As the thing of glistening tentacles and teeth bared down on him, he could only think he was a little underprepared.

He fanned his hand out, staring grimly at the five cards at his disposal. As the heaving mass began to crawl out of the black abyss that replaced the pool, and he burned the one card that could do anything for now.

Invisible bonds slammed down onto the creature, imprints like chain links barely visible on its slick, mucusy skin. It gibbered madly, pus-yellow pupils roiling madly against misplaced red eyes. He never found a more apt situation to use the word ‘gibber’ before, and he hoped he never would again.

God it was hideous.

That bought him some time, but he winced as his Pride burnt from 13 down to 3 in one go. The first time he’d used [Chains Of The Worthy] and it had almost burnt out his entire pool. It was one of the harder pools to build up, too. At least, if he didn’t want to look and feel like a total douche.

He turned and sprinted back into the resort proper, away from the water’s edge, and out from under the pea-green sky. He closed the grimy glass door behind him and allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. He looked up at the vaguely A4-sized panel formed by [Cartographer’s Eye]. A floor plan of the decrepit resort was visible within the space, centered around him. It appeared that the only things that appeared on the floor-plan were inorganic, deceased or… excretive... matter; stuff that could be vaguely interpreted as ‘building material’. The only thing that showed up of the creature outside was the thrashing water around it, its teeth, and a strange, metallic object, which couldn’t be properly seen from a bird’s eye view. He assumed it was the ‘forgotten heirloom’ he was supposed to retrieve. Not likely.

He looked back at his area, trying to think of the best way back to the exit, when he noticed that the image of his area wasn’t static. There, approaching him, were countless yellow and white objects.

Teeth.

He heard a slight squelch and threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the ring of teeth that squealed for his head. He looked at it, then looked around.

Leeches. Toothed leeches. Great. Or were all leeches toothed? Teethed? He didn’t want to be redundant while being bled dry.

The next one went for his leg, and he smacked it with a baseball bat, before sprinting away.

He mentally recounted the four cards he had left.

One copy of [Mocking Cry], two copies of [Biker’s Lunge], one copy of [Draconic Heritage] which he couldn’t use, and - he checked his watch - one minute and forty seven seconds until the next draw.

Yeah, just run.

Things came squealing down the corridor after him, surprisingly agile for having no limbs.

Run faster.

He kept running. He dodged the slimy mucus that attempted to constrict his path, sticking to the mental map. He still had twenty minutes worth of map left, so he reckoned however this went he’d probably only need that much.

A thing that look vaguely humanoid stepped into the corridor ahead. It turned, and the similarities ceased to be. A lopsided mouth filled with teeth sat on a head that looked more like a stubby tentacle, the whole body looking like a congealed mass of rotting earthworm and fish offal. Its singular eye stared unblinkingly at him, and it began to screech.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He’d already seen one, so he didn’t slow down. He did scream a bit, though. But in a manly way! Like a warcry. Sure, yes.

He burnt [Biker’s Lunge], the air around his bat beginning to blaze.

The only specification of the card’s use was that “the caster must mounted on a wheeled form of transport”, which would normally be a pretty big limitation. *If*, that is, he’d not been able to find a pair of adult-sized Heelys.

The thing’s screech was cut off, as the bat slammed into the thing, and kept going. The thing collapsed into a shapeless mass of offal, seeming to sigh as it deflated.

He finished his slide, breaking off towards the center of the food court, the dirt encrusted signs of fast food joints gazing sullenly down at him. There, barely visible, was a spherical distortion of space. He raced towards it, his gaze only temporarily flickering up to watch his Determination rise by a point. He had about fifty paces between him and his way out. Home stretch.

Then the tentacle thing slammed through the Chick-fil-A sign, standing directly on top of the orb.

He stopped as the thing roared in a thousand tongues. That was bad.

Then his alarm decided to beep.

Moving quickly, he drew his deck, pulling out his next card, praying to whatever asshole made this system in the first place.

He looked at the card, then back at the thing, then back at the card. That could work.

He activated his final copy of [Biker’s Lunge]. Again, his bat shimmered with energy.

He took a quick look at the map. The metal thing was still there.

Finally, he looked back at the army of leeches which were crawling out of the tunnel behind, then up at the thing as it began to drag itself towards him, mucus and water flying off in equal measure. At the peak of its mass, a silvery glint.

Last chance.

He broke into a sprint, popping [Mocking Cry] as he went. It was a shame he didn’t have something other than [Draconic Heritage] in this situation, but it wouldn’t really help regardless of whether he had the pride for it. [Mocking Cry] activated, and as soon as he got within 20 metres of the thing, he activated the sound of an airhorn right in its center.

A really loud airhorn.

The thing shook visibly, losing focus on him for just a moment as it was dazed by the rippling sound. The moment was all he needed. He activated the last usable card in his hand, the fresh draw, while simultaneously jumping and laying himself flat in the air.

[Wanderer’s Step].

This counted as ‘sideways’, right?

A thin bubble of a color that wasn’t quite grey formed in the air between him and the thing, and he passed through the bubble. He popped out, diagonally up in the air ‘behind’ the thing, and began to fall towards the bubble.

But he wasn’t done here. Not yet. He spun in the air, swinging the bat at the metal object, pinned to the side of the creature by a tentacle. His feet touched the side of a tentacle just in time for it to activate, and it sliced through the tentacle. The thing roared in pain.

Time seemed to slow, and he grabbed for the metal object as he fell towards the exit. He extended his bat towards it, barely out of reach, as a tentacle swung at his side. He touched the exit.

There was a flash of light, a jarring pain in his back and the dull sound of wood and metal clattering to the floor. Then there was the sound of commotion around him, and one or two cries of alarm.

He looked down at the floor, where his bat and a small metal gauntlet had fallen to the ground.

He got up, wincing at the dull but strong pain in his back. That was gonna bruise. There were a few people looking at him, but it didn’t look like anyone had noticed the whole teleporting thing, just the falling over.

“You alright?”

Somebody called from a table. He smiled back.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

He walked over, bending to pick up his bat and helmet, making sure not to move his back too much. He looked outside through the glass doors, and saw the pool, filled with people once more, and no longer a black abyss.

He would wait a while before he did one of these again.

* * *

By the time he made it back home, he had drawn another card. [Person Of Interest], this time. As he stood in his bathroom, ice pack strapped to his back.

He’d gotten one out of three objectives for the fittingly named Black Lagoon area, and from the looks of things he couldn’t revisit, even though he’d absentmindedly locked the quest. It’d probably show up again later, though, like every task did; he couldn’t imagine the thing just vanishing. But he was going to wait out the rewards until the reset, which he’d do tomorrow, in case of any temporary gains.

He had cast [Person Of Interest] on the gauntlet, hoping that he could get at least something, but it unsurprisingly hadn’t registered, being an object and not a person. Looking at himself in the mirror, he shrugged and mentally readjusted his target.

It came up with a list of his known prominent social friends, his legal records, his bank balance, and other kinds of pointless data, but he just focused on his name.

“Nathan Smith.”

He spoke quietly to himself. He smiled, then whispered, the words writing themselves into place under the header of ‘title’.

“A fucking wizard.”