> “I met a man, a , who called himself Raspberry. He looked me dead in the eyes, and said I’d be dead as dead can be in one year, three months, twelve days, and six hours. I scoffed at him, and forgot about it for more than a year. It’s been one year, three months, eleven days, and four hours since he talked to me. It’s nine o’clock at night, and I’m bleeding everywhere. I’ve got twenty-six hours to live, give or take a few minutes. I’m gonna make it count.”

* Franklin Westford

“Life is a small, bright star in an ocean of darkness. You view each of them as minuscule, passing things, little sparks to be traded and sacrificed and enhanced like pieces on a game board. It’s funny to me, how you’re so arrogant, so self-centered, that you have no perception of the danger you’re currently in.” Vainen spoke directly, firmly, a bit like a disappointed father.

“Ach.” He put his face in his palms, sighing in frustration. “You can’t orate your way out of the end of the world, Oreanan.”

He looked around himself. “I just wish some of the old buddies were still around. No afterlife, no rest for souls. Just oblivion. It’s… unjust. Though…” He looked up, a spark in the center of his eyes. He tapped his leg in a rhythmic pattern, an old tick. “Would it be a waste? No… It’s a worthy time… But I’ll have to pick the right one. Let’s see…” He thought for a minute, then grinned. “Why not?” Not the most powerful choice, but definitely a disruptive one.

“.” A Talent usable once in every millennium, a level 65 Talent, a Talent no other had gained, save perhaps for the Archons, spilled from his lips, the power of his words pouring forth like a rainstorm.

In the capital city of Esultare, in resplendent, and currently mostly on fire, Cardona, a corpse, thrown into a grave, grave dirt falling on top of her, shoveled by two lackluster and morose , mere hours after her death, her body still warm.

Level 36 reattained!

Level 37 earned!

earned!

Talent advancement unlocked!

🠊

She felt younger. A lot younger. As the white-haired master of blade leapt over her burial ground and grinned at the two stunned , looking ninety and feeling thirty. In less than thirty-six hours, she’d leveled a total of seven times, died, and had been resurrected. The chimes that had come into her mind as she reawakened, alive again, felt like gasps of fresh air after being drawn into an airless darkness.

She ‘disarmed’ the two of their shovels, proceeding to knock them unconscious. She realized, dimly, that she should be dead. The Archons above, in fact, were startled from their attention to a building war front and the rebellious quartet in Brosiad to a ninety-one-year-old blade expert who was, against all odds and expectations, no longer dead.

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Vainen, meanwhile, fled deeper and further into the Spirit Realm, the ire of five demigods swerving to search for him, at least temporarily. With a self-satisfied smile, he uttered a taunt to beings with thirty levels on him. “Your move.”

🟌

Thirty-seven hours of travel, twelve of those being various harried naps. Bim was at his wit’s end, and had been for a while. But he didn’t have time to give a damn. After all, he had allies to gather, and the world was ending. No time for a break.

Talent advancement unlocked!

🠊 !

He was Bim Selkis, a profoundly weary young man. He was a teen, for the love of the Archons (a bad turn of phrase for the moment, he supposed)! He should be taking on an apprenticeship, have five or six levels under his belt, and be aiming to be making a pocketful of silver each hour by the time he was twenty, not trying to save the entire world!

Even with a level 60+ working behind the scenes for him, transcendent cosmic knowledge rolling around his brain, and a team of loyal and dedicated friends, he was still facing five level 90+ Archons, for, well, Archons’ sake!

He had banished one Archon already, he reminded himself. One done, five to go, more or less. When he got to the towering gates of Stargard, he found them bent and broken, watchtowers abandoned.

As he entered the city, warily stepping over twisted metal, he found corpses piled high, archers and swordsmen, civilians aplenty, the eldest of ages to the youngest. Death choked the streets, the sights and smells of it almost making Bim stumble.

A dark power, the rancid strength of Archons, hung in the air. Bim recognized it now; if the common man was a Pawn, then Demons were Rooks, powerhouses, a perverted blessing from sadistic gods creating Chosen that spread despair and pain without limit.

The rot ran deep, Bim knew. He had known for a thousand years, and less than one, depending on how you counted. Time… was strange, deep in the Spirit Realm. But he was material, and he needed to focus. Heal, save, cast out the corruption.

In the center of the destruction, a floated, uncaring, without need of drink or food or rest, a living force of destruction and chaos. “Boy. You should not have come.” The Breaker of Souls’ voice reverberated through the air, its eyes pure scarlet, joyous hatred ensconcing them. A hand snapped out, and Bim felt a crushing weight wrap around his neck from a hundred yards away. He floated an inch off the ground, roughly pulled off the cobbles, hands coming up to struggle with invisible arcane power.

“.” Bim said, calmly, speaking through the pain and pressure. The force of his Talent burned bright, and reached out, strands of translucent power hooking into the Demon, pulling at his… essence? Aura? His Spirit Essence, his metaphysical shadow, was snagged by the Talent… And the world stuttered.

ERROR

ERROR

Incom---

Imcomp----

Imcompat------------

ERROR

Class lost!

Class restored!

ERROR

“It’s a trick, sleight of hand, you idiots.” Bim said. “Anyone, of any level, can do that. Your system was flawed to begin, but wow, have you let it decay. The right levers pulled, the right steps, leaping through the correct hoops, and a level 1 could wield the keys to the Grand Machine. It’s… truly hilarious.”

Artemy of the Gulls crumpled to the ground, a level 9 once again, confused and injured and horrified.

“Here, bud.” Bim went over, placing a hand on the man’s arm. “. It’ll be okay.” He looked around for survivors. Little aid would be found here, he thought ruefully, but he knew he needed to help and heal where he could before going to the next city. Five to go, he thought. Five to go.