Chapter 188 (Book 5 Chapter 14) (Patreon)

Author's Note

This chapter requires a bit of an explanation. It's comprised of three sections. The first section is entirely new.

The second section was originally a Book 4 scene in the serial chapters that I removed for the final release and kicked up the timeline due to planning reasons. If you're coming from the kindle version of Book 4, it'll be new to you. If you read the serial chapters, you can skim it if you don't want to rehash it. Just note that this scene takes place directly *before* Side Story 2.

The third section is a combination of another Book 4 scene I kicked up the timeline (with minor changes) and new material. The new materials starts after the sentence beginning with "It was a fantastic plan".

--

Three Days Later

With a jolt of surprise, Rob realized that he was relaxing.

The notion seemed...alien, almost. Everything had been a flurry of tension since the moment Elnaril's laughter echoed through a Message Crystal. The coalition had left Arieda City as quickly as it could after that, heading south for the capital at a breakneck pace. Hearing that thing lit a fire under the Leaders especially; it was a voice they'd known, some time ago, and now it was in service of the living embodiment of pestilence and entropy.

Rob understood where they were coming from. He was more familiar with Blight-speak and general mind fuckery than pretty much anyone else in existence, and it'd still taken him three days of blissfully uneventful travel to start chilling out.

It was a sense of unease only compounded by their circumstances. Verdant, empty fields surrounded them, a serene camouflage hiding the constant danger they were in. The deeper the coalition journeyed into enemy territory, the closer they drew to that inevitable moment where an army dropped from the sky.

When your enemies could fly, there was no such thing as true safety.

Yet the sun set, and the sun rose, still with no Harpies in sight. Queen Ragnavi must have been keeping them busy in the southwest. Rob wasn't sure how to feel about that – busy Harpies meant dead Harpies – but he also wasn't going to let nebulous guilt ruin his downtime. Things were bound to get messy again soon enough, so until then, he'd enjoy their respite for as long as it lasted.

At present, he was inside a large campsite tent, sitting right at the center of a congregation of activity. Behind him, Malika and the dimension mages were joined in a Mage Circle. Vibrant lines of mana extended outwards, tingling as they touched Rob's head. Their group was hard at work using his mana signature to track a pathway back to Earth.

Well, the mages were hard at work – Malika was just there to share her excessively high Sense Mana via the Mage Circle. Dimension magic was incredibly complex; even for an Archmage, learning how to trace faint mana trails across dimensions wasn't something she could pick up in only a few weeks.

That didn't stop Malika from lording over the mages like a princess over her peasants...sort of. The dimension mages had treated her with near-sycophantic respect at the beginning, intimidated by the Archmage's Level and social connections. It was essentially a defense mechanism to ensure that the new scary Combat Class user didn't fry them with lightning.

As time passed, though, they'd realized that Malika enjoyed the idea of being a bigshot more than anything else. If she received positive reinforcement for her efforts and could indulge in the occasional bout of maniacal laughter, she was happy. Nowadays, the mages seemed to regard her as something between a group mascot and a little sister in need of reassurance.

Case in point. Rob watched out of the corner of his eye as, out of nowhere, Malika's expression morphed from confident to apprehensive. "I'm helping, aren't I?" she asked, with none of the confidence of a Level 64 Archmage.

"Absolutely," one of the mages immediately replied. "Your Level of Sense Mana makes navigating the space between dimensions much, much easier. Like giving sight to the blind. It's hastened our progress by months, maybe even years."

Message Sent to Party Member: Malika

Rob: You hear that? I'll be able to see my friends and family soon because of you.

Rob: No more sleepless nights wondering if they're okay.

Rob: Thank you. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

For a moment, Malika paused, her eyes seeming about ready to tear up. Then a joyous grin broadened across her face. "Of course I'm helping," she said, as if she wasn't the one who'd asked. "I'm an Archmage. No less should be expected of me. I'd be doing even more if someone hadn't forced me to spend my hard-won stat points on Vitality, but such is life."

Fond smiles spread across the dimension mages. Rob's smile mirrored their own. He turned away from Malika to spare her the embarrassment, taking a look at the other conversations happening around him. Riardin's Rangers and the Elders were split into several subgroups, mingling amongst each other as they chatted about this and that.

"Yes, you should return the book once you're finished," Vul'to advised.

At that, Orn'tol frowned. "Why?" he replied, with a hint of petulance. "It was a gift."

"The Elf you borrowed it from won't dare to ask for it back. While it's good that you're building ties with people in the other camps, you should know that a request from one of us could easily be interpreted as a demand."

Orn'tol's frown deepened as he glanced down at the book in his hands. "I like this series, though. Started reading it before...eight years ago. Was a gift from mother. Didn't get a chance to continue it."

