‘Would you like to resurrect?’ The little black box hung four feet from Sharkie’s face. She raced up to it.

Oh my God, yes! Sharkie thought.

Color seeped into the knee-high grass and the trees.

She squinted and pressed her palms to her ears, as a high-pitched tone drilled into her skull. “Oh my God,” she breathed. She blinked as the sound faded. “What the fudge was that?”

As if on cue, one of the ??? dragons roared. The plump scaly beasts were marching along the twisting causeway, a safe 30 feet away. It resembled the Great Wall of China and led to the Megacastle. They had found it. Then they had been owned.

Sharkie turned in a slow circle. Where the heck are ya, Karen?

She sighed and lay down in the grass to wait. She felt like she’d just run a marathon. Sure, her legs were fine but she was mentally exhausted. That place had been horrible.

She searched her menus for information about a set number of lives but didn’t find anything. So, she tucked her hands behind her head and stared up at the sky, skin shimmering ever so slightly, with the movement, in the faintest pattern of scales. Her mind relaxed and the clouds formed into shapes: a palm tree bowed in the wind, a little dog stretched out its belly, a phoenix took flight, and then a baby elephant chased them away.

Coughing, hacking, throw-up noises.

Sharkie sat up. She knew those clothes. Manuele was bent over, heaving.

“Huh,” Sharkie said.

Manuele hacked again and then croaked, “That’s what you have to say?”

“I didn’t know we could throw up.”

“Again, that’s what you have to say?”

“I mean, I guess we can bleed so other fluids are fair game, but…” She shrugged. “Yeah, ‘huh.’”

Manuele huffed and wiped his mouth with the back of his dark leather glove.

“What took you so long?”

Manuele glared with his deep red eyes.

Sharkie hopped to her feet. “Cheer up, Karen. We just learned we can’t die.”

“And what a lovely experience that was,” he grumbled.

Fuck. She could feel how upset he was. Yay, Crippling Empathy. She was disturbed enough without this on top of it. She would smile. She would power through. Sharkie took a deep breath. “I’m glad you’re okay, man,” she said.

He sighed. “I’m glad you’re okay too.”

“So, same plan? You know, now that the dying’s over.”

“Yeah, let’s go do your class quest.”

“What, what!” she cheered.

Then the hint of a smile tugged on Manuele’s lips. Sharkie was sure he was trying to fight it, but it was there. His energy shifted.

“Let’s go!” She punched at the sky and started off east, grass whispering against her rain pants.

The plan had always been to check out the Mega-thing—well, where they guessed it would be—and then swing around for her class quest. They had just wound up with a little detour in between—one she never wanted to experience again. But maybe if that’s how death worked there would be other possibilities. She did a mental review of her skills while they hiked, thinking about it.

Her class quest would unlock Enshadow, which would let her ‘blend into the shadows and enter a state of hiding, regardless of combat status.’ It sounded like at-will stealth. It sounded awesome. She figured that when she got it, she would commit to using daggers. She had the weapons now but had been using her crossbow because she liked being able to attack as soon as she was seen. She’d been saving her latest Skill Point for it.

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She’d spent the previous one on Lifesteal. It said it ‘leeched’ health from the enemy over 15 seconds. She couldn’t decide whether that mechanism was significant, but it certainly fit the dark vibe of her skills and class quest. Apparently, she had to offer her soul to the shadows at some altar. Manuele had crossed himself when she’d read him the instructions. That man was a walking contradiction.

“How many more do you need?” Sharkie asked. His class quest required killing 500 creatures that could bleed.

“Two-something. Too many.” He sighed. “Let’s talk about something else. Favorite weekend activity, go.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Fine, I’ll go first.”

He proceeded to talk her ear off about his weekend routine—not one favorite but all of his weekend activities. She smiled and nodded, letting him talk. She even let loose a laugh when he got into the mishaps between his nonna and the dog. It passed the time and took her mind off their reality. After an hour through the grasses, they turned north into a wood.

Sharkie interrupted Manuele’s storytelling to reference her quest log, and he simply said, “You’re the boss.”

“Damn right!” She laughed, then added, “We can both be the boss, okay?”

“If you say so, boss.” He grinned. “My nonna taught me that the woman is always in charge. She’s always right too.”

