I don’t know what happened, but she’s here now.

Ducking to the left, I leap out of the way just in time, as the vertical wall of white-magic rises up at the spot I was just standing. The priestess of the hero-party twists her hands and the world below myself erupts into a cacophony of crystal sounds. White-magic walls, dozens of them appear below myself and shoot up into the air, each of them threatening to cut me in half from the force of their rapid rising.

  Swinging my lance down in an arc, I smash it against the upper lip of one of the rising walls and vault us away, my boots sliding along the stones as I come to a skidding halt. My eyes rise up to the row of translucent walls between us, a dozen glass barriers made out of a shimmering magic that separates me from her, the priestess of the hero-party who stands there alone, separated from her party for whatever reason. It’s not like them at all, to split up like this. First the wizard who they left down at the bottom of the king with no name’s palace -

I narrow my eyes and leap as she presses her hands into the stones. Jumping back just in time, another razor edged wall shoots up there, where I was just standing.

- Then the monk, who chased me through it and now her. Now the priestess who is standing here alone.

I shake my head. They’re acting differently. They’re… -

  Her eyes lock on to mine, as she arcs her arm back in a violent tug. Everything shatters, all thirteen white-magic walls crack apart in an instant, sending thousand of splinters of rainbow glass falling down haphazardly to the stones, her arcing arm flies out to the side in a whipping motion. A faint, whispering stream of magic connects her to the crystal bodies suspended in the air. A thousand rainbow strings streaming from her angelic gestalt. A thousand fragments of razor sharp white-magic crystals float in the air, suspended. Connected.

- They’re breaking the rules.

Her arm shoots forward towards me. The white-magic crystals do the same.

  I fly back, leaping away as fast as I can, my gaze locked straight forward onto hers. Onto that look in her eyes. I like it. She hates me. She’s full of it, she’s full of that spark of life that I am so enamored with. Thousands of shimmering crystals fill the air, hurtling towards me in that time-frozen second. And there’s something… there’s something that they all share. That the thousand shimmering glass bodies share with her eyes as they jolt towards me.

That little sparkle of light just behind the surface.

White-magic pelts my body, slicing through my armor as a gooey form presses itself out in front of me, wrapping herself around my front to block the attack with her ooze.

Unacceptable.

  My pelted body comes down, as my boot touches the surface of the stones and I spin around, turning my back towards the priestess. Crystal fragments tear through my cape, smashing into my back. The slime bubbles together, the torn through holes in her goop restoring themselves as she grows her body back into one coherent form.

“It’s what a hero would do!” she bubbles excitedly. I’m not sure if she understands that she almost got vaporized, but hey, I appreciate the gesture and the spirit of the act. I nod, accepting her explanation this time.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Don’t steal my thunder,” I tell her. She tilts her head.

“Don’t steal MY thunder!” she mimics, arguing with me at the same time. Maybe she’s taking a little too strongly after me. Oh well. It’s a little endearing, actually. Wait…

What were we doing?

Oh.

Right.

I leap, jumping away as a giant fragment of white-magic impacts where we stood just a second ago, as the priestess shatters another wall.

  We spiral through the air, landing on the spiral path that winds around like a coiling serpent with no fangs. Floor fifty-eight. It’s a giant horizontal spiral that loops from one end of the floor to the other, winding up and down. Yet no matter which side you stand on, you’re always right-side up. You never fall into the void that is below you, above you. It is everywhere, yet one never leaves the path. Unless you jump off on purpose that is.

But I wouldn’t recommend it.

  As my boots thud against the stones of the pathway and I continue running, I spare a glance at the priestess who bars my way. I have no idea how she caught up to me or how she got in front of me or even where the rest of them are. All I see are two shining chrysanthemum eyes burning my way. Both of her hands shine with a light that is so bright, that I almost have to look away. It hurts to stare at. It’s like looking into the sun. It’s like looking into the shining light of the hero’s strike. But I won’t. Even if it burns. I won’t look away. I feel like I owe her that much at least. She’s trying so hard. Bless her soul.