Vul'to's gaze softened. "I'll make sure to procure a copy at our earliest opportunity. But be honest with yourself – you wouldn't have asked me for permission to keep that book if you didn't already hold reservations about doing so."

"...In truth, I was hoping you'd tell me it was fine." Orn'tol sighed. "You're right. Thanks for the advice, even if it wasn't what I'd hoped to hear."

Their innocent exchange became something of a black comedy when Rob remembered Orn'tol's arrows shooting a fucking Dragon out of the sky three days prior. The young Guerrilla Ranger looked more concerned about the ownership of a book than he'd ever been about killing people in Arieda City. Malika wasn't really fazed either. I should probably be worried about that, but the alternative is them having mental breakdowns in the middle of a warzone, so I guess it's fine for now.

Leaving them to their talk, Rob shifted his attention to Elder Duran, Diplomacy, and Faelynn, who were engaging in a cross-cultural learning exercise. "Don't tell anyone I admitted this," Faelynn began. "And what I'm about to say is meant in the least sinister way possible. You see, I think some Fiends are jealous of other races' eyes."

She pointed to her own, two orbs of pure, pitch black. "It's difficult to discern emotions from looking into a Fiend's eyes. That was normal to me growing up, yet when I first encountered other races on the battlefield, I was immediately struck by how expressive their faces were. Like their naked emotions were laid bare for all to see. Something about that is inherently appealing to me."

She pursed her lips. "And to others. The popularity of the romance literature I've consumed can attest to that. Which, to be clear, is another thing you can't tell anyone I admitted."

"Before you continue," Duran interrupted, "I'd like to make certain that you aren't disparaging your appearance, Faelynn. A Fiend's eyes are nothing to be ashamed of. Many would find them captivating, as if gazing into the entrancing depths of the boundless night sky."

Faelynn smirked. "Were you perhaps a charmer earlier in life, Elder Duran?"

"For the sake of setting a proper example for today's youth, I shall decline to comment."

"Naturally." She chuckled. "Thank you, although I know you're exaggerating." She gestured to Diplomacy. "I believe it's your turn."

The former Skill hesitated, appearing uncharacteristically nervous. "...My people were called the Numians. And I purposefully waited until I was more integrated into the Party to mention this, as I didn't want you to think of me as an 'other' from the onset."

Duran, and Faelynn sat up straight. This was new information to anyone who wasn't Rob. "Thank you for sharing," Faelynn professed. "...Huh. This is embarrassing, but I hadn't noticed that I was unaware of your race's name."

"Yes, which was by design." Diplomacy put on a bitter grin. "Sorry for the manipulation. Old habits die hard."

"It's alright. I can understand why you'd be nervous. Something like this doesn't bother me in the slightest."

At Faelynn's sincere tone, Diplomacy visibly relaxed. "That is most appreciated." They arched an eyebrow at Elder Duran. "Gonna have to apologize to you too, old man, as that's all the Old Elatra trivia you're getting out of me today. Not ready to talk about the other stuff. It's still pretty raw."

Duran let out an exaggerated sigh. "Sometimes you remind me of Rob, although even he's more polite than to refer to me as old man."

"What can I say? His irreverence and way of speaking is infectious. Like a fungus I just can't get rid of."

Rob winced, biting his tongue. The real reason Diplomacy often slipped into Earth lingo was because their soul had nearly been absorbed by Rob's. They'd have died without the Soul Surgeon transferring them to a new body. While the vast majority of Diplomacy's personality had been preserved, the Surgeon warned that some measure of bleedthrough was unavoidable. Diplomacy didn't seem particularly broken up about it, although Rob couldn't help but feel guilty whenever he remembered.

"It's your turn to share," Diplomacy continued, pointing to Elder Duran. "I have close to an encyclopedic knowledge on the biology of current Elatran races, so if you want to wow me, pick out a social fun fact instead."

"Oh, come now," Duran scoffed. "A former Skill you may be, but you can't be aware of everything. Not even we Elves know – for example – why we are able to subsist on significantly less food than the other races."

"Photosynthesis."

Duran and Faelynn froze. "I beg your pardon?" the Elder said, his voice colored by undisguised befuddlement.

"You take in nutrients through sunlight as a supplement to food," Diplomacy casually explained. "It's also part of why you don't gain weight easily. Full disclosure: I didn't know this either until Rob found records in the Human city of Esternard. Someone was planning to publish research on this before the Cataclysm hit."

Duran looked as if his entire life had been flipped upside down. "Photosynthesis? As in the process via which plants are nourished by sunlight? We are plants?!"

