Contents

The First Great Game #4

Chapter 1 - Mason's going to need his strength

Chapter 2 - We're going to get along fine

Chapter 3 - And they call it a mine

Chapter 4 - Tree looks fine

Chapter 5 - Are you out of your mind?

Chapter 6 - Did you get the prompt?

Chapter 7 - Pest Control

Chapter 8 - Don't get cocky

Chapter 9 - Thank you, and goodbye

Chapter 10 - A new shiny

Chapter 11 - We're in a hurry now

Chapter 12 - The Greenblood Order

Chapter 13 - I'm just Blake

Chapter 14 - The Maker's Hall

Chapter 15 - Cerebus

Chapter 16 - Every little thing Blake does

Chapter 17 - Do you not see the demon?

Chapter 18 - Everything...copacetic?

Chapter 19 - Perfectly appropriate

Chapter 20 - I'm open to suggestions

Chapter 21 - What could possibly go wrong

Chapter 22 - Dueling Duos

Chapter 23 - Is that all you can do?

Chapter 24 - Bomb bait

Chapter 25 - Brick into marble

Chapter 26 - Discovery

Chapter 27 - They've got a cave troll

Chapter 28 - Good day

Chapter 29 - Should have thought of that

Chapter 30 - Just like Cinderella

Chapter 31 - Human magic

Chapter 32 - That felt good

Chapter 33 - Level sixteen

Chapter 34 - Nekosh

Chapter 35 - Baron

Chapter 36 - It's a long story

Chapter 37 - Sitting peacefully

Cha[ter 38 - Destiny

Chapter 39 - Let's get running

Chapter 40 - Blake vs Gromsh

Chapter 41 - Error Survivor

Chapter 42 - Why don't we go inside?

Looking for more?

About the author

Guide

Contents

Start of Content

THE FIRST GREAT GAME #4

THE FIRST GREAT Game (Book four)

A LITRPG/Harem Sci-fantasy

Pierce Grey

Copyright Pierce Grey 2025. All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without explicit consent by the author, except in brief quotations or passages for review purposes.

CHAPTER 1 - MASON'S GOING TO NEED HIS STRENGTH

THE CHANGES TO Nassau after buying most of the ‘nature’ patron buildings were some of the most amazing things Mason had ever seen in his life. The temple, the fountain, and especially the overall changes from the natural 'theme' had turned a practical settlement into something out of a fantasy movie.

But frankly, as he walked through it all with his Arkansas cowgirl-turned-player girlfriend Becky, and his other singer-turned-assistant girlfriend Haley, all he wanted was to get laid.

The girls were feeling similar. Becky was a woman on a mission, green eyes locked on the best paths through the temple as she practically dragged him forward. Haley was playing a bit more coy, but she kept giving him little grins and glances as they went along.

There'd been no time just for him and his girls since getting back from the orc towers where his brother was currently locked in some dungeon. Of course, he'd had a...distraction with his other love interest Rosa when he visited the nearby, sex-obsessed nymphs.

But his ever increasing vitality and 'phase two' left him seemingly a bottomless pit of lust. And he just missed being with Becky and Haley. It was time to rectify that.

They speed-walked hand in hand through the Gaia temple, looking for the fastest and least busy path back into town. Most everyone was looking around, excited and very distracted by it all, particularly the temple. In theory no one would notice if their new patron and his women suddenly went missing for an hour...or maybe a few hours...

"Master Mason! Er, Patron!"

Mason flinched as one of the civilian leaders, Alberto, stepped into their path. The man’s handsome face twisted into a practiced smile.

"I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on your new role, and if I could possibly steal a moment of your time, discuss the housing situation I'd been resolving with your..."

"My patronage is temporary," Mason said dismissively. "Unless it's urgent, it can wait." With that he kept moving forward, until Alberto kept at it with a far less polite tone.

"I've been waiting. And my understanding of this settlement is that it wouldn't be a kingdom. That people would have some say in things."

Mason was about to turn and say something entirely less polite until he caught a chastising look from Haley. He sighed, and looked for slightly nicer words.

