contest. Spoiler: You’re winning.”
Blake groaned. “Not now, Elmo. I’m not in the mood.”
“Aw, Blakey-poo, you wound me! I’m just here to help. By the way, love the strategy—running around like a headless chicken while burning through your resources. Inspired stuff. What’s next? Fainting dramatically while they eat you?”
He clenched his fists, willing himself not to snap. “I said, not now.” His voice was sharper this time, more forceful, but it only made the AI laugh.
“Fine, fine. Take your pity party. Just remember: sitting here makes you an even juicier target for the next monstrosity that wanders in. Oh, and don’t mind me—I’ll just be over here, enjoying the sweet, sweet sound of your failure.”
The AI’s voice faded, leaving Blake alone with the unsettling echoes of the labyrinth. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He needed to recover, even if only for a few minutes. His health, stamina, and mana might regenerate on their own if he didn’t push himself too hard.
The air around him was cold, the chill biting through his sweat-soaked shirt. He shivered and hugged the Arcbolt close to his chest like it was a security blanket. The distant hum of the labyrinth filled the silence, a low, omnipresent reminder that this place wasn’t going to let him rest for long.
How the hell did I get here? he thought, staring at the status bars. This wasn’t a game—he hadn’t clicked any damn start button. None of this was real, but it also was. His body ached, he’d nearly died, and those... those twisted creatures had definitely been trying to kill him.
He glanced at the glowing Arcbolt in his lap, the weapon’s faint hum oddly soothing. “You’re all I’ve got,” he muttered. “So don’t break on me, okay?”
His stamina bar ticked up slightly, inching toward 50%. His mana was still crawling, but at least it was moving. He exhaled slowly, tilting his head to glance around the corridor. The dim, flickering light cast eerie shadows on the walls, but for now, nothing seemed to be moving.
“I need to figure out what’s going on,” Blake muttered. “And I need a plan. Preferably one that doesn’t involve me dying to tiny, rainbow-colored hellhorses.”
He let his eyes drift shut for a moment, his grip tightening on the Arcbolt. A few more minutes of rest—just a few more—and then he’d move on.
Blake exhaled slowly, watching his stamina bar creep upward. His mind churned with questions he hadn’t had time to ask during the chaos. Now, with a momentary break, he decided it was time to grill his obnoxious AI companion.
“Elmo,” Blake said, his tone sharp but weary, “we need to talk about this... system. What’s the deal with levels? How does it even work?”
“Oh, now you’re curious,” Elmo said, voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. “After nearly getting turned into a plushie piñata, you finally want to know how to not die. What a concept!”
“Just answer the damn question,” Blake snapped, gripping the Arcbolt tighter.
“Fine, fine, keep your shirt on,” Elmo said, his tone tinged with amusement. “Here’s the deal: leveling up is based on XP, obviously. Each level costs 1000 XP multiplied by the level you’re trying to reach. So, Level 2? That’s 2000 XP plus 1000 XP for level 1. Level 3? 3000 XP plus 3000 XP from levels 1 and 3. You get the pattern. Simple enough for your monkey brain?”
Blake frowned, mentally calculating. “Wait... so to hit Level 60, I’d need, what? 1.8 Million XP?”
“Ding-ding-ding! Someone give the man a gold star!” Elmo chirped. “Well, technically, you’d need 1.83 Million, but you get the idea. But hey, it’s not like you’re gonna hit 60 anytime soon, so don’t worry your pretty little head.”
Blake rolled his eyes. “Okay, but what happens at Level 60? Does the system just cap out? Or is there something beyond that?”
“Oh, there’s something beyond,” Elmo said, his voice taking on a dramatic, almost conspiratorial tone. “It’s called the Ascension process. Fancy name, right? Think of it like a VIP pass to the big leagues. Once you hit Level 60, you stop gaining XP the usual way, and instead, you’ve got to complete some ‘Ascension Trials’ to break through your limit. Survive those, and you get access to more levels, new powers, and all sorts of shiny perks.”
“Ascension Trials?” Blake asked, narrowing his eyes. “What’s the catch?”
Elmo chuckled darkly. “Oh, no catch. Just impossible odds, certain death, and a whole lot of screaming. You’ll love it.”
Blake let out a dry laugh, his lips twisting into a grimace. “Yeah, sounds super fun. Can’t wait.”
“Oh, and one more thing,” Elmo added with mock cheer. “Everyone has to Ascend eventually, but not everyone makes it. Failure means... well, let’s just say it’s permanent.”
Blake felt a cold knot form in his stomach. “Great. So I’m stuck grinding my way through this nightmare until I hit 60, and then I get to risk everything on some death gauntlet?”
“Bingo!” Elmo said, his voice practically singing. “Isn’t it exciting? A never-ending carnival of misery and danger, all for the chance to maybe not die horribly. It’s the dream, baby!”
Blake groaned, rubbing his temples. “This isn’t a dream. It’s a freaking nightmare. But thanks for the heads-up, I guess.”
“Anytime, champ!” Elmo said brightly. “Now, you’d better get moving. Rest breaks are nice and all, but the labyrinth doesn’t stay quiet forever. And trust me, you don’t want to meet the next thing coming for you.”
Blake slumped against the cold stone wall of the labyrinth, letting the Arcbolt rest across his lap. His arms ached, his legs felt like lead, and every breath was a reminder of the fight he’d just survived. But the steady trickle of his health, stamina, and mana regenerating on the status screen was oddly comforting.
He let his head fall back, staring up at the dark, twisting ceiling of the maze. His mind wandered, replaying everything that had happened since he’d woken up in this twisted reality. It was surreal—fighting murderous ponies, leveling up like a character in some insane RPG, and dealing with Elmo’s relentless snark. Yet, as strange and dangerous as it all was, there was something else simmering beneath the surface.
A flicker of... contentment? No, that couldn’t be right. He was bruised, battered, and one wrong turn away from death. But the more he sat there, the more the feeling gnawed at him.
Back in the garage, he’d spent his days tinkering with inventions that never worked, staring down a future that seemed as lifeless as the machines he tried to bring to life. No job prospects, no real purpose—just the endless cycle of frustration and failure. His biggest thrill back then had been testing out his upgraded lawnmower, and even that had ended with sparks, smoke, and his mother yelling at him about the scorch marks on the driveway.
Blake ran a hand through his hair, a rueful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. As chaotic as this world was, at least it felt... alive. Every fight, every step forward, even every sarcastic comment from Elmo—it all had weight. Meaning.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he muttered aloud, “but I think I actually like this better than sitting in that garage.”
“Oh, don’t sell yourself short,” Elmo chimed in, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You were great at wallowing in existential despair. Really nailed the whole ‘sad inventor’ vibe. But hey, maybe you’re just better suited for slaying monsters than mowing lawns.”
Blake snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, thanks for the insight, Elmo. Real motivational stuff.”
“Anytime, buddy!” Elmo replied cheerfully. “But seriously, let’s not get too sentimental. You’re only one wrong move away from becoming XP fodder yourself.”
Blake let the comment slide, focusing instead on the subtle pulse of energy as his health bar inched upward. He wasn’t exactly proud of how he’d been living before, but he was starting to see something he hadn’t felt in years—a sense of purpose. Here, every action had a tangible result. Kill a monster? Gain XP. Survive a fight? Get stronger. Sure, the stakes were higher—life or death, actually—but maybe that was the point.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just going through the motions. He was living.