Fairies. Secret tunnels. Lords. Giant otters. Video game crushes.

It started to feel like a game. An adventure. Gather the team, fight through the dungeon, win the quest, earn the prize, return to the inn for a beer and a laugh. Rinse, repeat.

To think, I was worried about Luci losing a sliver of her soul to a murdered fisherman. But the stakes were low. So low. He wasn’t real. None of this was real. Oh sure, our mistakes had consequences. Every hit, every strike chipping away at our mental stability, toying with our emotions, skewing our morality. But what of it? Take a health potion, get some sleep. We would all be stronger in the morning.

And now? It’s no longer life or death. It’s life and death. Today, in this hour, someone will die. I’ll try to speak to them. I’ll try to make them see reason. But I’m cynical enough to know that even Luci’s charm wouldn’t cut through that asshole’s heart.

It took two minutes of my time to understand the kind of man he is. I should have never let him live. I could have killed him then and there, when he was penned like a pig. Knowing he’d break free, knowing he’d come after us, would I have been able to do it? Probably not.

But what did it matter. I thought we were safe. I thought… I don't know. That people were still decent? That he wouldn't be mad enough to follow us down into a dungeon? Clearly the rest of his party isn’t much better if they’re going along with him.

Honestly, they could be surfing the emerald plains toward victory, and this is what they choose? How dare they! The game itself isn’t even pitting us together. Not yet. We have days to go, levels to grow, all of that, way before we really have to fight. And even then, the necromancer quest isn’t the only visa extension available.

Not like this isn’t exactly what our planet wants. It already decided our sentences. This is just the compromise. And if only the worst of humanity survives, so be it.

And there goes my heart. How quickly the anxiety returns. My favorite enemy.

Okay. Time to stop bitching. This moaning and whining about the big picture is just doomscrolling without the phone. I can’t afford to spiral. What matters is what’s in front of me. One step at a time. Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t look to the past. Don’t look to the future. Stay here. Stay right here.

My team will survive. And Luci will be okay. She has to be.

I just need to kill these assholes first.

Inventory item removed: (1) Crippling Spikes Trap

It’s just like the shopkeeper said. One thought, and a thin, nearly imperceptible line stretches across the trampled trail. The moment an enemy foot lands on that strip, that foot is getting impaled. Sadly, if the asshole’s an archer like I think he is, it probably won’t be him. But it’ll still increase our odds.

With the trap set, I prowl along the ledge a little further before settling into the shadows behind a jagged column. A little ways down the path stands Elias, his heavy battleaxe clutched in both hands, specks of luminous magic reflected on the blade. Ron towers beside him. We told him to go back to the gittern. The halberd’s probably a more versatile weapon, but he doesn’t know how to use it, and we may need the aid of his music anyhow.

On the opposite ledge, slightly farther back, Luci is crouched behind cover, an arrow already nocked. Even in the shadows, I can see her fidgeting. She’s nervous. We’ll all nervous. I’m not sure any of us have felt this way since the matriarch.

I can feel my pulse in my ears, in my feet, in the grip around my poison dagger. When previously I’d considered having to battle another party, confusion and trepidation filled my heart. If there was anger there, it was only at the system.

Not anymore. If they want to attack my family, then I only have room for rage.

Four grainy silhouettes materialize from the darkness. They’re confident and loud, unburdened by the concept of an attack.

I have half a mind to just whip out a bottle of liquid fire and get this shit started. However there’s a chance - a chance - we can end this without violence. And my capacity for self-forgiveness is strained as it is.

Now. How the hell do I start?

“We don’t want to fight,” I blurt, hidden behind the column. It isn’t entirely loud, but my voice carries.

The party halts. I can barely see where they are. They can’t see where I am either.

The outline of a man saunters forward through the darkness, cackling. “That you, woman? Oh shit, there’s more of you. What am I seeing here? Two? Three of you? Well, we don’t want to fight either. How about that? We just wanted to thank you for getting us out of that shithole.”

I stay silent.