"No! No, don't be absurd. Elves aren't plants." Diplomacy paused. "You just do the same thing plants do. Very big difference."

"Why haven't you revealed this until now?" Faelynn asked, sounding almost as baffled as Duran.

"Rob and I swore not to say anything unless the humor of the situation outweighed the social panic. I'd say this qualifies."

Duran and Faelynn glanced over at Rob, who was doing his damnedest to pretend that he was 100% engrossed in the dimension mages' work. Hadn't heard a thing, nosiree.

Diplomacy spread their arms out. "Look on the bright side! Elves basically have a hidden bonus racial trait – and a fantastic one, at that. Energy conservation is exorbitantly important to the longevity of any species. All the food in the world could disappear tomorrow, and the Elves would live on for billions of years until the sun finally fades."

"The sun is going to fade?!" Faelynn and Duran sputtered, in unison.

Message Received From Party Member: Diplomacy

Diplomacy: I'm blaming that one on you.

Diplomacy: You and your Earth science knowledge I shouldn't know about.

Rob: im not the 1 who stuck their foot in ther mouth

Rob: btw, proud of you for leting ur guard down and not micromanging each sentence

Diplomacy: Yes, and look where it's gotten me.

Rob: a fun conversation with zero stakes?

Diplomacy: ...I suppose it does feel somewhat liberating.

Rob chuckled to himself. Leaving Diplomacy to clean up their mess, he turned his attention to the other discussions taking place. Keira and Elder Alessia were having a light debate on how – or if – the coalition should split its forces at an upcoming crossroads. Meanwhile, Zamira and Meyneth were commiserating over the woes of traveling in a large group, and how needing to slow their pace to match the Utility Class supply convoy was irritating at best.

Joining either talk would have been easy. It was why he chose to stay silent, letting the ambient chatter rest on him like a warm blanket, granting him an inexplicable sense of contentment. Somehow, knowing he could join in without feeling the need to made him feel more connected to his friends here than any of his non-Jason 'friends' back home.

Moments like these are the problem, Rob mused. Next time a Blight tries to bite my head off, and I'm stuck asking myself why I keep putting my neck on the line, I can point to this as the latest motivator.

An indeterminate period of time passed. It was probably only fifteen minutes, although it felt both shorter and longer than that. Regardless, all good things must come to an end, and this end was heralded by the tent flap opening up to reveal a pair of newcomers.

Three conversations died in an instant. Everyone inside the tent was gearing up to hear urgent, terrible news. Why else would people suddenly intrude upon a restricted area? No one was allowed to enter the Deserters' de facto headquarters unless they were a messenger or a Leader, and either way, visitors were sure to announce their presence first.

Unless, of course, they just didn't give a fuck.

"Rob." The Soul Surgeon jabbed an accusing finger at him. "You're late for today's appointment."

Labeling what Rob felt in the past few seconds as Emotional Whiplash wouldn't have done it justice. It was more like he'd been pushed out of an airplane, only for a parachute to deploy, followed by birds flying over to peck tiny holes in it. A blunt "What?" was all he managed to get out, and even that much was an impressive feat.

"Your appointment. For someone with a soul held together by patchwork and prayers, I'm surprised you have the audacity to skip on the ministrations that preserve its stability."

Rob blinked, very slowly. "It's...noon. We meet later. In the afternoon."

The Surgeon shrugged. "Yes, but I'm bored now."

Rob never got the chance to reply to that particular leap of logic. He was too preoccupied with noticing the Surgeon's compatriot, hovering just outside the tent and partially obscured. "What the HELL, man?!" Rob sprang to his feet, matching the Surgeon's accusing finger point with one of his own. "Why did you bring the Gellin Empress here?!"

If a seven-foot wide floating jellyfish could look abashed, then she did, squirming in place. The Soul Surgeon patted the Empress on top of her translucent head, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Couldn't get in without her. She was coming here as well, so I told the guards that I was accompanying her, and they believed me. After all, why would Lord Rob's personal Soul Surgeon lie?"

"You have abused their trust," Elder Alessia began, in a severe tone. "And ours. Do not think that there won't be repercussions for-"

"Oh, enough of that. I tend to Rob's soul. Without me, this entire coalition is doomed to failure. I think that affords me a modicum of mischief every now and then."

Alessia narrowed her eyes, a single vein pulsing in the center of her forehead. Elder Duran quickly intervened before the situation could spiral completely out of control. "Hauz," he carefully said, as if speaking to a man who'd injected caffeine into his veins. "This isn't like you. You're acting more...exuberant than usual. Has something caught your interest?"

The Soul Surgeon's grin widened further, turning positively manic. "That. THAT!" He flailed his hands at the dimension mages. "You've been keeping this from me. Perhaps the others in camp haven't noticed, but there's new magic happening here, and I'll see it if it kills me."

