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I’M SUDDENLY STANDING and a pile of gold shakes and an imp pops out and the imp has a treasure chest on its head and the imp growls and the imp pounces.

The creature’s sharp, filthy nails grill my skin into cakes of dirt and blood. The nails tap at my shin’s bone before pulling downward. It feels like the loony gremlin is ripping off a hangnail of mine as the gremlin rips my leg a hole.

A screech of pain chokes my throat and, with help from my numb leg, buckles me to the floor. My hands instinctively grip my thigh and wring it of blood flow.

The imp attacks my outstretched foot with a bite by tacks of teeth. It maintains its painful grasp before pulling back in a yank, a couple of my old toes in its mouth.

My face puckers into beds for rivers of tears.

I realize something; this is a dream.

I face the imp and duck my head in a bow toward. The creature scrambles over on its tiny feet with its gnashing jaw. But before I could leave here—through maybe instinct, or adrenaline—my hand throws itself into the encroaching imp. My hand claws into a piercing projectile that jabs into the imp’s small side. My long fingernails skewer the feeble beast.

The unholy thing struggles and cries against me. Blood spouts in sprinkles down my fingers. The blood is purely hypnotic.

The thing dies after a short time skip.

[CONSUMED LVL 1 Greed Goblin]

I hurriedly pull the imp down my fingernails. The wet meat jerks down my nails—the thick internals resisting—before the goblin plops into a pool of its blood.

The viscous blood drools over the cold black floor until it resides in unkempt fractures of mulch.

I wait for my blood to join it.

I wait for my blood to join it.

I shuffle my leg away and lie it flat. There are only long, ugly scabs painted on it. Like if I bled days ago (by scraping a rake up my leg). But the toes that goblin bit off are still gone—roast beef, homes, and markets are dismayed—with only smooth skin left in their absence.

My breathing regulates itself; I’m not in mortal peril. Also, this is not a dream. This is because I’ve never had a lucid dream, my memories are intact, and I’m not inimical to reason.

So, what the hell? I’m gazing at the corpse of a goblin layered over Gothic-styled black stone.

I almost yell out for aid, but I successfully—yet easily—prevent myself.

Dragging my weak feet against the crumbled ground and lifting myself by the aid of my knee, I stand. And the smell of here hits me as I: a faint mold of youngblood; a piss-friendly form of petrichor; smog which’s resided for years; dirt left mere as comments.

I bring my hand up and pinch my nose. I’ve never smelled so well.

My mind clicks; my hand shoots back.

Holding the strange feeling in my fingertips, I slowly pinch my nose again.

It doesn’t feel like my nose. Is it too long? Maybe wide?

My mind clicks again; I crack my head down and gaze at my legs and their snow-white skin.

Snow-white skin.

The overload of my scars rejected my registry into ignoring how my skin is now a fucking vampire. My legs have never breathed fresh air. I would bounce skin cancer off me like a video game mushroom. There would be nary a soul in my list of contacts.

My hand reveals itself as the same pasty white. Additionally, my hand is gangly like a fork. Also, my nails are sharp, long, slate-gray, and filthy. They remind me of that—I read the text box nonchalantly hovering within my vision—Greed Goblin.

I glance about.

This isn’t my body. This isn’t my dorm. This isn’t my dream. These aren’t my senses. This isn’t my Greed Goblin.

My world is misaligned.

Surveying the scene: there’s the pile of Egyptian gold the goblin popped out of; there’s a floor with a chaotic neutral alignment; an exit via archway; a line of intricate engravings and pictographs across the wall; a corpse; a lever of rusty metal and splintered wood. I immediately sprint across the room and flick the lever. Internal debate be damned.

Rusty spring sound effects continuously boing within the black wall. I back up with my hands above my head: it wasn’t me officer; it wasn’t me who boinged the springs.

The nearest intricate engravings to the lever fill slowly with—liquid? A blood-red hue paints into the carvings like rushing veins. It furthers down the wall’s engravings, rounding multiple corners before turning out through the archway and out of the room.

The cartoon springs continue; the wall’s blood is still flowing elsewhere.

