Mason focused on himself, and activated Duality of Life.

The wind seemed to slow, then stop entirely. The rain that touched him vanished, the life all around him swallowing and warping to fuel whatever unnamed power infused him. Lightning flashed and struck the ground at his feet. No. It struck him. But as it did he felt nothing, heard nothing.

There was only his target.

Nature's Wrath apparently activated without instruction. His Duality of Life power was somehow focused, despite having chosen himself, it wasn’t an open-ended usage that allowed him anything. It wanted a single target, and boosted him for that single purpose.

His exhausted mind felt…overwhelmed. Like something else was whispering in his ear, like a thousand voices from the trees repeated a single message again and again: Tresspassers. Destroyers. They don’t belong in these woods.

Mason staggered forward as if compelled. The voices were right. These things had come to prey upon the weak for greed, and for their gods. But their gods didn’t live here.

He was still stark naked and his Sleeves activated as he touched the grass and rock, sending a dull green and grey color over his entire body. He could feel the eyes from all directions aimed at him, orc, player and civilian, but he didn't care. There was only his target.

Nothing would stop him. Nothing could stop him.

"Graak, chieftain of the Blacktusk tribe!" he shouted without thought, his voice strangely deep and echoed. He didn't know why he’d done it, it just seemed right to say the name of the creature about to die. He pointed his claw, and activated Aspect of the Cheetah.

His stride was wrong, but somehow not unfamiliar. He was covering too much ground too fast, and he was…too high.

A javelin whipped in his direction from one of the warriors, and he dodged it with the barest flinch. Arrows followed, but the wind all around Mason had become almost a gale and swallowed them. The heavy spear had managed to pierce it, but the lighter arrows blew far off target, soaring harmlessly into the trees.

Then in mere seconds, Mason was on them. They shouldn’t have gotten in his way.

He killed his first target with a Predator's Strike between ringmail and helm, cutting through collar bone and neck like he'd hacked at rotten wood. He banished his Claw and summoned it again just to get it out, deflecting a spear thrust with his shorter blade before jamming his Claw into the next orc's cheek, straight through his head.

He could hear the other players yelling and charging, launching themselves at the remaining lines of disciplined orcs with weapons clanging and magic sizzling.

But their battle didn't matter to him now, and seemed very far away. There was only Graak. Only his target. And the dead things that interfered.

They struck at him with spears and axes in slow motion, and the world itself seemed turned against them. Dirt beneath their feet gave way, mud slipping wet with sudden slope, tree roots ripping from the ground, grasping for those who tried to stop him. Wind and rain surrounded him in a driving force, blinding those who came too close.

Soon the orcs were scattering from his path, and Mason found his enemy waiting. Graak’s shield was wide, his armor thick, his weapon a massive club of wood and bone. But life and therefore death would find a way through. It always did.

Mason came in fast, slashing and hammering against Graak's shield just to keep him on the defensive. His Claw put jagged lines in the metal, but his shorter blade only dulled its edge. To Mason’s bizarre pleasure, the orc chief fought well.

He kept his feet and shifted despite the force of the blows, cunning eyes watching Mason's arms and legs with cold assessment.

But those same sharp eyes squinted as the rain seemed to fall straight into them. His footwork suffered as pockets of grass seemed to catch his feet, a dozen stones suddenly beneath his soles.

"You will give me my glory," the massive orc growled. "I will decorate my new hall with your skull!"

The chief faked a charge with his shield, then swiped fast and low with his club. Mason didn't try to dodge. He simply stepped over the weapon, letting the bladed head swipe within an inch of his other leg, dropping his short sword to hold the orc's shield while he rammed his Claw straight into the weak armor on his enemy's bicep.

The magical blade pierced straight through, blood spraying as he twisted and yanked.

The orc howled but didn't pull away. He dropped his shield and seized Mason's throat, dropping his club to grab Mason's sword arm despite his wound. With a look of triumph in his eyes, he clenched his teeth and squeezed.

Mason felt the immense strength of the creature and understood its confidence. Even with all his stats and magic boost he wasn’t obviously stronger. But this wasn’t a test of strength, a game of egos. It was punishment. It was death.

Mason unsummoned his Claw, summoned it in his other hand, and rammed it into Graak's side. He clenched the muscles in his neck, resisting the mailed fist that squeezed against his flesh as the strength drained from Graak’s grip.

The orc’s eyes were wide with disbelief as Mason pushed and twisted the blade through his armor and ribs. With Nature’s Wrath he watched the exact path required, slipping past bone until he found his enemy’s heart.