My boots strike the ground, my lance gripped tightly as I charge forward, breaking through the long gap between us, running towards the priestess who sits apart from me further down the spiral path, practically standing upside down from my perspective, despite being right-side up.

  The stones of the serpent road glimmer, shining like the reflective scales of a viper beneath the desert sun, as she lifts her arms into the air. Magic coalesces around her, magic coalesces around the road. White-multicolored particles collect, condensing in the air and pressing themselves together. The reflective shimmering of the light gives the path the illusion that it’s coming to life, that the serpent is crawling through the void as the world glistens and shines.

  I run forward towards her, bolting to the left, bolting to the right to avoid the white-magic spires that shoot out of the stones, tearing the path apart, threatening to skewer me whole as they stab through, as if a giant were below us, jabbing a crystal dagger through the serpent’s body. Yet the whole time, as the world erupts into chaos, as I move as fast as I can, avoiding a flurry of attacks that I’ve never held the priestess as capable of unleashing, I notice one thing.

The shine in her eyes. The CONVICTION.

I think that’s why I like the priestess most of them all.

The wizard is a bratty jerk. The monk, I like, but she also has a little of the taint of sloth on her soul. The hero is a fraud.

But the priestess?

  Three crystal spires explode out of the ground in front of me, heading straight towards me as I rush towards them, my lance raised to meet them. The world shatters as four blades meet and the shattered white-magic flies everywhere, surrounding us both, encompassing us both as if we were trapped together in a flurry. Buried beneath a great hailstorm. Ten steps away. Nine. Six.

  I rush towards her, her arm arching back as she takes a step towards me to meet me head on. As her eyes shine. That’s why I like the priestess most of all. That’s why I always have. Her body radiates with magical energy as she lets out everything she has in her, again, as white-magic comes to surround us both, again. A torrent, a flood of free-floating magic like I have never seen before except the first three times. It’s nothing like the hero’s. This. This. This.

My eyes shine as I weave down low and barrel towards her, ducking under magical spires that shoot my way.

This look in her eyes. This haunting feeling in the air. This call of the serpent, coming to devour the world. This hum of energy. This. This -

- But the priestess?

She believes in something. She has faith and I respect that. I respect that more than anything else in the entire world.

I leap, smashing my shoulder her way, the crystal body that she creates to separate us smashes into pieces as I fly through it, as I ram into her chest and sending her flying back down the spiral path.

I come to a stop, the white-magic behind myself shattering as she flies off from the force of my ramming. I watch as she tumbles and rolls, her bones likely breaking, again, as she flies in an uncontrolled spiral down the way and then finally comes to a halt, her momentum having run out.

“Ah! I’m so happy!” bubbles the slime, sloshing around in excitement.

So am I. I’m so happy. I could cry.

  Her broken body twitches. I watch as a trickle of white-magic drips out of her fingers, flowing through her broken arms. Flowing through her broken core. But those don’t matter. None of those minor details matter. It must hurt. It must hurt so badly. She must be crying. She must be howling inside. But that doesn’t matter.

  I clutch my face with one hand, a gooey palm clutching my other cheek as we tear my eyes open wide, so that I can see her, so that I can watch her. So that I can watch her pull herself back upright, as the white-magic snaps her body back into place, as it mends her bones. None of it matters, because her spirit is still there. That’s all there is. That’s all there needs to be. The body is temporary.

It’s so beautiful. I watch from a distance as her body twitches, as she forces herself back up onto her shaking legs. Determined. Resolute. Convicted.

A pure soul. Pure eyes. Clean eyes.

They’re the brightest treasure in the entire dungeon.

She screams at me and gets ready for another round.

This was our fourth one.

I smile at the priestess who is making me so happy. It’s so nice to finally see someone who has a little…

Twinkle.