Adam backed towards the carriage, loosening a dagger from his side. I wanted to yell at him to take refuge somewhere else, as I wasn’t keen on being caught in the crossfire and turned to pulp at the hands of Darol. The man’s skin had a sickly green color to it, like he bathed in swamp ooze. Maybe the Warriors had just found him in one of their dungeons and decided ‘Fuck it, he’s human enough, bring him back.’

His tongue flicked out of his mouth with the effort of swinging the branch. Adam darted back just far enough that it swung by, inches from spreading his stomach over the dusty road. Then he tossed his dagger away, over Darol’s head.

My only hope just threw away his weapon. This is seriously how I die.

I started formulating ways I could save myself. The first two that came to mind were yelling at and beating the beasts until they ran off with me in the carriage, or groveling to the Ripping Warriors in the hopes that they would make me their bog-depth-tester or something equally foul.

Then Adam stretched out his arm and shouted.

[Boomerang Blade]

I thought he was trying some bullshit last-ditch-effort, but then his dagger zipped through the air and lodged itself in Darol’s back — a vicious sting that stopped him mid-swing. The big man roared and fell onto his hands and knees. The fall only dug the dagger in more and he cried out again, collapsing onto his side. Adam shook his arm and the dagger responded by jiggling left and right, dislodging itself. It flew into his grasp, droplets of blood spraying off.

Okay, Adam is strong. Noted.

He turned to me and held out his hands to accept the container. His face was screwed up like he’d eaten a veggie burger but ordered beef.

“That was...easier than expected.”

I handed Adam the package and stepped over Darol as we crossed the meagre front yard and stepped into the house. The giant was still alive, just out of action. Adam didn’t seem concerned, but I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. I’d seen a ‘Regeneration’ sub-tree in the Health skill-tree, so I assumed Darol would be capable of super-human healing.

At least I’ll tell myself that.

Seeing pain and death shouldn’t have been a big deal to me. On Earth, I worked for people who dissected humans better than Gordon Ramsay dissected chickens. I think I was subconsciously looking for a ‘cleaner slate’ in this new life. With my luck, and based on what I just saw, I wasn’t going to get it.

Strangely enough, the house smelled great. We must’ve arrived during this world’s equivalent of Sunday roast, because a whole gang of fifteen sparsely armored guild members were crowded around the dining table. The shed guards had come in to be relieved.

They all stared at us as though they expected Darol to be bringing in our heads on a platter. There was an awkward silence while they decided if they would run or fight. Adam made a third choice for them.

“It’s okay, I guess, carry on. I’ll forgive that little transgression, although, you might want to get a healer to look after your friend out there.”

A man wearing a purple sash darted past us. He rubbed his hands together and produced a dull golden glow from his palms, like a human defibrillator.

Adam approached a woman at the head of the table. She was dressed in a black jacket, accented with dark green lizard scales down her arms. She set down her cutlery and faced us with a blank expression. Adam spoke first.

“That wasn’t very nice, you know. You’re lucky I don’t arrest you.”

She waved her hand in the air, palm up.

“You heard Trithark over there, wasn’t my order. I give my guild members free reign to do as they please. And don’t start with that ‘arresting’ bullshit — we both know your superiors would have me back out here as soon as they fired you for bringing me in. Our product is a necessity for lighting and powering Haverbark.”

Haverbark. That must be the town we came from. I wonder if I have a house there?

Adam looked frustrated, but he held his tongue.

“Nonetheless, I’m here to check that product and make sure you’re reporting its quality correctly. Can you call off your attack dogs out there by the shed? And pause production for about fifteen minutes.”

The Ripping Warriors leader didn’t look pleased about pausing production, but she relented. She led us out to the shed, where a flood of green ooze was being processed. The workers dipped their buckets into huge ooze-filled carts, then slung the contents onto a high-sided conveyor belt. The belt rolled over a thick layer of ice for about ten meters, and when the substance came out the other side, it had congealed into a gelatinous layer of lizard-gunk. Two men were tasked with cutting it into table-sized pieces and moving it into a massive ice-filled trailer.

“Here she is, lads. I’m guessing our Combusto-Gunk is what you’re looking for?”

Not a very appealing name, but sounds like it turns a tidy profit.

Adam opened his container as he replied.

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“Sure is! Marcus, whip off your boots. You’re going in the cart.”

Ah, now I understood why I had been invited. It was the age-old maneuver of getting the office newbie to do the shit work. I thought I’d escaped Earth’s stereotypes, but perhaps they’d just been reincarnated with me.

I tugged off my sweaty boots and stood in the dirt. Crushed stones and dust clung to my feet as I climbed onto the wheel of the cart, and I did my best to wipe off the grime before going in. The guild leader smirked at me.

“At least someone from the GTA has the manners to not taint my product. First time Adam jumped in there he brought half the desert with him. Remember that, Addy?”

Adam looked like a retail worker being asked for a bullshit refund.

“Yes, Victoria, I do. It was only two years ago. Back when the Ripping Warriors were led by your more virtuous predecessor.”

Victoria laughed at him, satisfied that she had goaded him into a retort.

“Ha! That’s why I love you, Addy. Not afraid to tell it like it is. And hurry up, young whippersnapper, hop in already!”

I did as I was told, lowering myself down into the sickly ooze. It felt like a million small tongues slurping between my toes. The Sinker might’ve loved it, but not me. I looked to Adam for guidance.