He breathed in, then out. "I..." His grin faded. "My apologies. A touch of mania came over me. Still, I'd like to bear witness to whatever nonsense your group has concocted this time – and to assist if I can. The Empress feels the same."

"The Gellin Empress presents a risk to our security simply by existing," Alessia snapped. "In case you've forgotten, Hauz, she can read minds, and we have matters we aren't keen to divulge."

Rob jerked back as the Empress sent out a psychic wave of emotional intent to everyone. It was a combination of resignation, contriteness, and determination, too complex for him to immediately grasp the meaning of.

Elder Duran filled in for him. "You already know our secrets?" he said, shocked. "And apologize for learning of them despite our wishes. And wish to assist in our endeavors."

Alessia aimed a baleful glare at the Gellin Empress. "You swore to the coalition that you would refrain from reading minds."

The Empress sent out an emotional impression of contriteness and resignation, accompanied by a hum of steady resolve. It shared similar emotions to the previous one, but was arranged in a different way, like how identical ingredients could be used to create a diverse range of meals. Rob definitely needed more practice on interpreting Gellin psychic-speak, as he was forced to wait for Duran to translate once again.

"You underplayed how easy it is for you to stop reading minds," the Elder continued. "You also didn't want to be turned away. Wanted to make sure you contributed. Was tired of waiting on the sidelines as the world went up in flames."

Another emotional impulse; this one was of a strong affirmative, bringing to mind the image of a person nodding. Rob didn't need help understanding that one.

"That new magic," the Soul Surgeon abruptly whispered. He stepped towards the Mage Circle, as if in a trance. "It's crossing dimensions, isn't it? You aren't casting it right now, but I can see the mana trails, going..."

Everyone else froze at the offhanded reveal of one of their most guarded secrets. The Gellin Empress sent out an impression of affirmative, plus a lack of surprise, topping it off with a sharp spike of determination.

She...knew about the dimension magic, and wants to help anyway? Panicking, Rob put the brakes on his train of thought. He emptied his mind to avoid thinking about the true endgame of dimension magic. How it wasn't just about securing him a ticket home. How they planned to use it for other means. How it would help them reach the gods so they could kill- SON OF A BITCH.

The Gellin Empress sent him an emotional impression. Not everyone; just him. It was the exact same one as before.

...You're on board with killing the gods?

Rob's eyes widened as he was hit with a wave of sheer, unadulterated loathing. There was determination and affirmation mixed in there too, but the hatred drowned it out, like an ocean of black swallowing up droplets of color. It was so intense that the notion of it being fake or a trick was comical.

In that instant, it became clear to him that the Empress hated the gods even more than he did.

She couldn't have picked a better way to earn his trust.

"Why not let her help?" Rob advised, earning some surprised looks. "There's no reason to turn the Empress away if she already knows everything. Wouldn't her high Magic make the Mage Circle way stronger?"

The dimension mages exchanged glances. "That is very likely," one of them admitted.

"But..." Alessia trailed off, struggling to properly voice her misgivings. "It's a risk," she eventually settled on, seeming disappointed with her own response.

Rob shook his head. "Not really. She isn't a threat to us in combat, and as far as uncovering our secrets go, that ship has sailed. Question – does Elatra have a name for the sunk cost fallacy?"

Their discussion continued for a little while after, but no one in the tent was able to come up with a logical reason to reject the Empress' offer. Soon enough, she'd moved to hover beside the Mage Circle, the group eyeing her with trepidation. Except for Malika, who excitedly reached out to grasp one of the Gellin's long tentacles.

"An Archmage and an Empress." Her eyes shone with anticipation. "This is going to be so-"

Malika's fingers closed around the tentacle. The mages gasped.

"...Amazing." Her eyes were shining in a more physical sense now, blazing with mana. She smiled so wide at Rob that it was like baring teeth. "From now on, this may sting."

She was right, and Rob didn't care. He wouldn't have cared even if it was outright torturous. Anything that shortened the amount of time until he could check on Earth was worth it.

Because he still remembered what the possessed Dwarf had told him back in Dhalerune Mines.

"Don't be...discouraged. We've kept Jason company."

--

Jason pulled his oversized baseball cap further down his face and hunched down low as he could, doing his best to disappear into his chair. The cap combined with his large, noise-canceling headphones had kept most of the on-site soldiers from approaching him that day. His headphones weren’t actually connected to anything – fucking Bluetooth never worked right for some reason – but they projected enough disconnectedness from the world that no one dared to disturb his silence.

