Mason paced in front of the portal until he ran out of patience. Which, admittedly, probably wasn’t very long.

“Show me again,” he gestured at Ilya and held out a hand. “I want to see again.”

When she looked at his hand, then at his face, her expression was…changed. Cold.

“Why should I do that?”

Mason took a breath and met her eyes. He knew what she meant. She’d seen the look in his eye when that older orc was talking. When the creature said he intended to take Ilya and marry her off to some other orc Mason didn’t care about.

Yeah, he almost told her, I sort of want him to. Because then you’re not my problem anymore, and Blake has a lot less reason to stay in this stupid tower. And it’s just orcs behaving like orcs and why should I give a shit.

He took a breath, fighting his imagination from hacking his way through every one of these things in sight. He wanted to see, but he wasn’t about to renew and clarify his offer of protection. It wasn’t like his seeing actually helped with anything.

“Do what you like, princess. But it seems you’re short on allies. Maybe now isn’t the time to be…unfriendly.”

Ilya stared, then finally turned her head and took Mason’s hand.

“I want to see, too,” she said.

Then the darkness was folding away, like a movie theater with the curtain pulled back, the reel flickering to life. Mason saw his brother and that weird goblin hard at work at some ridiculous puzzle, the whole cavern swirling with a chaotic melee.

“Jesus,” he said, looking at the piles of corpses.

Seul-ki and Annie were there and alive, the former beside Blake looking exhausted, the latter racing around the cavern spraying demon blood with her somehow even more frightening-looking axe.

An orc warrior fought demons coming out of at least two portals. Some other smaller orc or maybe goblin danced around him stabbing anything that got by.

Blake’s constructs were everywhere, smashing and stabbing, or just holding things off with big shields. Mason saw at least seven. But even so, more and more demonic portals kept appearing, sending out a seemingly never-ending army of foes.

“Fuck. Behind you!” Mason yelled as some demonic creature leapt at Blake’s back. It stopped mid-air, launched away by what must have been Blake’s power. Though he hadn’t even turned to look. Mason let out a breath and shook his head, briefly meeting Ilya’s eyes.

He expected they were both thinking the same thing. They weren’t going to survive much longer in there.

It was hard to tell exactly what that puzzle was doing, but it obviously had something to do with the huge demon’s chains. Mason followed the dim lines of power, trying to understand.

Then one of the chains exploded.

A voice inside boomed incomprehensibly, the words maybe scrambled as a feature of Ilya’s power. The orc winced and put a hand to her temple, and the image snapped shut with a pop.

“What happened?” Mason did his best to keep his voice controlled.

“I…don’t know,” Ilya answered, her eyes betraying her terror. “I…lost contact.”

“He’s not dead.” Mason stared into the orc’s eyes. “I would know.”

A little wetness made the amber orbs of her eyes look like suns dipping into the sea.

“How,” she whispered.

“I just would.”

“I am sorry, Lady Ambereye,” said the older orc, gesturing to the demonic portal.

It had flared open again, whatever was sealing it now apparently over. Mason instantly reached out to enter, but his hand passed through without any feedback from the system. What the hell did that even mean?

“Tomorrow, perhaps,” the orc continued, “we both will grieve. My eldest was strong, and would have made a fine husband. Take the oracle now, my son, as your captured bride. But you must not harm her. I will see no injury come to the holy witch of the white tower. She is to be respected. Honored.”

“I understand, Father,” said a tall, muscular orc as he stepped out from the others.

Mason could see the creature’s hunger, his lust, his ambition. He glanced at Ilya and saw her fear, and her grief. She didn’t even rise, sort of rocking back and forth. She looked shattered by Blake’s potential death. Or at least so surprised she didn’t know what to do.

God damnit, Mason thought, his hands itching to draw his Claws.

If all she had to do was marry some orc lord then go back to her tower, and she didn’t care about Blake, what difference would it make? So. She really did care about his brother. This wasn’t some relationship out of necessity, a weaker thing clinging to a stronger. Mason let out a very long sigh.

“Just…” he stepped in front of the orc and shook his head. “I’ve had a long day. You know what? I’ve had a few long months. So let’s all just wait a minute. Alright? Just wait.”

The orc stopped and stared, cunning eyes locked on Mason, a few of his brethren growling with growing intensity. Mason glanced at Ilya and saw something like apathy, her eyes staring at some far off, non-existent thing.

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God damnit.

“Stoneblood, is it?” Mason looked to the lord. “I’m not like my brother, Stoneblood. I don’t like orcs. So tell your son if he tries to take her, I’m changing his name to Spilled Blood. Right? All over the fucking floor. So relax. We wait.”

“You threaten me?” The older orc growled. “In my own tower?”

“No,” Mason said, staring right back. “I threatened your son.”

It definitely didn’t help with the tension, but well, fuck them. Mason wasn’t a diplomat. In fact he kind of wanted to fight.

He also didn’t accept or believe Blake and the others were dead. And there was a familiar tickle running up his spine—a whispering of Cerebus, maybe, buzzing in his ear, the golden eyes of the ram-headed god watching. Waiting. Egging him on.

Mason tried…briefly…to fight it. He really did. But if he was honest, he just didn’t want to.

“Kill him, my lord,” growled some deep voice from the crowd of warriors, to a growing chorus of agreeing grunts.

“We owe this one much blood,” called another.

“You are powerful, no doubt,” called the Stoneblood lord over the din, obviously not as keen as his soldiers. “But you are surrounded. And I have many warriors in this tower.”

Mason felt his genuine smile, still watching the lord, feeling the urge to draw his Claws like the urge to run across open ground.

“Attack me, orc. And you’ll have less.”