"I'm not my brother. I don't say things just because it might make you feel better. And as far as I can tell, a patron is a king, and maybe worse, whatever Blake says. The system makes the rules so don't complain to me. But later when I've seen all the settlement changes, we can talk. Now excuse me."

He could see the anger in the man's eyes, but frankly he didn't care. No doubt Alberto had been someone important in his previous life. Some rich man or politician who'd chosen civilian instead of player because he assumed player meant 'soldier' or some other 'doer' that was beneath him.

Being charming or cunning was never useless, obviously, but it sure as hell mattered less here in the woods. Mason didn't have much time for it now or before. And that was when he wasn't horny.

He walked on and put the man from his mind, pulling Haley and Becky out of the beautiful gardens and architecture and into the new, almost grassy streets.

"I wanna try the water first." Rebecca smiled and ran to the fountain, dipping her hands in and drinking from her cupped palm. "Mmm." She grinned. "It's cold." She blinked. "And it gives you a boost!"

Mason was mostly distracted as he stared at her ass in the ripped up jeans. But he quirked a brow and walked to the fountain, trying the water then seeing a small text message in his vision.

[Blessed by Gaia. +10% to all statistics for 24 hours.]

Holy hell. It wasn't long, obviously, but sure nothing to sneer at. Especially if he could ever figure out how to tree walk right to where he needed to be…plus they could probably just put it flasks and carry it…

"Good." Haley took a drink, too, and grinned. "Mason's going to need his strength."

"Is that right?" He leaned closer and brushed her lips with his, very tempted to toss her into the fountain. She seemed to suspect him and raised a finger.

"Don't you dare, you overgrown yanky bully. Don't you! Mason!"

He lifted and pretended he’d throw her, but instead just tossed her over a shoulder and walked towards the hall with a laugh. Rebecca leapt onto his back and wrapped her legs around him. He easily carried both through the door.

There was no one inside, so he dropped Haley, swung Becky around, and pushed them both against the wall. They looked up at him expectantly, silently, chests rising with heavy breaths. He was already getting hard.

He put a thumb against Haley's lips and she sucked it instantly as he leaned in and kissed Becky. She sucked his tongue and moaned against him, wiggling against the wall. He looked at them both and shook his head.

"I'm a lucky God damn man. Now get your amazing asses into the bedroom."

Rebecca went first, stripping down to the lingerie she’d worn earlier when she planned to ‘seduce’ him, leaving her clothes in a trail towards the bedroom. Haley lingered long enough to grab Mason's crotch and bite her lip, then lean up and whisper in his ear.

"I want to see you make her scream."

Then she followed the cowgirl with hips swaying, glancing back over her shoulder with a wink. Mason threw off his shirt and followed.

* * *

Haley stripped as she followed Becky, down to a black skirt and white stockings as she made it to the bedroom. She and Becky both leaned against the bed, then Haley slapped Becky's ass and they both laughed before looking back, probably to give Mason a teasing stare. But he'd reached them first.

He gathered up Becky's long, brown hair in one hand, and took Haley's pony tail with the other, pulling their heads back as he activated Blessing of Gaia. He watched their beautiful faces as the scent hit them like a drug. Haley closed her eyes and inhaled, Becky's pupils practically rolling. He was reminded the effect had been increased when he visited Thea, and the look of pure pleasure on his girls' faces drove him wild.

He took turns kissing them as they wiggled their asses against him, arching their backs towards the bed.

"Mouths first," he said, and both girls turned instantly and dropped to their knees. He kept holding their hair as they worked down his pants, freeing his now painful erection. Haley went straight for his balls, sliding his cock over her face as she went under and started licking while the taller Rebecca sucked on his tip. He pushed her forward with a grip on her hair, sliding into her mouth until she almost gagged before letting up.

With Haley still licking and sucking from underneath, he kept his eyes locked on Becky as he fucked her mouth.

"Good girl," he said with a groan. "Put your hands behind your back."