“Alright Marcus, now I just need you stamp around in there for a while. Don’t mash up the whole load, you’ve just got to aerate your small area in the corner before it hits the conveyor.”

It was hard to pull my legs out of the concoction, but as I graduated from slow steps to running on the spot, the product became almost fluffy, like thoroughly beaten cream. Adam threw me a rusted bucket and I half-filled it.

“Marvelous! Thank you, Marcus, you can hop out now and help me with the taste test.”

The TASTE test?

I almost gagged before deciding he was joking. Victoria handed me a towel and I wiped the lizard-meringue off my pale legs. Soap and water weren’t on offer.

Adam took the bucket as I pulled my socks and boots back on. I still had a sticky residue melding my leg hairs together. He pulled a contraption from his container and dipped it in the bucket, submerging a small rod with a sphere at the end. He watched a thin needle as it raced to the far right-end of the measuring spectrum, wavering between a green and blue.

“Victoria, you rated your product as a purple-green, this is undoubtedly a green-blue. At least twice as valuable as what you’ve been reporting.”

Victoria turned up her nose and shrugged.

“Must just be a good batch! Not all dungeons are built the same, you know. The one yesterday was quite dangerous compared to those in recent months, might’ve resulted in a better product.”

Adam huffed a bit, then pulled out other instruments for testing. He took samples from some of the processed batches, noting that they were far superior to a purple-green rating. Eventually, he turned to me.

“Alright Marcus, you hungry yet? You can do your taste test and then we’ll get going. I think I’ve seen enough.”

The first time he mentioned the taste test, it was funny enough — the kind of joke that’s funny at work since there’s not much competition. The second time, I gave him a pity laugh and spun around to face the carriage. For some reason, Adam didn’t follow.

“Marcus?”

I turned back to see Adam sloshing the bucket onto the conveyor belt, letting it run across the ice to congeal.

He’s not joking.

I walked back and stood opposite him.

“You can’t be serious, right? You’re pulling my leg? I’m not eating this shit.”

Adam chuckled and shook his head.

“You think I brought you here so you could stand and watch? Nuh uh, you’ve gotta earn your keep, and this is how. Don’t worry though, if it’s as high quality as the device suggests, it should taste rather sweet. The instruments can be a bit finicky, so this is a bit of a confirmation test.”

I didn’t want to enquire further, but I had to.

“And what if the instruments are wrong? What will it taste like then?”

Adam looked like a schoolboy who’d been caught peeking into the girls' toilets. He fiddled with the bucket while he chose his words.

“Uhhhh...well...I wouldn’t call it sweet in that case. Perhaps more like...warm vomit? You should be fine though.”

I should be fine. I watched the ooze congeal into a neat blob, feeling the lovely effects of nausea. Adam took a spoon from his container and scooped out a hefty portion of Combusto-Gunk. Now was my time to shine.

“Bottoms up, Marcus! Come grab this.”

I took the spoon and squared up to my gelatinous foe. It shimmered in the dim light of the shed and goaded me.

Ready to eat vomit, fat boy? Combusto-Gunk, more like Combust-yo'-Junk.

I really shouldn’t have personified it. They say you taste with your eyes, and if that was true, I was already done for. I was about to eat this world’s equivalent of rocket fuel.

Raising the spoon to my lips was a Herculean effort. Giving in to my torture, I slurped the goop like jelly, squeezing it through the small gap between my front teeth.

It was...

Sweet.

Thank you, O’ Heavenly Father. Up top, big guy.

I was almost coming round on religion when my Navigator vibrated. It felt no more comfortable than the first time.

{DANGER! YOU HAVE INGESTED A TOXIC SUBSTANCE (A2 GRADE : COMBUSTO-GUNK)}

{Regeneration : Level Decreased. Current Level : 0}

{Your ‘Regeneration’ level cannot go any lower}

{Poison Resistance : Level Up! Current Level: 1}

{Flame Magic : Level Up! Current Level: 1}

That was a mouthful — literally and figuratively. But the third notification interested me the most.

My level can’t go any lower...

I took another big slurp of the Combusto-Gunk, downing half the amount left on the spoon. I was greeted by the same notifications.

{DANGER! YOU HAVE INGESTED A TOXIC SUBSTANCE (A2 GRADE : COMBUSTO-GUNK)}

{Regeneration : Level Decreased. Current Level : 0}

{Your ‘Regeneration’ level cannot go any lower}

{Poison Resistance : Level Up! Current Level: 2}

{Flame Magic : Level Up! Current Level: 2}

I glanced at Adam. He had left me to conduct my taste test while he spoke to Victoria. They both had their backs turned. My stomach gurgled, eager for more sugary goodness, and after a short ethical standoff in my head, I plunged the spoon back into the Gunk, gulping down the edible EXP Points. I gorged myself, and my arm shook with the barrage of levels and notifications.

When I paused to take a breath, I tapped past all the level-up notifications and checked my skills.

Poison Resistance (5):

{Resist all severe effects of basic poisons.}

{+10% chance to negate severe effects of intermediate potions.}

{+5% movement speed upon consuming poison.}

Flame Magic (4):

{A wielder of Flame Magic can convert their energy into fire, producing vicious flames from their fingertips. Use with caution.}

{‘Venta’ (Basic Destruction spell)}

I had finished the entire congealed sample that we had taken from the cart.

I felt great.