I inch close to the engravings. Pictographs of werewolves and tall humans are carved in a line. The blood flows through the indents of the engravings unceremoniously ignoring gravity. I tap a slate-gray nail into the flow. The flow interrupts and the blood falters to the ground; the springs overclock twice as fast and loud before I flinch my finger back.

The blood redefines itself in a line before rushing to cover the lost area I made. The springs cautiously calm themselves.

Note to self.

I step backward and stare down at my tall ugly nails and the line of blood-red flowing down one’s two-dimensional edge. An assumption pops into my mind; I try biting a nail off my other hand. It tastes like lint from a belly button while being as tough as a rock.

I hurriedly steal the nail out of my mouth and spit infected saliva into a crack of dirt below.

My foot stumbles and slips over squish.

The corpse of the “Greed Goblin”.

I meticulously hop my feet backward over the goblin, lose my balance, and collapse to the ground with the flat, even pain of bones.

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I groan aloud, curl up like a fetus, and turn to lie on my side. Eventually, my spurious voice peters out. The goblin’s blood dries within both my periphery and notice; imperceptibly but still so, it’s like dedicating yourself to watching a shadow move before giving up after four minutes.

I breathe in and out to (pretend to) calm myself from life-changing. Before a swift return to contemplating with the facade of blood-watching.

Too much information and too many oddities. I lie for a minute, listening to—nothing. These catacombs(?) are deathly silent.

My hands finally push me off the ground as I forego my inhibited brooding. I wrap my arms around my high legs listlessly and observe the physical notification.

[CONSUMED LVL 1 Greed Goblin]

With an uneasy tap, my finger fades into the notification. Reminiscent of pushing a finger through a Magic Eye illusion.

The notification stays despite my—attempts?

I try the unconscious thought of “close”. And a soft out-loud “close”. And a wave of my hand.

The notification rebuts my attempts by expanding its window. The notification displays more.

[Eter Revaz]

[LVL 0 Human]

[LVL 1 Vampire]

[ITEMS]

[The Ichor of Aloe Poncho x1]

[MAGICS]

{empty}

[ARTS]

{empty}

I try to wipe the excrement off my windshield. But it's stuck like hair in a shower drain.

Reading the words again, I wonder what they mean. Poncho?

My vision eases to the woolen poncho I’m wearing. It covers my arms in a licorice black with a sewn design of an inanimate silhouette on its front. The design’s depiction is a straight blood-red hue of thick tentacle-like appendages sprouting downward off a point, reaching for the abyss. And thinner appendages sprouting upward off the same point, reaching for my head.

I beg this depiction is abstract art.

I reach my arms up and pull the poncho off. Laying it on the ground before reviewing the notification again.

[Eter Revaz]

[LVL 0 Human]

[LVL 1 Vampire]

[ITEMS]

{empty}

[MAGICS]

{empty}

[ARTS]

{empty}

Interesting. I slot the poncho back on and the notification reverts. This RPG nonsense is a reflection of me.

I pull my poncho off again. The notification changes. I pull it back on. The notification reverts. A tiny smirk senses itself. It's like being impressed by a new brand of sponge.

I reread the headlines and assume.

Is Eter Revaz my name? How should I pronounce that?

Level zero human? Shut the fuck up.

Level one vampire—I tap my fangs; they’re not pointy—so shut the fuck up.

But I do note my snow-white skin together with this vampire accusation. Then I turn to the goblin’s blood. It doesn’t smell appetizing; I crawl over, slick it up with a thumb, and stab it into my mouth; it tastes worse. I spit it and rub my thumb against my pants—hold, do my pants not count as an item?

I yank the charcoal pants off and lay them off to the side before checking my notification again. Nothing changes. I toss my clothes back on and check my notification again.

Then I glance around for something else to distract myself. The resident cartoon rich man's pile of gold appeals.

I prance over and consider diving into it; a life for a life.

Who would ever hoard gold? What year is it? I chuckle, despite not knowing the year.

I claw my right hand and reach into the cold metal, ready to pull out the weight, when my fingernails slice into the coins like a knife through butter—

[CONSUMED Gold Coin x8]

[UNLOCKED Frozen Gold MAGIC]

[LVL 1 Vampire INTO LVL 2 Vampire]

A shiver traces up my veins as I flinch backward. The coins I held still clatter back into the pile of metal chinks. I barely catch a blue flow—like the engraving’s—fading down my veins.