And thank god for that, as Jason desperately needed some R&R. There was little he hated more than a busy Wednesday – it was just long enough after the last weekend that he didn’t feel well-rested, and just long enough before the next weekend that he couldn’t look forward to a break. It didn’t help that the military was trying to get him to do everything these days, thanks to pop culture collectively deciding that he was their only chance against the monster hordes.

Big swords and red capes had a way of capturing the public eye.

Him being the ‘Red Blur’ was probably why the rank-and-file soldiers were hesitant to approach him lately. These days, everyone either respected or feared Jason – which was honestly fine by him. If only it worked on him too, he thought, as Sergeant Danse approached. Unlike the others, Danse neither respected nor feared him. That was part of why Jason liked the man, much as he got on his nerves.

“There you are,” Danse said, pulling up a chair and sitting beside him. The two were treated to an orange, soothing sunset from their spot on the base’s rooftop. “Glad to see you in good spirits, 'Red Blur'.”

Jason winced. He wasn’t a huge fan of the tacky superhero name the media had given him, although it was too late to walk back on it now. Worst of all, if he showed how annoyed he was, it would give Danse confirmation that his headphones weren’t really plugged into anything. The man suspected it, sure, but maybe he could get away with–

Danse yanked Jason’s headphones off. “Hey, Red Blur, how you doing?” he asked, a mocking grin on his face.

It was hard not to laugh at how brazen the man was. “Much worse now that you showed up,” Jason shot back, but not without smiling first. “Thought you were supposed to meet with the general. What are you doing here?”

A few seconds of blissful silence passed as Danse rummaged through his shopping bag, before pulling out what looked like...a set of plastic toys? “Catch,” Danse said, absently tossing the sealed package, followed by a pen.

Still looking at the sunset, Jason used a single hand to bounce the pen upward, catch the package, set it on his lap, and stretch his hand out to catch the pen again. “What do I need to sign?” he muttered, annoyedly turning his gaze to the toys. “Wait, are those action figures? Of...me?”

“Of us.” Danse held up two fingers to highlight the point. “It’s a double-pack. I made sure to get it in writing that we needed equal billing.” He paused. “Also, are we just going to gloss over those reflexes of yours? That was an inhuman catch.”

Jason examined the figures from all angles. Rob is going to lose his shit when he hears about this. “How the hell did we get equal billing? Last I checked, you weren’t the one that fought his evil clone and piledrived him off a goddamn skyscraper. Might’ve hit my head or something, but I’m pretty damn sure that was me.”

Danse grinned. “It’s what happens when you tell me to handle the ‘boring paperwork stuff.’ Relax, you'll still get all the money for it. Just wanted my nephew to think I was cool.” He gestured at the toys in Jason's lap. “So do me a favor and sign them. My nephew will be thrilled. Did you know that he’s gonna dress up as you for Halloween? Jacket and all. Every kid wants to be the Red Blur these days.”

“You’re getting half of the money,” Jason barked out. “You taking so much of the media's attention has given me a lot more leeway to work with. Wouldn't be fair if you didn't benefit from it a little.” He let out a heavy sigh. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing to make things easier on me?”

There was a brief pause. “The army was always going to want to push someone as your equal," Danse replied, "or at least your sidekick. They have to in order not to look completely ineffectual. I just volunteered for it because I like the attention, that’s all.”

Bullshit, Jason thought. Danse hated attention. In the early days when Jason first joined his unit, right after his Character Sheet appeared, the one reason Danse let him get away with so much shit was because he was happy not having to deal with the media.

Which meant not having to do press conferences. No one liked explaining to a sea of cameras about how poorly the war effort was going.

“I know you’re expecting me to play along and do the standard cool guy thing," Jason said, absently signing the toys. "Just nod along and not acknowledge how you’re being a good friend. But I hate doing what people expect me to do. So, thank you. Sincerely.”

He held out the toy, and Danse gratefully took it from him. “Don’t sweat it,” the soldier muttered. “But seriously, that was a nice catch earlier. Put some points into Dexterity recently?”

“I did,” Jason admitted. He'd been more open about his Character Sheet with Danse lately, and to his surprise, the man had some damn good advice sometimes, even if he didn’t have a Sheet himself. “Felt like a good bet.”

“We've talked about working on your Vitality.”

“We did. It was a good talk.”

“Then why the hell aren't you improving it?”

Jason turned around to face him with a raised eyebrow. “Look, the way I see it, I survived jumping off a skyscraper. So I’m fine health-wise.” The fact that he'd shoved dozens of points into Vitality after his deathmatch versus Baker didn’t seem worth mentioning. “On the other hand, I barely managed to wound that thing in our fight.”

“You killed him in the end, though.”

