No. No.

Topher's mind went white with revulsion; terror and loathing he didn't understand filled him to overflowing. He felt, more than heard, Hana and Zanasha struggle against the beams of light, but none of them could move -- even the momentary strangeness that had allowed him to curl his fists was gone now. He couldn't even twitch -- and worse, he felt his consciousness slipping. He was losing control of himself, in a way that felt both strange and horribly familiar...

In desperation, he scrambled for something -- anything -- that he could do, but without the ability to speak or move, he couldn't cast anything; he summoned all the force of his will, twisted his mind into strange viewpoints and configurations even as his awareness dwindled. His vision narrowed to a blur, and then to a point.

Then, unexpectedly, he succeeded; for the briefest instant, he managed to force his mind into that strange orthogonal mode of thought that let him channel akasha. A pulse of the strange energy cascaded outward from him into the paralyzing beams; they faltered, flickered for an instant, and he strove mightily to speak a rune, to spin his Stylus -- to do literally anything. But they recovered almost immediately and immobilized him once again; sickened, he shut his eyes. I couldn't do it. Useless. I'm always useless. Mom, I'm sorry...

From behind him and to his right, he heard a strange crunching, shearing sound; it sounded like glass being ground underfoot, or being twisted apart into shivering shards. He couldn't see anything, but he felt the field of light holding him still shudder and buckle slightly; then there was a roar, and the sound of a blade slashing through the air, followed by a loud crash. A groan, like a dying beast, echoed throughout the space.

Then, without transition, Topher was free; he fell to the ground with a bone-jarring slam, dizzy and suffocating. Nearby, he heard Hana gasp for breath; in the distance, more roars and crashes that his addled brain slowly managed to decipher as the sounds of desperate combat, but there was nothing he could do. His fingers curled into fists again; his mouth, against his will, took on that strange and hateful rictus once more. "Now," it said, menacingly, "Finally. My time again." Topher's eyes rolled up in his skull, and he began to sink into darkness.

Then, abruptly, something hard and cold jammed against his teeth, and a hot liquid began to pour across his tongue and down his throat; he choked, shocked, before realizing that it tasted like cream soda. Healing potion, he thought fuzzily. Am I hurt?

You're dying, something in the distant part of his mind returned acerbically. But not from injury.

Topher's brain reeled. The fuck does that mean? But his vision was returning; his breathing steadied, his mouth lost its rigid viciousness, and his fingers groped for his Stylus. He came back to himself with Hana standing over him, hurling flame from an open bottle at glowing, articulated creatures which danced and lashed all around them; a little ways away, he saw Zanasha fighting with brutal strength against another giant skeleton-dog guardian. Waves of rippling air cascaded off of her as she dodged and shrugged off heavy blows, and Topher recognized the same Last Stand Skill that Tok had used. She's holding her own, but as soon as that wears off, she's dead.

Despite himself, he smirked. Well, that ain't happening.

Without standing or even sitting up, Topher spun his Stylus above himself; he felt the power flowing into him as he carefully counted the swirling, darting forms that surrounded them. Three, four, five, six, seven... eight with the dog-thing, but he didn't want to risk friendly fire. Instead, he drew in a harsh breath, and shouted "Bwin Zom Bomch Oiz Duthan!" and swept his Stylus outwards in an arc towards the creatures. Instinctively, he closed his eyes.

The flash of light was so bright that it burned straight through his closed eyelids; he heard Hana shout in pain above him and winced. Whoops. But he could see that it had worked; massive, twisting claws of jagged energy swept out from him in a perfect spiral, forming a lotus-like shape as they struck unerringly at each of the creatures surrounding them and impaled them, writhing, like worms upon hooks of raw arcane power. Squinting through the glare, he saw Zanasha take a powerful blow and get launched through the air towards him; cringing, he activated his Attract Object power without thinking, and pulled himself towards her even as he pulled her to him. Dropping his Stylus (which instantly vanished as he did so), he reached out and caught the half-orc as she fell heavily out of the air.

In any other situation, it might have been dramatic and romantic; in this one, it was a very bad move. Topher's back emitted a loud snap as two hundred pounds of weapons, armor, and half-orc womanhood came down with the force of God's displeasure on his lumbar support muscles; he screamed involuntarily and collapsed, paralyzed, as both of them crashed to the floor. The undead guardian gathered itself for a leap.