“You didn’t know?” He swaggers down the corridor, his outline solidifying as he nears. He holds a bow in one hand, an arrow in the other, his cloak sweeping the ground behind him. The arrow, he twirls like a baton, occasionally stopping to scrape the point against the rocky ledge. “That Lord Cathal’s not half the wizard he wishes he was. Instead, he’s got all those pathetic statues holding those spells together. The one powering that arcane lock? You smashed it. Took its sweet fucking time powering down, but it got there eventually. Very fucking helpful of you.”

The pit in my stomach deepens. No, that can’t be right. In the dungeon, there was a leprechaun statue on the table. I remember that. But I didn’t… Wait, I moved the table to cover the blood. Something fell…

“So, now that we’re out, a celebration’s in order, don’t you think?”

Behind him lurks two men. One stout, an axe in his grip. The other wane and tan, leaning on a crooked staff topped with a skull. What is that, a necromancer? Beside him stands the woman, her blonde hair pinned in a tight bun, a tear intentionally slitting her pencil skirt.

“Turn around now,” barks Elias. “There’s another way through-”

Another hollow laugh interrupts him. “My good sir, seriously, how the hell do you think this even works? You are not people. You are experience and loot at best and an annoying fucking obstacle at worst. This is the new reality. You’re more than welcome to beat us if you can.”

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“Dave, there’s a child,” the woman says. “Girl, how old are you?”

The archer groans, his head lolled back. “The fuck does it matter?”

“I’m not killing a child. Keagan’s gone. We have a slot open. Let her join us.”

“Seriously?” he whines. “You hear that over there? We got four out of five here, so kick the kid, and we’ll let her join our party. She doesn’t need to get hurt, and all that crap.”

“She isn’t going anywhere,” Elias growls.

“Well, that’s her decision, isn’t it, old man?”

For a moment, there’s silence. My eyes search for Luci. She’s still there, sheltered behind a column. The poor thing is frozen stiff. No anxious jittering, no edgy defiance. I want to run to her. I want to hold her. How was I ever so stupid as to think I couldn’t hold her?

The woman steps in. “Girl.”

“I’m not joining you,” Luci croaks.

“And I don’t need another brat in the group, so I guess we’re all happy,” the man snaps. “Except Melinda. You happy, Melinda?”

“Fine,” she sighs. Drawing a shortsword, she runs her hand over the blade, coating it in a veneer of flame. “Let’s get this over with.”

Then it all happens at once.

Warning! You have been attacked by another party.

Dave - Trick-Shot Tembo (Level 18)

Ajay - Diviner of the Dead (Level 16)

Melinda - Cultist of the Mystic Fire (Level 16)

Antony - Varangian Guard (Level 17)

Are you fucking kidding me? We can’t fight that.

In a blur, the archer leaps and fucking rebounds off the wall, six feet in the air, bow anchored. When he lets off a shot, the arrow splits into three.

At the same time, Melinda spins, hurling a fireball down the path.

The axe-wielding brute charges like a bull in the fire’s wake.

Behind them, a green wisp of light curls around their teammates’ gnarled staff as he whispers an incantation.

We might be out-leveled. Out-matched. But we don’t hesitate.

On our side, Elias rushes forward to greet the opposing force.

Ron stands stalwart. Or confused. It works either way.

An arrow flies from Luci’s bow, its aim narrowed at the mage’s heart.

And I shadowstep behind the dude with the staff, because fuck that green shit. But not before I down the wits draught because, and I reiterate, fuck that green shit.

My poison blade tears across the man’s neck. I plunge my other dagger into his side, once, twice, three times.

Down the corridor, the fire bursts against Ron’s chest. An arrow sprouts from his shoulder. I don’t know where the other two shots land. He takes the hits, sturdy as a brick wall, then moves in position to block the rest.

Just in front of him, the Varangian Guard howls as he triggers my trap. A spike shoots through his shin, bringing him to his knees. It’s like Elias knew exactly how it would play out. In the moment the man hits the ground, Elias’ axe falls like an executioner’s blade across his neck.

Meanwhile, Luci’s arrow punches through the mage, knocking her back and withering the flame growing from her hand. She screams, a guttural, angry shriek, as Luci summons the arrow back. With a tug, it tears itself from her flesh, spraying blood.