“I like that lady!”

“Yeah, she was pretty great.”

Sadness flooded Sharkie’s senses. She dug her fingernails into her palms. She was not going to let it get to her. The forest reminded her of the one with the chainsaws: spruce, birch, and maple. There’d been sadness there too. Pull yourself together, Sharkie.

Her footsteps were soft on the rust-colored pine needles. The occasional stick cracked, snapping her to attention. She reminded herself that the forest wasn’t too dense. She could see where she was going and had decent sight lines on any incoming threats. She and Manuele were alone in the trees.

After about half an hour, the forest gave way to a cliff-lined lake that extended deep into the mountains. The sides were impassible and her quest was somewhere at the end of it.

Sharkie was halfway stripped when she noticed Manuele standing back, arms folded. If she concentrated, she could almost see the nervous energy hovering around him. He’d admitted to being afraid of the ocean, but this was a lake. And he did say he could swim.

“What’s shakin’?” Sharkie asked, tugging off a boot with a hop.

Manuele frowned.

“It’s a lake. Freshwater.”

“Are you sure?” The man was practically hugging himself.

“Here.” She hobbled up to the water, wearing only one boot, pants, and a black sports bra. She dipped in a hand and then brought it to his face.

He leaned away.

“Lick it.”

“What?!”

“Don’t be a baby! I’m showing you there’s no salt.”

Manuele shrunk back a full step. “Uh, I believe you.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and finished undressing, putting all of her gear into her inventory. “It’ll be a lot harder to swim with that on,” she warned.

“Maybe you just go and—”

“Uh uh. No way. Man up, dude.”

He rolled his eyes but then started to remove his t-shirt.

Sharkie waded into the water and fought back a shout. She didn’t want to give Manuele any excuses. She wished she had her wetsuit. Then Manuele splashed in behind her and swore.

She cackled and said, “Let’s go.”

She was pleased to see that Manuele was keeping up, despite the frigid temperature. But around the ten-minute mark, she started to suspect that their swimming had been altered. Running and walking were different in this place, so why wouldn’t swimming be different too? She filed that information away for later. It was weird, but so was everything; there was no point stressing out trying to understand it.

She swam a swift breaststroke, keeping her head above the water so she could see where she was going. She kept an eye on the cliffs on both shores and wondered if there was a way to get up there. She hadn’t seen it.

After maybe half an hour of swimming, a small island popped into sight, a tiny dot on the surface. Sharkie treaded water, hips rotating like a kitchen blender, and pulled up her map. Half of the window appeared below the surface. She laid back, floating, tilting the window into the sky.

“It’s on the island,” she said.

“’kay.” He was shivering.

So was she.

Another half hour later, Sharkie hauled herself up onto smooth dark rock. The island looked to be maybe forty feet across with a steep hill in the middle. There were a few bushes and trees, but the rocky mound was fairly sparse. Sharkie guessed the altar was on the other side, but didn’t want to have to swim back around if there was nowhere to get out.

The wind blew hella cold against her skin. She was shaking. She tried to wipe the water from her arms with her hands.

Manuele splashed up beside her. “Don’t you have an old shirt or something?” he asked, producing a white t-shirt and rubbing his hair with it.

She found two shirts in her inventory and used them to sop up most of the moisture. Then she began to dress, thoroughly chilled. She was almost ready when the sound of laughter drifted across the lake. She shot into a crouch. They were too far from shore; it had to be coming from the island.

Sharkie met Manuele’s eyes—violet meeting red. She pressed a finger to her lips. He mirrored the pose. Then she pointed to herself, her eyes, and then the top of the hill. Manuele nodded.

She pulled her striped suspenders to her body and then started the climb. Her feet slid over grit and plant matter. She gripped a spindly tree trunk, fingers partially numb. She carefully set her foot in a long crack in the rock. Then she heaved herself up to peek over the hill.

A man and a woman stood in front of a cube-shaped stone. A large bowl was set atop it, carved of the same material. A liquid swirled within the vessel, darker than water, and almost alive. It drew her in, tugged her forward, like a black hole drinking in her soul.

Fear burst from the figures like a sonar pulse. They swiveled to stare directly up at her.

“Come on out,” the man said in a Southern accent.

Crap.