Jason wagged his finger. “Correction: gravity killed the fucker. I was just the one who tackled him off the building and sent him twenty stories down. Can’t do that for most enemies.”

“Why not go for Strength instead, then? You carry around a sword taller than some adult men and thicker than a Big Mac. If you want to pump up damage-”

Jason cut him off. “I’m sorry, I can’t get past ‘thicker than a Big Mac.’ Is that seriously the comparison you attach to the word ‘thick’, my dude? No, hang on. We have to address this.”

Danse laughed. “What, would you prefer if I talked about your ass?”

“Damn straight. Sometimes a hero wants to feel pretty,” Jason said, smiling as he pitched his voice high. It felt good to joke around like this. Almost made him forget how close he'd come to dying a few weeks ago. “I’m going to put some stuff into Strength later. Considering how my new Counter skill works...feels like speed and precision are better-suited to it.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Danse acknowledged. “But it’s bullshit. What’s your actual reason?”

Jason shrugged. “Swinging a big sword is cool, but swinging a big sword twice as fast is even cooler.” He wasn’t lying about how well Dexterity would synergize with his new Counter skill, either. Its ability to paralyze an enemy who was about to land an attack on him – on top of increasing how much damage Jason dealt in return – would've really come in handy against Baker. “Besides, I’m leveling up pretty quickly these days. The farm has been going well.”

Danse peered down. “Ah, right. This goddamn monstrosity.”

The base wasn’t simply a military outpost in the middle of the desert. It was also the area where the military had been ordered to use drones, helicopters, and everything at their disposal to bring back monsters – or ‘Outsiders’ as they insistently called them – so that Jason could kill them and level up as fast as possible.

So far, their plan was working like a charm. He was already Level 43 after just two months of farming. "This is going better than expected," Jason remarked. Especially considering how long he'd been bedridden after his duel with Baker.

“You don’t sound happy about it,” Danse pointed out. “Anything bothering you?”

“Compared to a real fight, monsters give out less experience when I kill them in the farm," Jason explained. "Guess it’s because there’s less danger involved. Can’t complain, though; at the end of the day, it's free EXP. Beats the hell out of that cursed bracelet.”

“Cursed bracelet...” Danse let the words hang in the air for a moment. “I’m still not sure how you survived that fiasco.”

About a month ago, the voices in Jason's heads – or gods, or whatever the hell they wanted to be called – had gifted him with a bracelet. They told him that wearing it would make him stronger, and true to their word, he'd started gaining EXP at a much faster rate. What they hadn’t told him was that the allure of rapid experience growth would gradually drive him insane. The situation had been touch and go, but in the end, Jason fought off the bracelet's compulsion and threw it away.

"How did I survive it?" he echoed, suppressing a grin. “I’m Jason Miller. “That’s how.”

Dance stared at him, unamused. “Jason, you were being driven mad by supernatural forces that no one understands. How the hell did you endure that?”

“Because I’m Jason Miller,” he repeated, with mock surprise. While he understood Danse’s shock, his answer was sincere. “There's a reason those fuckers tried to kidnap me before. They thought I was special. Well, they were right – they just didn’t know exactly how right they were. Stupid assholes underestimated how petty I can be. The moment they said I couldn’t win without their help was the moment I decided to beat them at their own game.”

Danse chuckled in disbelief for a moment, slowly nodding along. “Then they're lucky they couldn’t pull you in, I guess.”

Lucky? He didn’t know about that. Bet Rob is giving them hell over there. “That’s all that’s bugging me," he finished. "How I haven’t gotten strong enough yet...and how we’re relying on a power they gave me to fight them. Doesn’t feel right.”

Jason wanted more than just Levels to beat them, but his options were limited. The monsters were becoming increasingly resistant to conventional firearms as time went on. One swing of his sword already inflicted worse injuries to them than a rocket launcher. If the trend continued, in a few years, Jason would be the only one left who could so much as touch them.

“Something else is bothering you," Danse interjected. "What is it?”

“There's nothing-”

“This is an order, soldier.”

Danse didn’t use his status often – Jason was hardly a soldier, anyway. It was just their code for ‘Please, tell me. I’m worried about you. Trust me.’ Out of respect for his friend, Jason had grown to obey the rare instances those words were used.

“The bracelet disappeared after I threw it away,” he muttered. “I searched the entire goddamn street after I recovered. It was just gone.”

“Maybe it disappeared. Faded out of existence, like the monsters usually do a little bit after they die.”

“Yeah, maybe. But what if it didn’t?” There was also another thought that had been plaguing him since he visited the site of his duel – specifically, the spot where Baker impacted concrete pavement at terminal velocity. While its body was gone, there'd also been traces of blood leading away from the point of impact. As if someone had moved it.