Though the creature did have a point. Mason was completely surrounded, deep in some dungeon. His confident resistance seemed vaguely crazy. But it wasn't.

The longer Mason fought the more dangerous he became. And with Exploiting Strike, that was only getting more true. He kind of wanted to test it. Unlike the Greenblood goblins, these orcs just didn't have weapons terrifying enough to kill him. Not before he regenerated and became too strong and tough for them to handle. Probably.

As the orcs kept on shuffling forward, closing the gap between them no matter what their lord said, he was pretty sure he was about to find out.

The small space around the portal started shimmering. Mason and the orcs all stopped and stared as the portal began to fade, a new color appearing all around it.

Several vague forms materialized as blurry shapes, then crystallized into view. Blake and all the others formed in a row. Then most of them dropped.

The tension in the room didn’t exactly vanish, and Mason wasn't sure if he was pleased. The increasingly large, increasingly violent piece of him that loved the post-apocalypse was still itching for a fight.

Blake was a bloody mess. Mason turned on his new and improved Mark and swept his brother with his eyes, relaxing when he saw it was all superficial damage. He seemed to be unconscious, but it wasn't clear by his injuries why.

Seul-ki was crawling to him, trying to use some kind of magic. Annie looked beat to shit—her young face bruised and bloody, her body a maze of angry wounds. The masked goblin and the engineer slumped against the wall. The orc warrior couldn't seem to stand.

So it wasn’t pretty. But they were all alive.

"Blake!" Ilya went forward as if to touch him, but Mason held her back. He was still watching Lord Stoneblood. These creature were a hair's length from violence, and he knew any sudden movement might set them off.

"Will you kill them now, too?" Mason asked. "Warriors who fought side by side with your son. Who came here to help you. Is that Stoneblood honor?"

The lord’s lip curled over his tusks. "What does a human know of orc honor. Capturing Lady Ambereye will wipe away any stains. Get up, my son, or the honor will go to your brother."

The battered young orc looked between Ilya and his father, still struggling to rise as he shook his head.

"Not like this, Father. The human is right. They fought well, and with cunning. We bound a demon of the pit for a hundred and fifty years. And I have been rewarded by the gods. Already I..."

"Enough!" The orc lord's eyes practically bulged as he gestured his other son forward. "So be it. Take her. I tire of this."

Real concern now sloshed down Mason’s spine. This was an entirely worse situation. He might be able to regenerate and transform his way into an orc wrecking ball, butchering his way through the dungeon for the day. But there wasn't a lot he could do to stop a tower full of them from killing the other players.

Even if they didn't try at first, sooner or later, the idea would come to them. Mason needed to change the dynamic.

As the tall orc moved to close the gap again, he summoned his Teleportation Beacon and dropped it on the ground.

"This isn't going to go how you want," he said, ready to activate it with his toe.

The orc sneered as he quirked his head and stared at the device, obviously more concerned than he wanted to let on.

"Some kind of goblin explosive? I'm not afraid to die, human. Are you?"

Mason just grinned as he tapped the device. The orcs all sprang back, but nothing happened.

"You have to…turn it on," Blake wheezed from the ground. Mason turned and stared.

"Did you fucking regain consciousness to trash talk me?” He tapped the power button, then practically stomped on the activation. The teleporter buzzed and emitted a soft blue light, the air gaining the faint, unpleasant odor of arcane power.

"I don't care what it is!” yelled the old orc lord. “Kill the human, and take your bride!"

The lord's other son finally roared and charged, as did a dozen orcs from several directions.

Mason smashed the first to arrive with a vicious front kick. He blasted the armored creature off his feet, then summoned his Claws, and abandoned all thoughts of peace.

Ilya was crying out about madness, about reason, trying to get to the others as Mason spun to slash at several more orcs.

He couldn't help but grin. Cerebus may as well have been on his shoulder, pointing at the next orc to maim, to kill, guessing eagerly at how it might die.

The already cluttered cavern glowed as more bodies appeared in the center of everything, and for a moment the violence stopped.

"I know, I know,” Carl said as he formed, rubbing a hand over his baldness. “I said I wouldn't come. But I felt bad. And...oh. Uh. Hello."

Several orcs renewed their attack, the fleeting moment of peace gone.

"Fight the bastards!" Mason shouted as he dodged a spear thrust at his face. "Except her!" He gestured at Ilya with a sword. "And protect Blake! And the girls!"

Most of the orcs around the summoned players were falling back, and Mason was reminded how much they hated magic. With a few exceptions, even the ones near him pulled back to reassess.

Carl glanced around the room as he solidified, blinking in the gloom and taking it all in. His terrifying dagger formed in his hand.

“Shit. Now I’m glad I came.”

As the new players took in the scene, the orcs were clearly off balance, probably waiting for their master's renewed command. Every player without a prestige class had come with Carl—Tommaso (some kind of generalist), John (the Scottish ‘tank’), and Garet and Jason (different kinds of spearmen).

Lord Stoneblood looked shaken, his eyes moving over the players as he licked his lips. Things had changed rather quickly. Mason took the opportunity to close his eyes and activate Call Beast.

"Maybe..." the orc started, something like a brown blush coming to his face. "Perhaps we can still..."

Streak shimmered into view—the wolf’s bulk narrowing the shrinking space even further, his bright green eyes, just like Mason’s now, glowing in the gloom. He interrupted the orc lord with a deep, and certainly terrifying growl.

Mason thought of the words of his house—friend, or prey.

These things had attacked him and his with no provocation. Even so, he'd given them the benefit of the doubt. Now they'd meant to betray and attack again. Mason didn’t forgive twice.

"Kill them," he said low in the silence. "Kill all of them."

Streak snarled and charged as the players lit the room with power, and violence.