Then, strangely, Topher noticed that it had a little rectangle superimposed above it in his vision; it looked a little like his Status window, and read:

Undead: Phantom Barghest

Topher blinked, his pain forgotten for an instant. The hell is that? But he had no time to be bewildered -- his back lashed him with another fresh whipsaw of agony, and a howling scream burst from his throat totally independent of his volition. The creature leapt, blurring through the air so quickly that he had no time to react; as it crashed down, he gasped out "Zom Voq!" and squeezed his eyes shut as the ash-colored sphere enveloped them both, knowing that the Shield would never withstand the creature's attack. Stupid back. Stupid crush on a girl. Stupid fantasy world. This is what you get for trying to be a hero, old man.

The claw struck.

Topher's back spasmed with a force so intense he was sure it had crippled him for life; his scream was long and shrill, and tore his throat. But, impossibly, the Conjured Shield held; the orb shot backwards with tremendous force, rocketed over Hana's head as she ducked with amazing alacrity, and slammed directly into the large cone-shaped apparatus projecting the weird figure above them. He thought for certain that they would smash directly through it, but the sphere stopped cold the instant it touched the structure, slamming both Topher and Zanasha back against the inside of the sphere with terrific force; Topher's back spasmed a fourth time, and he screamed again even as another little window appeared over his head:

Edict: Wanbourne Loci

Topher vomited all over himself (and, he would later realize to his horror, Zanasha), and the Mage Shield winked out as they both collapsed to the ground. Another lightning bolt of agony shot through him, and Topher let out yet another bubbling scream through a mouthful of vomit as he writhed in agony on the metal floor. The creature (Phantom Barghest? he wondered) charged towards them again, but Topher could move his hand now; he summoned his Stylus, spun it in a weak little half-circle, and spat "Lhei Viak Elrr Gadiph" around a mouthful of bile and half-digested brioche. The Entangle that erupted around the creature wasn't nearly as powerful as his previous one -- it didn't crush the creature outright -- but it did immobilize the huge beast as it thrashed against the searing, ash-colored tendrils.

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Unfortunately, that was all Topher could do; his arm, completely limp, fell to the floor with a slap. Welp. I had a good run. He was vaguely conscious of Zanasha's form in his arms, and a sad little smile flickered across his lips. Least I got the girl.

Topher's eyelids fluttered again; his head sagged to one side, and he blacked out.

----------------------------------------

When he came to, the fresh taste of cream soda in his mouth, the first thing he noticed was a breeze -- warm, vaguely florally-scented, and filled with something he couldn't quite place. Oh. It's fresh air. I'd forgotten what that was like. He sniffed, licked his lips, and murmured wordless confused noises; he seemed to be wrapped in something. A blanket?

Then he remembered. Oh God, no. "Please just tell me I died," he sighed bitterly; his voice came out hoarse and croaking.

"No such luck, I fear," purred a rough voice from his left. Groaning, Topher opened his eyes; Zanasha was crouching next to him in a light shirt, washing her long red hair and winking at him; above her head, a small window displayed a few words:

Fighter: Zanasha Jones

Topher grimaced and shook his head, not understanding. "Damn. I was hoping that part was a dream."

The half-orc smiled -- her crooked smirk stabbing through Topher's vitals again like a poniard -- and stood up, shaking the water from her mane carelessly. "I am quite inured to the fluids of combat, Friend Topher. Pay it no further mind." She moved closer and leaned down to inspect him; Topher hastily shut his eyes to avoid ogling her cleavage. "Are you well?"

Abruptly, Topher remembered his injured back; he hitched in a breath, preparing to scream, but discovered to his shock that it didn't hurt as much as he'd expected. Experimentally, he flexed it slightly; it was stiff and tender, but he could just barely move it a little (and with only sickening, horrible pain instead of the brain-shattering agony from before). "Close enough, I guess." He opened his eyes and quickly looked around, trying to keep his gaze anywhere but on Zanasha. They seemed to be aboveground, on a hill covered with clover and honeysuckle, in what looked like mid-afternoon on a sunny day; the incongruousness of it juxtaposed with the situation they had only just escaped struck Topher as almost comical. "How the fuck did we get here? Hell, how did we even get free of those paralyzing light beams?"

