Chapter Sixteen: You’re not right.

“Evening, Regan.” I settled into the stool at the bar, ready for the night’s dinner and drink.

“Hey, Nyvorlas.”

The tavern owner at The Crying Jester was a stupidly handsome mountain elf named Nyvorlas. Unlike many elves, he had a rugged mountain man look, with a full bushy gold beard and long hair tied back in a loose man bun. His lumberjack arms were always on display in his tight shirt, which always seemed not to be buttoned up enough, tantalizing me with a full chest of hair I wanted to lick every time I saw it. I had a crush on him since I started staying at the inn. Seeing the hipster elf every night was a great way to kick-start my evening or end it well.

Then I met his beautiful dwarven wife, Yarnorra. No moving on another girl's guy, or vice versa. Not my style. But both were easy on these little elf eyes. So yeah, double-crushing it. Just my luck

“Where’s Leoleth tonight?”

“She’s playing games over around Central Blvd.”

“Good enough.” He murmured, sliding a mug up to me. “There’s something I need to show you.”

“Like what?” I asked, on yellow alert since he barely knew my name and had almost nothing in conversation other than small talk leading up to now.

He held up a gold coin between his massive fingers. “This.”

“Good tip,” I said. Looking at the coin. “You’re not expecting that from me, are you?”

“It is a good tip. No one tips me a gold for anything.”

“I would expect you to be happy about it.”

He slapped a card down on the bar. “Some drow elf comes in, gives me a gold coin, and tells me to give you this card.”

“Okay,” I said. I was a little afraid to reach for it.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t like shady shit in my inn.” He glared at me and slid the card over. “You and your girlfriend keep whatever crap you do out of this place.”

“I don’t do any shady crap,” I said, pouring on the pouty face. He still glared down at me. “We earned some good money with the Mercenary Guild and just want to settle in and take some time off before we have to go out and earn more.”

“No trouble,” Nyvorlas said. “Or you’re out.”

“No trouble,” I said, flipping the card over. A note from Aymon invited me to chat at an inn called The Hanging Judge tomorrow at noon. I held it up for Nyvorlas. “I met this guy a week or two ago. He probably just wants to ask me out on a date.” I smirked. “He thinks I’m cute.”

Nyvorlas tilted his head, his expression softening. “You are pretty fucking cute.”

I blushed, heat rising to my face. For a second, I swear my freckles started glowing like they’d been enchanted. With Nyvorlas looking satisfied, I dug into the mystery stew that was dinner for the night and read over the card.

Sorry Dear,

I understand your hesitation in signing up, but there is an opportunity I would like to discuss that you might be interested in. Meet me tomorrow at noon for a chat at The Hanging Judge. No strings attached (sorry for the unintended pun). Bring the frost elf if you want, but you’re the one I would like to speak to.

Aymon

I tucked the card away and finished dinner. Right after we’d gotten the MLM pitch, I reached out to Jinx and told him I thought The Union was mostly a scam. His response was exactly what I expected—he shrugged it off. He only used them to fence questionable items or pick up the odd sigil or storage cracker. He’d just assumed they were a proper guild. He apologized for the lousy recommendation, but I told him there were no hard feelings. Leoleth and I had already started our own “program of self-improvement.”

I said my goodbyes to Nyvorlas, who, in turn, gave me a suspicious look. Once outside, I set off. My nights were now dedicated to scurrying across rooftops like a caffeinated squirrel. Glamorous? Hardly. But practice is practice. I tested my lockpicking skills on random doors when I wanted to stop and catch my breath, always relocking them after. If nothing else, I was getting faster.

The funny thing is, I used to shun exercise with a passion. Now? I was leaping over alleyways between Ironstone’s buildings, loving the sheer joy of movement. The combination of body and magic created something I’d never imagined possible back on Earth. Strength, Dexterity, and Endurance, all boosted with AP, let me push limits that would put American Ninja Warrior to shame.

Once I left the bustling hub streets behind, I scaled the alley side of a building a block away. From there, it was a symphony of running, leaping, and landing, over and over. At first, the idea of jumping ten feet over an alley was terrifying. Then I realized that at a full sprint, it’s easier than it looks. Before long, I could cross entire neighborhoods without touching the ground. The hub streets were the only ones too wide to conquer, but even Spider-Woman has limits.

By night two, my Acrobatics hit Level 2, which led to this little nugget of joy:

You have passed level 20 Dexterity.

Weapon Throwing Level 1 Unlocked.

Weapon Throwing Level 1

Throwing skill with any weapon is now the same level as the weapon’s primary proficiency. Damage dealt with a thrown weapon will vary depending on the Strength attribute.