She did, and he just kept guiding her mouth down his shaft with her hair until he decided it was Haley's turn. He pulled his blonde up and thrust between her lips, using her ponytail to guide her just as he had with Becky.

"OK." He shuddered at the feel of Haley's silky lips, the sight of both beautiful girls waiting on their knees. "Now you can turn around."

They stood and bent over the high bed, asses raised up in display. Mason stripped Becky's panties, then lifted up Haley's skirt to find she wasn't wearing underwear. She grinned back at him, and he felt practically dragged forward, burying his face into her from behind. He licked and slurped as she gasped, fingering Becky while she waited.

Eventually he switched to taste Becky, but he'd only been licking a few seconds before she gripped the bed and started shaking.

"Mmm...if you...keep doin’...that. I'm gonna..."

Mason grinned against her and kept working top to bottom, slapping and gripping her ass with one hand, using the other to reach around and play with her clit.

Haley got what she wanted. Becky grabbed the bed and screamed as her whole body went rigid and flushed red. She twitched and tried to get away, but Mason held her and kept licking. Eventually she slumped down onto the bed with ragged breaths.

"I...just need...a minute."

"No you don't." Mason stood and slid his cock inside her from behind. She was dripping wet and he practically squished as he buried himself inside. She clutched the bed and gasped.

With Becky skewered and pinned, he lifted his beautiful blonde way off the ground. She laughed and shrieked as he took her all the way up, wrapping her legs around his face and head, holding her up by her thighs with brute strength. She buried her hands in his short hair, and he held her there as he licked and started fucking Becky.

For awhile he was lost in the scent and taste, the soft wetness against him, Becky squeezing around his cock. Eventually he let Becky turn to her back, setting Haley on top of her face down. They giggled and kissed, lost in the lust as Mason pushed himself into Haley.

"Does it turn you on?” she said with a moan. “To feel him fuck me on top of you?"

It sure as hell turned Mason on. When Becky looked at him over Haley's shoulder, though, he could see he wasn’t the only one. The girls held onto each other as Mason pounded Haley with loud slaps. He'd had enough and couldn't wait anymore, especially since he suspected it wouldn't be his last.

He let go and felt the pressure build, coursing naturally through him with total abandon as he wanted nothing more than to fill his lover full. That she was pregnant already only made it hotter—knowing she loved his cock and cum so much she still wanted more.

He growled as he gripped her thick ass and released, spraying deep inside her as she cried out and buried her face into Becky's tits. He let himself pulse and spray several times before pulling out, lifting Becky's legs up and apart, and pushing straight into her next.

"Take his cock so good, sweet girl," Haley encouraged and sucked a blushing Becky's sensitive nipples as Mason started pounding her. "Show him what a good little whore he's making you."

Mason didn't know if it was the words or the sight of them squirming together and against his cock, but it was the hottest experience of his life.

Every thrust smacked him against both Haley and Becky's asses, and for a moment he forgot who he was even inside. He leaned down and took turns kissing them, groping tits and slapping Haley's ass, hardly sure what to do with his hands except anything he wanted.

Becky was soon making whimpering sounds, her legs trembling in his hands. He wanted to cum with her and stopped holding back. The second he felt her clench and flood with juices, he slammed deep and released. Haley was watching them both and moaning as she fingered herself, Becky's face slack with overwhelmed pleasure as Mason pumped her full of cum with countless streams.

Then they were all slumped and pressed together, both girls dripping as they closed their eyes. He rolled Haley over and lay on top of Rebecca, still inside her as he trailed kisses up her chest and neck and softly kissed her lips.

"Doing better?" he whispered. She wrapped her arms around him and sighed.

"I'm just so happy you're home.”

He rolled over and managed to crawl them up the bed without pulling out, then gestured for Haley to come cuddle against him.

They just lay there pressed together, satisfied and half asleep until Becky finally sat up and wiggled him out, then flopped back down and shook her head.

"Girl, he is still hard."

The blonde chuckled and met Mason's eyes with a grin.

"You see? He needs another."

Mason matched it and gave Becky's ass a good slap as he started pulling her back for another round. She let out an exhausted, exasperated groan.