Zanasha grinned broadly -- no hint of shyness this time, Topher noticed -- and pointed with her index finger towards her long, sharp canines. "My Unique Skill: Eat Anything. Including fields of magical light, it would seem." Topher gaped, but the half-orc nodded, satisfied, and stood up; she turned to her left slightly and pointed down the hill a ways, where Topher could barely see Hana kneeling over something he couldn't make out from here. "After that, Hana-chan had a potion which transported us, somehow; I understand it was something she had planned to use only in greatest extremity. I do not know if it can be replaced."

Topher shrugged. "Better for it to be used up than lying around to be looted off our corpses, I guess." He tried to sit up, failed, and decided lying down was most of what his immediate future contained; sighing, he let himself fall back. "I can't stand up. My back..."

"Yes, Hana-chan told me. She has the First Aid Skill; she said you were suffering from a malady called a 'herniated disc' and something else called a 'torn iliocostalis lumborum'." The half-orc wrung her wet hair out, then tied it up in a loose ponytail; Topher noticed he was hyperventilating and forced himself to stop. "But I do not believe you will be immobile for long; our stock of healing potions is not infinite, but we have a few more."

Topher sighed, feeling anxious despite his bone-deep weariness. "We can't stay here," he muttered reluctantly. "They came for me twice, and if they find out Hana is alive, they'll come for her too."

"I might only be Level 7," retorted Hana, climbing up the hill and tossing her own luxurious hair, "but I'm not completely defenseless, Bailey-san." Above her head, a window flickered briefly into existence:

Hostess: Hana Shirakane

"Hana-chan," interjected Zanasha thoughtfully, "the first part of your statement, at least, may be untrue. You may wish to check your Status."

Topher smirked as the young woman mumbled something, then gasped in shock. "Level Fifteen?! How?!"

"I suspect we gained some experience in passing from the monsters Topher defeated," answered the half-orc with a toss of her head towards his recumbent form. "I find myself Level 24, as well."

Topher chuckled, then sobered and realized he needed to check his own Status. He murmured "Status open," and perused the results suspiciously.

Name:

Christopher Bailey

Level:

27

Class:

Clerk

HP:

29/82

MP:

0/108

SP:

26/27

Strength:

Rank F

Dexterity:

Rank F

Constitution:

Rank D [+1: Rank D]

Intelligence:

Rank D

Wisdom:

Rank D [+1: Rank D]

Charisma:

Rank F

Skills:

Literacy (Rank D)

Mathematics (Rank C)

Cooking (Rank F)

Customer Service (Rank D)

Data Entry and Filing (Rank B)

Packaging and Shipping (Rank D)

Home Appliance Repair (Rank F)

Pen Spinning (Rank A)

[Cold Resistance (Rank F)]

[Heat Resistance (Rank F)]

[Obscure Location (Rank C)]

[Nondetection (Rank C)]

Special Skills:

Disrupt Illusion

Conjure Shield (Rank D)

Conjure Light (Rank F)

Improved Status

Summon Ledger

Remove Fatigue (Rank D)

Minor Sorcery (Rank C)

Summon Stylus

Sanctuary (Rank F)

Detect Status

[Pass Without Trace (Rank C)]

Unique Skill:

Attract Object

"Level 27 for me," he mused. "And some kind of new Skill -- Detect Status, or something."

Zanasha cocked her head. "You can see the Status of others?"

"Not all of it," Topher demurred, shaking his head. "Mostly just the names of things. I saw that the big skeleton-dog thing you were fighting was called a 'Undead Phantom Barghest', or something like that, but that's it. Not very useful, though."

Abruptly, Hana was crouched almost in front of Topher's nose. "What about the machine? Did it have a Status you could see?"

Topher flinched. "Jesus, lady. Just the name -- 'Edict: Wanbourne Loci', or something like that. Why does it matter?"

Hana froze, then flopped backwards and began to laugh crazily; Topher and Zanasha peered at her worriedly, but she waved them off. Then, suddenly, she leapt to her feet and wrapped her arms around Zanasha's waist, cheering. "We did it, Zee! We really did it!"

"I don't understand," Topher complained. "Why does the name matter? I thought you were trying to figure out how to stop the undead?"

Zanasha hugged Hana back, but then stepped back and folded her arms. "I also fail to understand. We were unable to halt or even damage the apparatus; surely its name cannot be of major import to Lorachian."

"That", retorted Hana, her brilliant eyes sparkling in the sunlight, "is because you don't know what an Edict is."