By night ten, another notification popped up:

Parkour Level 1 Unlocked

Parkour (Strength/Dexterity/Endurance) Level 1

You’ve unlocked the skill that lets you move from point A to point B in the most efficient way possible using the environment. Focus on a goal, and your body will find the path over rocks, roofs, or dance floors.

The moment it activated, the movement became a kind of meditation. My body knew what to do. The magic-infused skill wasn’t just about jumping over and around things; it charted a path to wherever I focused as if my own personal GPS had sprung to life. I still needed to know my destination, but with an internal map of the city permanently etched behind my eyelids, getting around Ironstone had never been easier.

When exhaustion crept in, I could burn AP to keep going. But I knew better than to rely on it too much. Pushing through fatigue the old-fashioned way was the key to boosting my Endurance.

I launched myself toward the Entertainment District. Pushing my endurance to the limit as I moved. If I moved between the hub streets, I could cross everything with only touching the ground two or three times. My goal was always to try to knock down the ground contact as much as possible.

The route was mostly north, then west, with a line of tightly packed buildings that were perfect for my purposes. The only snag? A few canals crisscrossed the neighborhoods. These weren’t charming waterways with gondolas and serenades—they were industrial sewage streams carting trash and waste toward the river. About a dozen of these connected the city’s industrial and commercial districts.

After about twenty minutes, I hit the first canal and dropped into an alley. I dashed across the bridge, keeping my momentum up, much to the annoyance of the handful of people inexplicably hanging around a stinking stream. News flash: no one should be enjoying that.

I bounced into the next alley and began climbing. Sure, I had a grappling hook, but I was determined to unlock Freeclimbing. Progress through practice, Mrs. Cutsforth, my high school gym teacher, used to say. She got fired for stealing the senior class’s car wash money and ended up selling insurance.

Full disclosure: Jinx had suggested sticking to the main streets at night. Something about “safety” or “not being an idiot.” I did listen. But I’m a half-elf. My night vision was basically a cheat code. I could see every dark corner like it was midday. Nothing could surprise me.

This is why I was not prepared for the hand that grabbed my ankle halfway up a four-story building.

There was a hard yank, and the meditative calm of my Parkour skill evaporated, replaced by the cold slap of reality. I fell backward, heading straight for the cobblestones below. A two-story height is enough time to think but also enough distance to break something vital. My brain scrambled for options, and I took the first one that popped up.

I activated Grappling Hook. The spell fired from my hand like a harpoon gun, latching onto the wall. I swung down, smashing into the side of the building with a thud that knocked the air out of me. Not fatal, but definitely “ruin my evening” territory. I slid down about fifteen feet before the rope vanished. It turns out it doesn’t work well when someone else is also hanging off you.

The hand was still there, gripping my ankle like a vice. Whoever owned it outweighed me by a lot, and we both plummeted together. I clawed at the masonry, slowing our descent with sheer panic-fueled determination. When we finally hit the ground, I landed on top of someone, or something, large, hot, and heaving. My nostrils were assaulted, and I had to fight the dry heaves as much as the grip holding me. Good news: it broke my fall. Bad news, the hand didn’t let go.

I tried to get to my feet, but my new “friend” grabbed my arm with the same death grip. I glanced down. He had pasty white skin, grime-covered fingers, and an aura of “thousand-bus-station-bathrooms” stench. Lovely. I kicked and flailed, but the guy didn’t flinch. He just grunted, a low, rumbling sound, his hot, rancid breath hitting my back, moistening my top with sticky steam.

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Then his friend grabbed my other leg.

Panic set in, a cold rush of memories flooding my mind: chains, shackles, a road I barely escaped. My pulse raced, but I couldn’t afford to lose my head. Another pair of arms wrapped around me, locking up my right arm and slapping a filthy hand over my mouth.

And then a third one showed up.

This one also snaked up from behind, fingers closing around my throat. The grip tightened, cutting off my air. I thrashed, but I was pinned in place, their sweaty, stinking bodies pressing down. I couldn’t even see the bastards. My chest burned as my oxygen ran out, and my odds of survival hit rock bottom. Unless they just wanted to choke me out and then have their way with me, it was hard to say; either way, it was going to be a short, miserable life.

Debuff notices scrolled through my head, and I saw little time left. Panic wouldn’t help me now. I shut it down, retreating to the only thing that might—my inventory. If I were going to die, I wouldn’t be going down without trying.

I started counting down in my head. The exercise always helped me focus and steady myself. At ten, I went limp, conserving energy for what was next. At five, I dove into my inventory, summoning Sick Stick. It clattered uselessly to the cobblestones. Great start. I dug deeper, ignoring the pressure on my throat and the thudding pulse in my ears. I needed something. Anything.