* * *

Mason and his girls didn't leave their wing of the chief's hall all day. After another round with both of them, Becky basically passed out while Mason and Haley took a shower. He took her again there, too.

"But seriously," her eyes rolled and she licked her lips as he finished, legs still spread as he held her against the wall. "We need Rosa. I'll be fat and ugly with your giant baby soon and poor Rebecca will be killed by your hungry snake."

Mason chuckled and sighed as he let Haley down, then held her against him and closed his eyes.

"Fat yes, ugly no. But you're right...it's…a problem."

By the time they turned off the water Mason was hard again. Haley muttered some kind of French curse then knelt down on a towel. He didn't have to say a word, just standing there to watch this beautiful girl do everything in her power to please him, mind and body lost in the lust and between her thick, red lips.

This time when he came it was like someone had flicked an off switch. Haley was massaging and squeezing him for every drop, her agile tongue milking him with everything she had.

In the last sensitive moments, he accidentally broke off a piece of the sink counter with his increasingly ridiculous strength. Haley looked up at him and grinned, her mouth and chin covered.

Then he staggered to the bed and cuddled and slept beside Rebecca, not waking until he smelled food. Rebecca blinked awake too, and they exchanged a small kiss before leaping up to find Haley wearing nothing but an apron in the kitchen.

"Oven baked eggs and…well, mystery cheese," she beamed. "The eggs are even fresh! I found some in the temple, though I didn’t see any chickens, now that I think of it…but nevermind! Most everyone is enjoying themselves out there. No one is looking for us. No one is even complaining. They're just wandering the settlement, sleeping under trees, and drinking from the fountain. It's just a peaceful, wonderful day."

She must have seen Mason's hungry eyes because she looked at what she was wearing, as if she’d forgotten.

"Oh. This was a mistake, wasn't it?"

She managed to convince Rebecca to turn off various burners and get things plated before he had her bent over the nearest counter.

When Rebecca started complaining she didn't know what container to put the sauce in and she needed Haley's help, Mason grabbed her and yanked her over too. She'd only put on a long t-shirt, and he pulled it up and took turns with both of them from behind again.

"OK," Becky said, as she was getting hammered into the counter. "Maybe...mm...Haley’s right. I dunno...how much more...I can...ungh..."

She practically collapsed into Mason's arms when she came, but he held her up and used her until he finished. Haley leapt up while he was temporarily pacified, and had everything set and dished before he could get any more ideas. The girls went and got dressed as Mason started eating.

With his enhanced senses he heard them whispering with urgent sounds. When they come out in bulky sweaters and long pants that clearly hid their curves as much as possible, Mason couldn't help but laugh.

CHAPTER 2 - WE'RE GOING TO GET ALONG FINE

MASON LET STREAK into the house after supper (and a fairly grumpy bath), and they all cuddled up on the couch and watched old movies on the settlement's digital storage system.

They ate popcorn, talked about their lives a little, but mostly just enjoyed each other's company in silent touch. It was the laziest, sexiest, best day of Mason's time in the apocalypse, and he was easily able to imagine what life with his girls could be if all the madness was over.

The idea was so wonderful he had to shut it down.

Not possible yet, and maybe not for a long time. Then he started to worry he was wasting time—that he should be out there trying to clear the corrupted trees, or find the imprisoned druid, or at least exploring more of the world. And every hour of every day counted.

But he fought that down, telling himself he and the girls had earned at least one day to themselves, one day to be a family. Or whatever the hell they were.

"You look thoughtful," Haley said as she ran her hands through his still short but increasingly long hair, his head in her lap. Rebecca was lying the other way, socked feet dangling over his hip.

"Today has been amazing," he said. "But tomorrow I've gotta get moving. And we need a command structure. I don’t know who the hell does anything or even who to ask."

Haley frowned. "Blake didn't really do that. We've run...well, more like a corporate office. I just take messages until he gets back. Though Hank is mostly in charge of the civilians."

