As the violet light blared, the shadows in the corners of the room danced and swayed and grew into a pair of figures on either side that flicker in and out of existence. Their edges are ill-defined; as if they would fade out of existence at the slightest breath, but still they held their forms and stood at either side of the Ratman mage. It chatters again, and the shadows shoot forward. They near me in the blink of an eye.

My spear shoots forward into the center of the shadowy being. The shadowy being wraps around the shaft of the spear like a serpent and stabs forward like a dagger. As it passes through me, my breath flees in a sharp exhale. Coldness envelops me as if I had just jumped into a frozen lake. I stagger forward but catch myself before I fall over. Until the other one slithers through me through my left side. Ice spreads through my body, and I fall over to my left. As I push myself to my feet, the first slides in through my back and out my chest and I fall forward again.

As I lay there, shivering, the sound of padded footsteps approached me. Any time I try to move, another wave of cold saps my energy, and I end up sprawled on the floor.

A chittering laugh over me breaks the silence beyond the rushing of the shadowy, windy figures slipping in and out of me. I gather enough energy to look up at it as it grips the handle of the kris before the energy is stolen from me by the flying shadowy spirits.

The Ratman mage growls as a sharp pain blossom on my shoulder. A cry breaks free from my throat. A sharp, pitiful cry. The curved, wavy metal slithers through the back of my left shoulder and scrapes against the bone. It laughs and grows again. The blade cuts once more on its way out before it is plunged again into another part of my back. Each time it is pulled out it is followed by the cackling laugh of the Ratman mage, followed by its guttural growl and another sharp blooming of pain.

It made sure to avoid any vitals to prolong my suffering. Each time I struggle, one of the shades slips through me and robs me of my will to fight. Death was a prolonged certainty.

Death. I close my eyes, another shot of pain. Death. Does my life only amount to this much? No. I’ve wasted so much of it; and now that I found something that could be close to being called a calling, I was going to die. No. No. Images of Clio laying on my bed, wondering where I had gone wrack through my heart. Death? No. Fuck that. Fuck. That. I grit my teeth; blood seeps out of my mouth and dribbles down my chin. Fuck. That.

The next time the blade enters, it goes into my side; missing my spine, but cutting through the fatty tissue. I reach up and grab the Ratman’s arm by the elbow, and before the shade could slither through me, and before the Ratman could switch the Kris to his other hand, I stab through the joint. The serrated blade of my spear cuts clean through. It screams in pain and releases the Kris just as it had begun to pull it from my back. It clatters onto the stone floor. The Shades stop. I kick the dagger away and with a blood-splattered yell I charge forward; the point of the spear aimed at the chest of the mage who held his broken arm.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The black blade of the spear eats through the cloth layer of the flowing, white and yellow robes, and punches through the wiry, peppered fur and straight into the creature’s black heart. It doesn’t mutter a sound as it grabs hold of the shaft and tries to push it from its body before falling limp against it. The shades fade back into the shadow, and all the pain hits me at once as the adrenaline flees.

I fumble around my pocket for the leather handle of my wand and pull it out. Breathing is harder now like someone is holding a towel over my head. It takes all I have to stand on my shaky legs.

“By the light of Yahweh...”

Nine times is now my limit before I get another sharp headache. Tired. So tired. At least the blood had stopped flowing. My entire body feels cold. I just want to finish this up, go home and go to sleep.

The Ratman mage has five rings along its tail; silvery and heavy. I pull them off one by one and drop them in my bag. I pull off its hood as well. Perhaps it had some magical qualities, like armor in a game. On the cord tied around its middle as a belt, was an amethyst encrusted sheathe. I pull it off and pick up the kris, and slide it in place. It fits in my bag; though barely. Every movement I make sends waves of nausea-inducing pain throughout my body. I clutch at my side — it hurts to breathe, as I shamble across the room to the shrine pressed against the wall.

It’s a simple, small table. One that might have been dragged out of one of the houses here, and set up. A cloth; drenched with crimson, drapes over the edges. On top of this was a single, feline skull with a stone dagger piercing the top, flanked by a pair of white candles on either side. This must be it. As the headache fades, I draw a triangle in the air and cast Ember.

A wave of burning ash washes over the shrine, and soon the cloth catches fire, and then the wood, too, began to burn. I pull out the Shard.

“I set fire to the Shrine, now what?”

“Take the door you took to get back. But be quick. It will close in about ten minutes.”

Shit. I shove the shard back into my pocket and run as fast as I can. The pain slows me down considerably. The pain and my exhaustion were the biggest obstacles. I curse my past self for being a lazy pig as I toss my bag and spear through the tunnel again. I cast lesser healing on myself when I get to the other side as one of the cuts on my back had opened, and blood was beginning to pour.

4 minutes was what I had to get up the stairs and across the street. I take my time as running has become difficult. My sides burn; though I’m not sure if that was the result of the cardio I had been doing or the accumulation of injuries or both. This was a level one door? Bullshit. I’ll have to complain to the Shard later.

2:30 as I enter the door to the building I had stepped into this world from.

I walk over the body of the Ratman, giving it an extra kick in the head as I head up the stairs.

1:50 as I enter the loft.

I step to the grated fireplace and pull open the iron bars....then what? How do I walk into a fireplace?

1:20.

Ah, fuck it. I dive in like a diver in the Olympics, and I vanish beneath the ash. Once more, the feeling of falling returns, briefly, and I am on my feet on the hard tarmac as soon as I look back at it. The white door vanishes and in its place five crisp hundred dollar bills and four twenties. Wait a moment...

I pull out the Shard.

“That was a level—” the headlights of a car pierces the night. I gather up the change, and haul ass — nearly falling over as I do, to hide behind my father’s car and whisper, “That was a level one?”

“We were mistaken. Prophecy is a fickle thing. We’ve adjusted our predictions to ranges of levels instead. You did a good job surviving, however.”

“So what level was it?”

“A level five.”

I punch the Shard as hard as my tired frame could muster.

“Please don’t abuse this Shard.” Came the response.