My brain landed on a scroll. The Scroll of Iron Bands. Could I activate it from my storage just like a potion? No idea. But I was out of options.

Activate Spell: Scroll of Iron Bands

Target: Nearest Enemy

Yes/No

YES! I mind-screamed.

Three inches wide and half an inch thick, metal bands erupted from the ether before me. They twisted and curled like metallic ribbons caught in a storm, slicing through the air around me before slamming into the nearest creep choking the life out of me.

There was a grunt, sharp and breathy, and suddenly, all the hands let go. I dropped to the ground with a graceless thud. Gasping, I clawed at my throat, pulling in gulps of stinking alley air. Not ideal, but I was alive. At this moment, I’d take the W.

No time to celebrate, however. The other two bastards would be back any second. I grabbed Sick Stick and spun around, ready for round two.

“Fuck…” I croaked. My throat felt like I swallowed a cheese grater. “…Me.”

There weren’t three evil-smelling creeps. There wasn’t even one creep. What I was staring at… wasn’t human. Hells, it wasn’t anything I’d even imagined existed before.

The Iron Bands had done their job, pinning a thing to the wall of the building I just fell from. It was… star-shaped, about eight feet across, like a starfish, but cranked up to nightmare mode. Instead of five stubby little legs, it had five human-like, double-jointed arms radiating outward around a massive, circular, tooth-filled sphincter of a mouth. Its pasty, flesh-like skin was crusted with grime, and the way it writhed against the bands made my stomach turn.

The arms bent and twisted at impossible angles, their hands clawing at the bricks, each double-jointed finger scuttling like a spider’s legs.

“Oh…” I rasped, staring at it. “You’re not right.”

I sheathed Sick Stick. The last thing I wanted was for that gaping maw to hurl its insides all over me. Instead, I pulled out my short sword.

I didn’t know squat about its anatomy, but the giant mouth seemed like a safe bet. With a grimace, I drove the blade straight into the center through those rows of teeth.

It was a good guess. Triple damage for hitting a critical area, plus a sneak attack bonus—because, hey, no eyes. Stabby-stabby…stabby-stabby…done. The thing let out a final, fart-scented wheeze and collapsed, its maw gaping open.

All was quiet. I just looked at the thing. It was just the stuff of nightmares, but I beat it. Just as I was congratulating myself, the creature got its revenge. A torrent of revolting orange blood exploded from every pore on its body like some kind of chemical weapon. I’m sure there was now an Elf-shaped silhouette of clean on the grime-covered wall behind me. Lovely.

CORPSE:

STRANGLER STAR

LOOTABLE ITEMS:

1. STRANGLER STAR TEETH

DO YOU WANT TO LOOT?

There was orange blood in my mouth. There was orange blood in my nose, eyes, and hair. I stared at the prompt for a beat, whispered a prayer of thanks to whatever god had decided to help out, and clicked Yes. I wasn’t walking away from this with nothing. I’d make a charm bracelet out of those teeth and fucking sell it on Murder World Etsy if I had to. I started the long walk home.

Mental note: thank Jinx for the totally ignored advice.

On the way, I downed a healing potion and swapped out my cool, black rogue outfit for the humble tunic-and-pants combo. My face and hair were still a mess. I hadn’t bothered getting any magic soap since moving to the city.

My breath still came in and out in rasps. Even with the potion, healing takes its sweet ass time. In the moment of victory, I was awash in a sick kind of jubilation. The lingering pain outlasts the rush, however. Then comes the crash.

It was close. I mean, it was always close, but this was a new metric. The fights I been in before? There was usually someone around. I was with my party, and my back was always covered.

That thing grabbed me from behind, and I wasn’t strong enough to fight it. I worked so hard, but I still wasn’t strong enough.

Those hands. Those could have been anyone’s hands grabbing me. I was reckless. My overconfidence in this city almost got me killed.

I thought if Leoleth. Of all people. She’d have come home tonight to an empty set of rooms and would never have known I wasn’t coming back.

I’d just be gone…Again.

“Hi.”

I was barely holding it together. The last thing I wanted was for the world to see me like this. So, I dodged the pub, avoided the front desk, and did what any rogue worth her salt would do: I climbed the outside wall of The Crying Jester.

“Hi,” Eric said, standing shirtless at the window, a dagger in his hand. I’d just tapped on the shutter to his room, and he’d thrown it open, ready for a fight. Relief flashed across his face, quickly replaced by concern. The dagger clattered to the floor. He reached through the opening, pulling my limp body into the room.

“I’ve had a very bad night,” I whimpered. The tears were dangerously close now. gods help the poor guy if he has a problem with crying girls.

“Okay then,” he said softly, wrapping me in a gentle hug despite the blood, sweat, and gods-know-what else clinging to me. “Anything broken?”