I gained Experience from that fight, Jason recalled, so he was dead for sure. But then why didn't the body disappear? And who moved it? The military? Someone else?

None of those options were encouraging.

“Look," Jason continued, "I’m just saying, if the bracelet hasn’t dissipated, that means someone out there might have access to its abilities. And that...could go poorly.”

“No use in worrying about things you can’t control.” Danse paused. "Last thing. You going to investigate that wrestler tomorrow? The one we talked about?"

"Yeah. Have a plan in mind for him."

Danse raised his eyebrows. "Against my better judgment, I won't question that." He rummaged through his shopping bag once more, this time retrieving two beers and offering one to Jason. “Until then, I recommend you drink and forget about things. You’re off-duty right now.”

“Pass,” Jason said. “Not in the mood. Off-duty or not, I need to be alert in case-”

The world started to shake.

Jason and Danse watched in awe as, in the distance, a tower rapidly rose inside the neighboring city. It was like a spire, almost a mighty spear, thrusting upwards from within the Earth itself. Jason couldn't even see where it began; the dust storm it had summoned with its arrival was shadowing the tower's base. It towered above the tallest skyscrapers, looming over them like some monstrous gateway into hell. The sides of the spire were dark and windowless, consisting of a marble darker than black, closer to a void that drained color than a color in and of itself.

And from within that inviting darkness came a sort of shivering black dust, like darkened fireflies, shooting out in every direction at once. Jason flinched as several landed on his face, but the dust felt close to the gentle sensation of falling snowflakes, as if winter had decided to announce its arrival early. They didn't hurt, they didn't burn – they barely felt like anything.

1 CORRUPTION RECEIVED!

"On second thought," Jason said, letting out another heavy sigh, "I'll take that beer. Fucking Wednesdays.”

--

From afar, the pantheon of Elatran divinity watched as an obelisk of #*@$&@#()*$ rose up on Earth.

Buildings crumbled and flesh melted to make way for its ascent. A dusting of Corruption spread around the obelisk's wake, the progenitor of more to come. It was a symbol, a promise, heralding the first step towards the final end of civilization itself.

With a long-suffering sigh, Kismet closed his scrying portal and went back to flipping his coin. "I suppose that world is now lost to us."

"Sad to see it go," Malid added, with genuine remorse. "It was an incredible fountain of ideas. Shame about the mana problem, though."

Earth was unique among worlds in that it possessed no mana. Learning that fact had surprised Kismet more than he would ever care to admit. Mana was one of the foundational building blocks of life; its propagation was essential to the formation of creatures capable of rational thought. And yet despite Earth's lack of mana, it had managed to establish sapience through sheer biological and evolutionary perseverance.

The planet's anomalous nature was partly why the #*@$&@#()*$ were taking so long to establish themselves. Without focal points of mana to infest, they were unable to passively build strength over time, limiting their sphere of influence. Forming just one obelisk had required the stolen life energies of countless organisms. Creating more would take months further. Earth had been granted something of a reprieve – rather than fast and violent, its end would be slow and agonizing.

That was the only kind of reprieve that existed for worlds targeted by the #*@$&@#()*$.

"There should be time left to make use of Jason," Kismet remarked, readying his coin. Flip. Ting. Heads. "Provided he doesn't lead himself to an early grave, at any rate."

Malid stared at him, looking mildly confused. "Jason?"

"The Original."

Comprehension dawned on Malid's expression. "Ah. You remember his name?"

"He earned a name once he tossed aside the bracelet." Flip. Ting. Tails. "That was my failure, and I don't intend to see it repeated. Between Rob and Jason, we've continuously underestimated the obstinacy of Earth's predominant life form."

"To be fair, Fames is to blame for your plan going awry. His demeanor caused our proposition to come across as untrustworthy."

Fames gave them an amused grin. "How was I supposed to foresee that the Original would turn down guaranteed power? You've seen Earth. That's their driving desire behind everything they attempt."

"Regardless, it puts us in a difficult position," Kismet said, preempting Malid and Fames' entirely predictable bickering. "While Rob's efforts against the #*@$&@#()*$ are an unexpected boon, both his mental instability and his hatred for our kind are growing by the day. It will be difficult to control him without collaring Jason as well, especially after he learns more of the world that predates Elatra. Before that comes to pass, we must devise a new stratagem.”

Hopefully one with less room for error. The last had relied much too heavily on assuming that Jason was normal. A normal person would have either accepted the bracelet or tossed it aside as soon as they became aware of the sacrifice it entailed. Instead, Jason had accepted it for just long enough to develop a hatred for Kismet and his species, rejecting their proposal and forging his own path. Even worse, the corrupted entity they'd set against him evolved far beyond its original parameters, allowing Jason to gain leverage by offering to kill it...for a price.

