Inspired Attack finished, I’m standing in what’s probably the ugliest mass graveyard since that time when innocent taxpayers tried peacefully persuading their public servants to please just stop killing us for nothing, it’s getting really old.

There sure are a lot of bodies, and blood’s flooding the gutters. Pretty sure that’s an ear floating down the stream. Floating like an origami boat. A finger isn’t doing as well. There’s a lot of blood.

There’s still plenty of the zombies left. but I did lose some Stamina from that Inspired Attack and could probably use a little breather.

I do a quick check. Tabi’s just charged up some sort of force that kinda resembles something an Earth Bender would surround themselves in. She bulldozes through a line-up of zombies, like she’s a mini-Hulk breaking through a Pee-Wee football defense.

Jake’s using a tree to parkour up someone’s house. He pulls himself up to the roof with so much power he’s launched airborne, where he does a front flip, lands and instantly starts running again, volleying arrows as he does so. His speed is amazing. It’s like watching a ’public servant’ unloading on a crowd of black people who had the sheer audacity to hold a piece of fruit in public. Jake’s also singing the chorus to Paper Planes by M.I.A. “All I wanna do is—Pop! Pop! Pop!—and a—Ching!—and take your money.”

Craig is, well, he’s doing rogue shit—disappear into shadows, appear, stab, repeat, this time using slice(s of leprous flesh, for garnish).

Something I hadn’t noticed prior, but Mando’s kind of a monstrous little fucker. He’s using his sharp tail like a shovel on some poor schmuck’s chest, stabbing, digging, and flinging flesh and bones to the side. He plucks out the heart, and gulps it down, before flying over to another.

And, apparently there’s something else I hadn’t noticed.

I need to be more attentive, I’m aware of this, happens to be a running theme in my life. Same with tangents…

Notice this: On the bottom right hand corner of my everscreen there’s a universally recognizable Notifications Icon: it’s glowing, and the number “06” hovers over it.

Looks like I’ve got a few notifications and prompts waiting for me.

Hopefully a new move, one that can make me feel like I did during that Inspired Attack—alive.

Something bumps into me, hard. I am suddenly reminded that I am still technically very surrounded by fucking zombies.

I hate me too.

We all do.

Huh?

No time. Zombies.

I spin, ready to Cleave the undead bastard who just bumped me.

Oh, that (pseudo)undead bastard is Craig. He’s got his back to me, crouched kinda low, balancing on one leg, he’s got his two short swords held peculiarly, as he’s swiveling his head to assess the incoming wave of zombies. He holds his two swords higher overhead. I’m certain he looks like a ninja assassin in his imagination. Perspective is everything.

Still standing like a sneaky satanic stork, he glances at me, and says, “That Inspired Attack of yours was pretty cool.”

A zombie’s jumping at me, I swing my Big Sword through its head at about the same time I thank Craig for his kind words.

“Wanna see something even cooler though?” he asks, raising his brow, which somehow raises one horn too. “I have Max Inspiration right now.”

“Fuck yeah. Let’s see it.”

To our rooftop ranger, Craig shouts. “Hey man, that you playing the Celine Dion I’ve been hearing?”

Jake shouts back. “I’ve got the Audiophile Quirk! Got a song request?!”

“Hold please.”

Across Craig’s face, a grin spreads like social entropy after a pandemic. The expression is so insidious it couldn’t even exist on a normal human face. Perfect for his visage though. That visage starts changing drastically.

Flashfires of oven-flame blue consume his veins, even out from under his collar, up his ashen cheeks, to his horns, which erupt with hellfire. Just as quickly, they calm down to a respectable smoldering late-night campfire.

His pupils dilate, then explode with shadows. Like an ink splatter coming to life, the obsidian consumes his entire eyeball. Then it shoots off the canvas.

Nests of black shadow, interwoven with tendrils of indigo smoke, slither around his body in rhythm. Pulsating waves of indigo light cascade across the eddying rings of smoke, while pockets of refracted light sweep throughout the many freeways of shadow currently orbiting his body.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“You look very…shadow ninja-y?”

Holding up two middle fingers, like a really mature wizard, Craig incants: “Languages of the Dead imbue your mind and soul with shadows, allowing you to speak Latin, which allows you to shift between here and the Infernal Realm of Death.” In a voice that’s as quiet as distant gunshots, he says, “Jake, play Midwest Choppers by Tech N9ne.”

Jake doesn’t ask questions.

The rap flow begins, and Craig disappears into a plume of smoking shadows. I cough, and notice strange ribbons of purple weaving through its darkness.

Another shadow cloud erupts behind a zombie that’s directly ahead of me. Craig’s blade comes impalingly through the zombie’s adam apple, and milliseconds later, a second blade slashes through half its face. The face slides off its jaw, revealing the devil in the details. Craig’s standing behind the blood geyser in a way that makes it look like the chopped jaw is his own.