“No.” That was all I managed before the dam broke. It wasn’t a sniffle or a delicate cry. It was the real, gut-wrenching, soul-cleansing kind. I hadn’t cried since my first night here, though I’d come close a few times. But tonight, there was no stopping it.

“All right then,” he murmured, brushing my blood-matted hair back from my face. “We’re just gonna let that out.”

He pulled me tighter. My face was pressed against his chest. It was warm, solid, and comfortingly hairy. He smelled good. That earthy, masculine scent that reminded me of how strong his arms were and how tantalizingly cocky his grin could be.

When the sobbing finally slowed, I realized I’d left tears, a fair bit of snot, and some of that nasty orange blood tangled in his ginger chest hair.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, trying to brush it off.

“It’s okay,” he said with a gentle chuckle, not even flinching. “You want to tell me how this happened?”

“Strangler Star,” I muttered.

His brow furrowed. “You fall in a canal or something?”

“No!” I cried, the second wave of tears building. “It grabbed me in an alley!”

“You shouldn’t be in an alley at night,” he said, a bit of admonishment creeping into his gentle tone.

“I know that now!” I bawled, the second wave hitting like a tsunami.

“Okay… okay…” He rocked me gently, like I was a child, his patience holding steady against the storm. “It’s all okay now.” He whispered.

We stayed like that for a while, with me sobbing and him holding me, just inside his open window, the dark room lit only by the moon and the streetlights below. I clung to him because, at that moment, I needed someone, anyone. And Eric was there. Sweet, steady, and strong.

When the crying finally stopped, I felt brave enough to hug him back.

“Sorry,” I sniffled.

“For what?”

“Being stupid.”

“Oh, that.” He laughed softly. “Yeah, you’re stupid.”

I looked up at him, too tired to be angry but hurt enough to consider starting the tears up again. “What?”

He smiled down at me, brushing a finger across my tear-and-blood-streaked cheek. “You’re the right kind of stupid.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the kind of stupid that doesn’t know what’s impossible. So, you’re the only one who can pull it off.”

He lifted me off my feet, carrying me across the room to the bathroom as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Setting me gently down, he turned to the tub, wordlessly filling it and adding a scoop of that bath powder—the one that gave him that wonderful, earthy scent I’d noticed when he hugged me.

The rich, familiar aroma began to fill the room as he turned back to me. He kissed my forehead softly, then reached for my belt, pulling it free with practiced ease. My tunic and pants followed, discarded in a heap on the floor. He bent to unlace my boots, and I placed a hand on his shoulder for balance. One by one, the boots and my stockings slipped off, leaving me standing in front of him in nothing but my underwear.

His hands moved with steady, gentle purpose, removing the last of the fabric until I stood completely bare. I didn’t feel awkward or vulnerable—just… safe. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

He lifted me again, cradling me as though I weighed nothing, and lowered me into the steaming bath. The heat wrapped around me, the scent rising like a soothing embrace.

“Regan,” he said softly, taking a cloth and beginning to scrub away the blood and grime of the worst night of my life. His movements were slow, methodical, and reverent, as if I might break. “You are the most amazing person I have ever met.”

He said nothing more, and I didn’t have the energy to respond with the obligatory “Thanks.” I let him care for me, too drained to do anything else.

When he’d finished, he helped me out of the tub, wrapping a warm towel around me and drying me off with a gentleness I hadn’t known anyone could possess. It felt strange, letting someone take care of me like this. But I didn’t stop him. Honestly, he could’ve done anything in that moment, and I would’ve let him.

Once I was dry, he wrapped me snugly in a thick blanket and carried me to bed. He laid me down, tucking the edges of the covers around me before slipping in beside me.

“This is the part where you let things go,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “Let Edite’s blessings in. She’ll help you rest.”

He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me like a shield against the world. I sank into the warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his breathing lulling me into a deep sense of peace. I don’t know if it was the god he prayed to or his arms around me, but within moments, I was asleep.

I dreamed for the first time since I came to this world.

I saw her: Megan.

She looked older than I remembered, her hair loose and wild, but her shoulders slumped in a way that made my chest ache. She wasn’t looking at me, even though I stood just a few feet away. Her unusual, radiant smile was there but didn’t reach her eyes.

Then her expression shifted. The corners of her mouth fell, the mask slipping away as her face turned solemn. She lowered her head and walked away, her steps slow and deliberate, fading into the horizon like a memory unraveling before my eyes.

I reached out, desperate to call her name, but the words caught in my throat, swallowed by the soundless void...

The gods watched.

They surrounded the world, their features raw and alien, beautiful in their savagery. Eyes, luminous and unblinking, locked onto me, gazing past flesh and bone, straight into the trembling core of my soul…