Their own strategy, turned on its head. It would have been embarrassing if it wasn't so interesting.

The plan's failure meant that they were at a loss for what to do with Rob. Kismet knew by now that the human would refuse any overtures of cooperation they made, no matter how enticing. If they offered to remove Leveling High from his soul, he'd disagree out of spite alone, attempting to forge his own path – much like Jason – and who knows how that would turn out.

But while Rob would certainly decline to cooperate with them for his own benefit, the man's willpower was not an impregnable fortress. Every mortal possessed weak points, and his were blatantly obvious. Rob had attached himself to his companions like a drowning man held onto a raft. Turning those he cared about into hostages was nigh-guaranteed to put him on a leash.

There were, of course, obstacles to overcome. It would be difficult to influence Rob's allies in Elatra – the man was on a constant lookout for otherworldly machinations. Jason, however, was a world away, and without aid. He didn't know exactly how Levels functioned or even what Leveling High truly was. Addicting him to its gluttonous power should have been a simple task. Once completed, they would have held Jason's condition over Rob's head, offering to remove his friend's Leveling High in exchange for obedience.

It was a fantastic plan up until the moment everything began going horrendously wrong.

"We should leave Elatra," Iram suddenly spoke up, the tremulous note in his voice immediately drawing attention. "The #*@$&@#()*$ are growing bold. Bolder than ever before. If we stay here any longer, I am unsure of what might become of us."

Kismet leaned forward. "That's what you believe?" he asked, with a hint of surprise. "I think so as well, but I did not expect anyone to share my perspective."

Iram flinched as if he'd been slapped. At the sight, Kismet barely suppressed an aggrieved sigh. How can you hope to keep our secret if your composure is more fragile than a human's ego?

The coward had been walking on tenterhooks ever since Kismet discovered Rob's Level 99 ??? Skill. It was a unique ability, added by Iram without anyone else's knowledge. This would be no large issue if Iram could just fix his mistake, but after a nasty bout of foul play and subterfuge some millennia ago, everyone had restricted the system to disallow editing post-birth souls. The Skill was irreversible until Rob's HP reached 0 and Kismet collected him.

What Iram did was, in Kismet's opinion, one of the most foolishly imprudent decisions ever committed by a being of the divine planes. He'd said as much to Iram's face. Plainly. Now the simpleton was in a constant state of paranoia, always afraid that, at any moment, Kismet would reveal his hidden shame to the others. For an immortal being, humiliation of this magnitude could persist for a span of several mortal lifetimes.

It was aggravating to see someone taking such needless risks, and the truly worst part was that Kismet was certain Iram's fears were unfounded. If their cohorts learned of the mechanisms behind Rob's ??? Skill, they wouldn't treat it as a threat. They'd simply think it was amusing.

Not one of them would be willing to comprehend the dangers it represented.

Vivacity proved him right a mere second later. "Why would we leave?" she asked, with a tinkling of laughter. "The #*@$&@#()*$ can grow as bold as it wants. Here, we are untouchable. There's still amusement to be squeezed from this husk of a world. Kismet, didn't you just restart an old project? Last I heard, it was going better than anticipated."

"My laborers are unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Our safety is paramount above all else."

"The meaning of 'untouchable' seems to escape you, my dear."

Kismet's expression hardened from stoic to downright stonelike. "Think, Vivacity. For once, think. We are only untouchable as long as our bases of power remain intact. If the #*@$&@#()*$ gains access to the Soul Repository or the Skill Repository-"

"No," Malid cut in. "I've no intention of leaving. Earth may be a lost cause, but thanks to your pet human refusing to die when he rightfully should have, Elatra is poised to survive. Let the mortal cockroaches repel the #*@$&@#()*$ in our stead. Afterwards, we should be able to reside here for another 600 years at minimum."

One-by-one, they assented. Odium spoke for the first time that week just to declare 'Stay' and fall silent again. Even Iram succumbed to the will of the group, appearing relieved that they'd convinced him otherwise. Their impromptu vote ended five to one, the victorious five declaring this matter settled.

Unaware of what King Elnaril was already putting into motion.

Kismet almost told them. Logically, strategically, he knew he should. And yet he said nothing, allowing the others to go about their day with shortsighted arrogance soothing their minds.

A part of him tried to justify his reticence as a corrective lesson, something meant to demonstrate why his cohorts shouldn't act so carelessly in the future, but no. While he might lie to them, he refused to lie to himself. There was only one reason to keep a silence that would endanger them all.

He couldn't fucking wait to see the moment when their preconceptions shattered into a thousand pieces.

--

Thanks for reading!