"Yeah, well, that ends now. Far as I'm concerned, this is a military outfit, and the players are in charge of violence. So I need a second in command." He wiggled Becky's feet. "Might make sense to be you, if you're up for it."

The cowgirl frowned and blushed a little. "How about Phuong? He's ex-military and smart and knows a lot about…well, everythin’. He kept us alive out there, before Nassau. You can trust him."

Mason nodded, happy with that.

"I'll make him and Carl equals when I'm gone. It should work out. Everyone should have a rank and a role, all this grey area nebulous bullshit is stupid, but...well, we'll figure all that out when Blake gets back." He looked up to see Haley grinning at him. "What?"

"This suits you, you know."

"What does?"

"Being in charge."

"No it doesn't.” He sat up and sighed. “I hate it."

Haley laughed and rubbed her feet on Rebecca's in his lap. "I think people would prefer that. And it doesn't mean you're not good at it. No doubt Blake will agree when he gets back."

Mason sighed and tried not to think about it. When his brother got back, he was definitely forcing him to take back control and be in charge again. Though he decided they’d better start talking about defense and…well, discipline.

He mostly slept as the girls watched whatever they watched, eating whatever they cooked, the sounds of domestic life like a strange, but comforting noise in the background. Then the girls were doing their bedtime routines, coming back to lay together in their pajamas with heads in the crooks of his arms.

It had been the perfect day. He'd forgotten (almost) entirely about worrying for his brother, or leveling up to fight ever-increasing threats, or all the other likely terrible dangers of the future.

He’d decided to leave the girls alone and let them sleep when they went to bed. But once he'd gotten up for water, coming back to crawl into bed behind Becky. He'd felt her move against him and gone instantly hard.

She’d made a sleepy little grunt, then without a word shuffled down and took him in her mouth. He'd been so surprised he just lay there and enjoyed, and when he'd finally filled her mouth she'd swallowed with a big gulp, kissed him on the stomach, then lay back down with a happy sigh and slept in what seemed like seconds.

His luck stat, he'd decided in that moment, was complete horseshit.

He wasn't sure what it should have been, but there was no chance that a score of seven could possibly result in his current circumstance. Had what he'd faced in this new world truly been so horrific to deserve these two amazing women in his bed?

The thought and answer sent a shiver down his spine, because fortune was fickle and didn’t have a timer. He felt some dark threat pressing in on him, some terrible misfortune just waiting to destroy him and any chance at happiness, like the bill would eventually come due.

He hated that feeling—what Blake called his 'paranoia', no doubt formed from being abandoned so young. It wasn't 'real', he knew that, and yet that feeling of impending doom had protected him more times than he could count. It warned him of bad friends and girlfriends and teachers, circumstances full of youthful stupidity and danger. He knew he couldn’t just ignore it.

He woke before the dawn, filled with a restless energy that he knew wouldn't be satisfied by women no matter how beautiful and dedicated. Neither Haley nor Rebecca made so much as a groan as he got up, and he took a moment to watch them sleep.

They deserved everything he could give them—every second of his attention and strength out there making Nassau ready for what was to come. Making himself ready.

Before he dressed he looked at the system's 'tablet', suddenly determined to use and actually figure the damn thing out. He eventually found what he was looking for—a kind of 'drawing pad' with all kinds of options. He set to work until the sun had risen a little, then stood and dressed.

"Streak," he called as he picked up his bow, then walked out. The wolf clearly sensed his energy and scrambled after, ears down and eyes clear in seconds as he panted and followed.

Mason wanted to talk to Phuong first. Out of curiosity more than anything he pulled up Wayfinder and smiled as he looked at Nassau. There was a new Patron 'tab' that as he opened it, showed him every person with a contract as a blip on his map. He found the old man lying beneath the same huge tree he'd rested under those many hours before. Except there was a considerably younger woman lying beside him...

"Master Mason," Phuong said as he sat up and crossed his legs. "I've just been watching the stars. They are the same, you know, or at least close enough to fool me."

Mason flicked his eyes to the girl and back and grinned.