It’s impossible to keep track of the battle after that. I catch flashes of movement: the blur of an arrow, the glint of metal, the sudden plume of fire.

For now, I focus on the man in front of me. We’re out-leveled. But if I can take this guy out, it’ll be four against three. And they might just be arrogant enough to not have anticipated a fight. Better yet, I have several class bonuses tilting the odds: more damage against higher levels, faster with slashing weapons, ruthless with attacks against humans from behind, deadly if they dare to assault my team.

He slouches against his glowing staff, slimy foam bubbling from his pores.

Then, something happens. I feel… weak. My nerves prickle, numbing. My hands, my fingers… I don’t know how much more of this I can take. When I look down, there are cloudy green tendrils snaking up my legs and over my body.

New Status!

Drained: Lose 10 stamina per second for .5 seconds x enemy level.

Well, shit. So much for +5 wits. I bring up my stats.

Health: 34/34

Stamina: 12/78

Dammit! With a thought, I down a stamina draught, bumping me back up to 42, but the numbers are already slipping. I’m going to collapse right here. Even poisoned and half-dead, the guy can just pummel me with his dumb stick until I’m gone.

Praying that I have time left, I push myself to teleport back.

And I’m safe, concealed in the shadows once more.

Stamina: 22/78

Two more seconds before I’m out. Ugh. How long do I have left on my status condition? I can’t go below zero stamina, can I?

In a Hail Mary, I conjure my sleep draught and toss it into the fray. The bottle smashes against the necromancer’s cane, dashing him with liquid that immediately puffs into a cloud of blue fog. He crumples to the floor.

And so do I.

Stamina: 0/78

For two seconds, I’m limp across the cold, wet stone, feeling like an idiot as I watch the reverberating chaos.

Ron’s chest is blackened with scorch marks, two arrows now stuck in his flesh and an open gash in his arm, another torn across his leg. The bastard with the axe is there, his neck soaked in blood, but he’s wailing on Ron with the relentless speed of a berserker.

As his blade crashes down, Ron meets it with his gittern. Wood explodes in a rain of splinters. He’s left holding half an instrument in each meaty hand.

Roaring, Ron smashes the fractured wood into the man’s head.

It’s a weak attack. As indomitable as the big guy is, he’s too wounded. He isn’t as strong or as fortified as his opponent. And the other man just won’t give up. He slices again and again. Ron sweats and screams, taking blow after blow.

Elias clashes with the mage, his axe ringing against her fiery sword. Flame and metal collide, embers falling. He’s a fury, unstoppable, even with his fucking arm on fire.

Nearby, Luci pops out of cover, launching arrow after arrow at whoever’s standing: the mage, the fighter, the archer. A loose fireball splashes across her cover. She ducks, then springs up with another arrow nocked.

It feels like an eternity passes before that dumb status finally disappears. I take the final stamina draught.

Stamina: 30/78

Stamina: 31/78

Stamina: 32/78

Oh, thank god. Wasn’t sure how that would go. I definitely need some gear with wits. If I make it out of this. If any of us make it out of this.

Okay, necromancer’s dozing, Elias has the mage under control, and I’ll probably just get in the way of Ron. That leaves the archer. Where is he?

A joyless laugh echoes as another arrow splits Luci’s in two. God, those are some moves. The archer rolls under her next attack, nocks an arrow, and levels the point in her direction. He draws.

I’ve never run so fast. I hurl my fire draught - the last item I’ve got - at the archer and charge into him, flames be damned; I’ll take us both out.

He’s so focused on his attacks, he doesn’t notice me coming. Fire races up his cloak, catching on his shirt, melting the very fibers to his skin as he screams. I feel the burn of the flame as I jam one blade into his side, the other right into the crook of his arm.

But it’s too late.

Another trio of arrows soars. One finds Elias, another pings against a stalactite. The third…

Luci uses her retreat, teleporting back. With inches to spare, she pivots out of the way.

Even on fire, the archer manages a smirk, a menacing flicker lighting up his teeth like a jack-o’-lantern.

The arrow turns.