Steam wafts off my right-hand fingernails as well as a drop of liquid gold. The gold splatters to the ground like loud water in a shower. The newfound golden blotch slants away like a neuron searching for a connection.

I dazedly push my vision up into my notification.

[Eter Revaz]

[LVL 0 Human]

[LVL 2 Vampire]

[ITEMS]

[The Ichor of Aloe Poncho x1]

[MAGICS]

[Frozen Gold lvl1]

[ARTS]

{empty}

I glance again down at my nails. I certainly consumed it. But—

A choking rhythmic cry echoes over the dry room. At the archway exit, a Greed Goblin stands on fours gnawing on its treasure chest head’s rim.

I toss my hand up and invoke “Frozen Gold.” This uselessly angers the greasy gremlin; the thing sprints in my direction while throwing spittle into the floor. I invoke “Frozen Gold” again on instinct; nothing happens.

The goblin is near me and the goblin jumps directly into my face, claws ready, pleased smirk ready. Playback speed alters reality as the demon’s claws stick into my skin. It holds itself up with its claws before swinging out and slashing. The nails pop my skin and infect my blood, the slash of a thousand cat-paws follows as my cheek is torn up; as my upper lip is torn open; as my cheek is torn open.

I shakily toss my hand at its back, claw gripped. But the thing’s definitively tiny. It subtracts one of its clawed grips and swings wide and away from my face like it performed a neat trick. My nails barely stop themselves from blinding me as the demon latches again with a fluid grip. The Greed Goblin claws its hand up my face; blood barely flows for it can’t keep track. Like a wasp stuck its stinger in me before carrying it through my skin.

The layered, wrinkled nails of the beast drive into my forehead, swiping down my nose. Iron fills my nostrils with a soft crunch; the smell from inside sensitivity.

I try to swing my hand; I watch it lay uncaring in my periphery. Why can’t I do anything?

It’s killing me.

The goblin rips open my skin again with a slash of metal-smell grime. Then an up-close view of the treasure chest, and the greedy head inside. Eyes blue; grin moldy.

Blood trickles down my face like a sodden tear or a rambunctious raindrop. My face creases upon itself in fear and confusion and unresponsive neural activity. The air tickles my numerous wounds. There’s nothing as the greasy imp creaks and swipes.

Then a pasty hand befitting a vampire reaches from Valhalla with slate-gray nails and tosses the Greed Goblin off my face, into the pile of gold. I quickly invoke; Frozen Gold. The gold coins surrounding the goblin melt. The goblin struggles as the gold pulls down on it before it finally crystallizes. The gold freezes into blue ice and restrains the Greed Goblin. It throws its limbs about and whines like a dying dog.

I hurriedly turn to see the person who grabbed the monster off my face to thank them. But there’s nothing but my pasty vampire hand; but my strength.

A shudder toward the Greed Goblin, its treasure chest head—remaining outside the ice—crashes open and close like a desperate fish on land. I stagger as more blood rains off my scars.

When I killed the last goblin—when I consumed the last goblin—didn’t my wounds heal? I inch closer to the Greed Goblin and contemplate impaling the creature. Should I consume? What am I consuming? Its soul? Is that moral? Is that human?

…

I stab the evil tattoo artist.

[CONSUMED LVL 4 Greed Goblin]

[Frozen Gold lvl1 INTO Frozen Gold lvl2]

[LVL 2 Vampire INTO LVL 3 Vampire]

[UNLOCKED Precision Blink ART]

This time I carefully watch a blue vein appear near my grungy nail and carry my vision with a flow as it rapids up my arms, over my chest, and just under my collarbone, before the blue vein travels from above down into my necklace—necklace?

I’m wearing a necklace that shouldn’t be there. A thing this extravagant should never go unnoticed by me. The necklace is wrapped in interlocked pure silver chains. Holding a medium-sized pendant: a black-rimmed mirror.

I rub my eyes as my blue veins fade down the silver chain and into the mirror. I physically back away before my hand flips the pendant’s reflection to face me.

Inside the thing’s realm is not a mirror of I, but a mirror of two Greed Goblins and eight Gold Coins.