He disappears into smoke again, and over the course of the twenty second long skill, he repeats the process about twenty times. Smoke, shadows, ninja shit, kill, impressive acrobatics, backstab, more ninja shit, then a flurry of rapid stabs and slashes like he’s playing Whack-a-Mole on nightmare difficulty. Shockingly, his entire ninja dance is in perfect rhythm with the song. And when he finishes, dripping blood, he says, “Shadow Dance of Damnation, complete.”

Claustrophobia…

There’s still so many of them.

I was wrong when I said it’s like the Macy’s Day Parade. It’s more like a concert. Not one of those popstar ones. Hell, it’s not even a punk rock show, at least their mosh pits are filled with friendly skanks. It’s like one of those hardcore straight edge concerts where everyone’s either too cool to do anything but brood, trying to slug out all their angst on one another, or clawing to get at the band. We’re the band. But I don’t think we’d do very well crowd surfing.

Unless of course our name is Tabi. Because that’s almost exactly what she’s doing. She’s got her shields connected into one, and is letting the zombies move her along their crowd, as she uses what looks like a weed whacker on their heads.

Tabi comes soaring overhead. She’s literally standing on her kite shield, grabbing it like she’s the fucking Tony Hawk of tanks. She lands on two zombies, crushing them instantly, and hops giddily off her kite, fist pumping.

“Nailed it!” Craig says.

She grabs her shield, wipes it off in the snow, then comes over and they give each other high fives, all while I’m hacking and slashing to protect Craig’s blind (due to negligence) side.

“Gotta say,” she says to me, “You’re not doing as bad as I’d thought. That Inspired Attack wasn’t totally shitty either.”

Craig pouts.

She has him lean down so she can pet his head. “Not as awesome as yours though, honey, don’t worry. Still, you guys are going to lose your fucking minds when you see what my Inspired Attack can do.” She tries for a sinister grin, but it just comes out looking super Full Housey. “Jake, play Twisted Transistor by Korn!”

The song plays. Apparently Audiophile also grants extremely good hearing.

“Here we go,” she says. “Stand back, bitches, because shit’s about to get real…” She nods her head to the song, amping herself up, until she smirks. “That’s my cue.”

The song’s heavy bass riff serving as her catalyst, Tabi’s Inspired Attack begins.

Wind’s slapping my face as she launches herself airborne, superhero style.

Suspended a good twenty feet overhead, she powerfully squeaks the words, “Finite Shield Attack!” Shields in hand, she plants them into the air. “Quantity, Twenty-Four.” The shields glow gold, and replicas appear forming a circle around her, like a goddamn halo of shields. “Halo of Protective Might!” she shouts, fittingly.

The ring of shields crashes down around us, guillotining several zombies, and emitting an outward-speeding concussive wave that explodes zombies nearest it like an atomic bomb, then sends any other zombies within its AOE flying backward. The sound’s ear splitting, and I see more than one zombie splatter against house walls, lamp posts, or cars, and in one case, all of the above: a car got blown over, severed a flying zombie in half, then the car smashed into a garage while the upper half of the zombie splattered against the garage door’s window, and its lower half snagged on the lamp post. Very avant garde.

The final words twisted transistor sound off right as Tabi lands, a triumphant look on her face. For good reason too.

We were just surrounded. And now, well, we’re not surrounded. Instead, we’re just all covered in the death her skill left behind.

“Nicely done,” I say, wiping my face.

“I wish the attack didn’t sound so fucking religious, but oh well.”

Now that we’ve got some space, standing here. With all the bodies and snow, the street looks like one big bowl of sugary cereal with flesh and bone and muscle, with gushers that’ve exploded into milk added for good measure, then left out for so long that the milky snow’s grown mold.

Jake hops down from his perch and comes over to us. “Does anyone else think these Inspired Attacks are just a little overpowered?”

Tabi rolls her eyes. “If you knew anything then you’d know that they’re not actually that overpowered. A lot of games incorporate a meter that, when maxed out, allows a user to beef up a pre-existing Skill or Spell. They seem overpowered right now because we’ve only battled level one Scramblers so far, and seeing as how they have a pitifully low health pool, our Inspired Attacks easily take them out. But, if you’d been watching the damage numbers like any calculative person such as myself then you’d easily see that if we tried our Inspired Attacks on even a level 3 monster and hoped for similar results, then we’d be sorely disappointed. Your question only further clarifies that, although you have some natural talent, you are nowhere close to Craig and my level of expertise.”

Jake looks at his feet. “So, basically…fuck me. Cool.”

Craig is breathing heavily. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve got a bunch of notifications, some loot, and other shit to go over. I’d rather not do it right here in the open. Also, I could use a place to sit or something. Running out of energy, and I’m feeling way too sober, so gotta re-up. Let’s find a house or something?”

“Only if she apologizes,” Jake says. “That was mean.”

Tabi hmmphs. Craig looks at her. “It was kinda mean, babe.”

“Charisma was my dump stat! And that’s the best you’re getting.”

“What’s a dump stat?” I ask, hand raised.

Tabi gives Craig a look that strongly suggests I should keep my mouth shut. “See???”

“Sorry.” Feeling very judged right now. “Let’s go find a house. Preferably one with vaulted ceilings, sturdy rafters, and a strong rope.”