Disbelief turned to agony and terror as Graak’s legs failed and he collapsed to the ground. Mason let him fall and stood panting in the rain. The other orcs had fallen away and seemed to be fleeing now that their chief was dead.

[Objective complete: Kill Graak of Clan Blacktusk. Experience gained. Please select a power to upgrade to tier 2.]

[Objective complete: All Sanctuary civilians saved. Bonus patron points (moderate) earned for Nassau.

Mason shuddered in something approaching ecstasy as he felt Duality of Life fulfilled. It felt for a moment as if he'd been born for one reason and now it was over. A kind of closure he’d never had in his life. Such finality. Such satisfaction. He had killed...

Mason blinked. Who the fuck was Graak of Clan Blacktusk and why should Mason remotely care about killing him?

He blinked again, and shivered as he looked at the battlefield. Cold and wet and pain returned in a sudden rush. He felt like the whole world had turned its volume down, and now it came back in a swirling maelstrom of unpleasant realities.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

It stunk, first of all. Like blood and piss and all the rest of it. It was loud and still filled with the dying screams of bloody murders and mortal combat. And Mason was so very, very tired.

"Mason!"

He was already sitting down in the mud when he heard a voice he cared about. “Rebecca?” His own voice was hoarse and tired.

Then she was there and beside him, so wonderful and full of life.

“Hello, beautiful,” he smiled, and she wiped tears or maybe rain from her eyes and looked him up and down.

“Darlin’, you’re nude as the day you were born. Are you alright?”

Was he? He supposed he was. He swallowed bile and looked up to see two orcs who couldn't seem to decide if they wanted to attack him or flee for their lives.

He spit blood and on something of a whim selected his Ranger’s Claw to upgrade to tier 2.

[Tier 1: Ranger’s Claw upgraded ===> Tier 2: Ranger’s Claw(s)]

He held out his hands and summoned, and on top of the usual single, longer green blade, a second short weapon grew out of his offhand. It looked more like a sickle, equally glowing green with a curved blade on the front and a spike at the back.

Both weapons now had some kind of glowing letters like etching on the metal, and all Mason knew for sure is that they’d be cutting through pretty much anything those orcs put in their way.

The creatures glanced at each other, then ran.

Mason stood with a groan, and as more players were coming closer every second, Rebecca ripped off the lower half of her shirt and tied it around his waist. “That’s not for public viewing, thanks very much,” she said in his ear, turning a little pink.

He was too tired to give a shit either way, but sort of liked that she felt possessive. They walked back towards the other players to find Alex tending to a wounded Garet and Carl. Streak came bounding forward to lick Mason’s hand and almost take out his legs before shaking itself and spraying rain everywhere.

“Good to see you too buddy,” Mason pet and scratched the creature’s ears with a sigh.

The ground erupted a few feet away, and damn near everyone cried out in panic before Mason saw the purple color and yelled for calm. Violet warbled and stared with her solid black eyes.

Apologies, patron. I was badly wounded after the shaman and had to heal beneath the earth. Shall I go kill fleeing orcs?

“No.” Mason felt some anxiety lift at the sight of her. “Just relax, and follow us. We’re going home soon.”

The worm glanced briefly at the staring humans, then vanished back into the dirt.

Everyone seemed to be staring at him again, and he was reminded how much he hated that. Finally Blake came out ahead of them with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m not sure who saved who this time. But I’m leaning towards a point for me.”

Mason snorted and braced himself for a hug, but Blake stopped halfway. “Actually you’re entirely too naked and covered in mystery fluids. Are you aware you were temporarily something of a giant with vaguely jagged teeth and claws? ”

Mason frowned, not that surprised he’d grown. But what? Teeth and claws?

“Not important now,” Blake turned and looked at the many wounded orcs still moving about on the ground. “We’ll have to decide what we do with these. I suggest we let them go. They aren’t important now.”

The other players and civilians didn’t much like that.

Carl came forward with a twisted expression on his face, eyes staring down at the crawling orcs with undisguised hate.

“They tried to kill us all. Tried to take everything in this world from me. They came for unarmed women, and you’d just…let them walk away? We should be hunting down those runners.”

Mason didn’t much like the look in the man’s eyes, but he understood, and mostly agreed. You didn’t leave enemies alive.

Blake looked at Carl and everyone else as if taken aback, which of course Mason knew he wasn’t and this would be some kind of act for whatever reason. “Have we fallen so far so fast? Slaughtering prisoners of war without a thought?”

Maybe a few people looked thoughtful at that, but only a few. Carl wasn’t one of them.

“They aren’t people. They’re monsters.”

Blake pursed his lips and looked to Mason.

“You agree, brother? Kill the wounded? Just like that?”

Mason sighed, but a threat was a threat. “Whatever they are, they want us dead. Yes, I’d finish them here.”

Blake turned his head and shrugged, that damned annoying know-it-all look in his eye. “I was in their minds, gentlemen. They aren’t so different than us. They have families and friends, tribes and gods. They think we hate them and mean to kill them all. That we have to be stopped. Sound familiar?”

No one said anything at that, and Blake held out his hands.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Carl,” he raised his voice. “And all you fine folk from Sanctuary, you’re safe now and welcome in Nassau. But now the battle’s over, and we’re going home. My people don’t kill wounded soldiers, and that’s an order.” He looked at Carl with a damned annoying twinkle in his eye. “But you can do what you feel is right.”

Then he held out his hands in a gesture to follow him, and the players from Nassau slowly made their way back together as the Sanctuary citizens came down from the hills.

“Off you go,” Blake made a kind of shooing gesture at the orcs. “I’ve sent a little message to the mind of one of your fleeing friends. I’m sure they’ll be back. So run along and remember a human’s mercy.”

With that he walked away, and the obviously confused creatures stared at one another, clearly in disbelief and too confused to do much.

Mason no longer cared one way or the other. He put an arm around Rebecca and gave her a squeeze, already picturing a warm bed and a cold drink, and filling his gut with Haley’s cooking. Then maybe trying to figure out what the hell the situation he was in with Rosa. The battle of the hills was over.

“Ready to go home?”

Rebecca smiled and hugged him back.

* * *

For Mason, the short rest till morning, then the walk back to Nassau was mostly a blur. Blake was asking all sorts of questions and he answered things he instantly couldn’t remember. Alex healed Carl enough he was cracking bad jokes and swapping some nerdy witticisms with Blake.

Most people forgot all about the wounded orcs and talked in excited, happy voices about the battle, or else returning to Nassau. Some others were quiet, disturbed maybe by the terror and blood and awfulness of it all.

Mason mostly walked with Rebecca and Streak in silence, trying not to think about Rosa’s eyes crawling over his skin.

The Duality of Life filled his thoughts. The power of it had been incredible, but he'd felt…well, like a different person, like his mind was hardly his own. It had felt like being drunk or high—though Mason had little enough experience with either—like he was in some altered state that made him different. Not really him.

"Are you alright?" Rebecca was watching his face, all concern and simple beauty and warmth.

"I'm OK." Mason smiled. "But it's been a very long few days. I need to sleep."

Rebecca squeezed her arm around his waist and lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "You'd better tell Haley. She's probably planning some kind of sex party when we get home."

Mason held back a cough, trying not to be amazed his life now included such conversations and realities. "That might kill me. Maybe a slumber party."

"I'll protect you, handsome," Rebecca winked, and Mason couldn’t help but smile and think yes I expect you would.

Then it was hours later and the walls of Nassau were entering sight. They seemed bigger than before, but Mason didn't much trust his current perception.

People were cheering and weeping, hugging as they walked through the gate. Blake was making some kind of grand speech about saving humanity and good neighbors and all his usual nonsense.

"Sleep." Mason said as he entered and somehow felt even more tired, wavering on his feet.

"I'm sorry, darlin', of course, this way." Rebecca took him by the arm and led him on.

Then they were stopped in front of dark hair and curves. And Rosa was there and looking up at him with her beautiful brown eyes.

"Thank you, Mason," she said in English with her accent and a little fire. Then she stepped forward without even a glance at Rebecca, and kissed his cheek. "For saving us. And for last night."

Then she walked away without another word, just as Rebecca's nails dug into Mason's forearm.

"Later," he said, feeling rather helpless and unable to summon a much better defence. "I promise. Later."

They walked to the house they shared with Haley, and when he arrived the front door opened with the smell of baking bread. Haley was there in some version of a cooking outfit, a button up dress and apron that put her somewhere between chef and model.

She heard the door and turned around, meeting Mason’s gaze with tired eyes full of emotion, but unshakeable strength. He felt instantly calmer in her presence, knowing he didn't have to worry about her asking for anything he couldn't give, that he could rely on her.

"Welcome home," she said with a little emotion in her voice, and he sagged into her arms, pulling Rebecca in beside them.

He wasn’t sure if the settlement was really his home, at least any more than the forest was. But Haley and Rebecca were. His eyes drooped and his mind relaxed, letting go of the danger and responsibility, the giant worms and 'Makers' and Phase 2 and druid dreams.

He said nothing as Haley took off his tattered rags and led him to the bed, laying him down as they cuddled up beside him. He was asleep before they covered him with a sheet.