"Oh. Yes." Phuong looked a bit embarrassed. He opened his mouth once before he spoke. "She's from Laos, originally. I lived there for many years. We got to talking and...well, she's half my age. I’m sure it’s…well. It's all a little silly, but..."

"You won't hear another word from me. But if you're feeling too tired I might go and ask..."

"I'm not infirm," Phuong snapped, than stood up and glared before it softened at Mason's grin. "You're a cheeky young man, Master Mason. Very cheeky."

"Send your woman off, then meet me at the gate with a travel bag. We're going to go clear a dungeon."

Phuong's eyes practically flared with an eagerness that matched Mason's mood, and he knew he'd made the right choice. He found Alex already awake, too, sitting on a bench with his own tablet.

"What are you reading?" Mason said as he approached.

The Belarusian looked up with his usual complete lack of expression.

"Russian poetry."

Mason had absolutely no idea if this was a joke, and decided not to guess.

"Well, if you'd like a little more excitement—Phuong and I are going to go clear a dungeon. Feel like keeping us alive? As a bonus, we're going to go wake up Carl. Rudely if we feel like it."

Alex glanced up at the morning sky as if considering, then stood with a nod, and still absolutely no discernible expression. Mason supposed that was that.

Together they walked to the house Carl and Silvie had claimed, and Mason was about to knock before he decided to look in the open window. He could see the couple in bed, and thought he could at least spare Silvie. He threw some nearby pebbles until the older man grunted and rolled to his feet, waving a knife hand until he heard Mason hiss.

"What in the name of God? Mason is that you?"

He eventually came out with a scowl and a robe.

"I need you to be in charge of the town while I go with Phuong and Alex to clear a dungeon. It's time for them to get some more experience."

Carl’s anger instantly faded and he nodded. "Alright, well, I'll tell Silvie when she..."

"Not Silvie, Carl. You. Players are in charge of Nassau. You can take her advice. You can talk to Haley and Rebecca and Seul-ki and whoever the hell else you want. But you're in charge, what you say goes, because I'm counting on you to protect this place while I'm gone. That’s your job, first and last. Understood?"

The older man stood a little straighter and nodded, the sleep clearing from his eyes. Mason clapped his shoulder and took out the map he'd drawn using Wayfinder.

"Good. I want you to keep things moving. Try new fishing spots, start patrolling wherever you think makes sense, look for survivors. If there's danger...use your judgment. The map's pretty detailed."

"Holy shit." Carl took it and blinked. "I'll say. How'd you do that?" Before Mason could answer he waved a hand. "Nevermind. OK, kid. I won't let you down. Er, again."

Mason smiled, knowing the man still felt guilty about abandoning Blake in the orc tower.

"I don't blame you, Carl. I trust you, and I know you did what you thought was right. Just get these lazy players doing something. I'll see you in a few days. I hope."

The relief on Carl’s face was obvious. "I'd say the players are fairly busy after last night, but I'll do my best," he said with a grin.

Mason snorted then left Carl to go back inside, and he and Alex went to the gate and found Phuong waiting with not one but three packs of supplies. He winked and handed two over. Streak yapped and started sniffing after them before Mason pushed him away.

"Ready to pop your cherries, gentlemen?"

They both stared at him in confusion and he sighed. "OK not everything translates very well. Let's just go. And I hope you've been doing cardio because I'm not going less than half speed."

"Not a problem for me!" Phuong yelled as he followed Mason’s run. Alex grunted in something like inevitable acceptance.

"I'm healer," he said in his thick accent, "not physical specimen."

"Not to worry, I can carry you,” Mason called back. “And you can speak in your native language, you know, the machine translates."

"I don't trust," Alex said, kind of already huffing.

"To translate?"

"At all. I don't want listening."

Mason slowed and gave the man a grin. "Alex, I think we're going to get along fine. Now move those old legs. But let me know if you feel a heart attack coming."

The Belarusian glared. Or maybe passed gas. It was honestly impossible to read the man. Then they all ran towards the orc fortress, and the nearby great tree, only the sound of their footsteps and the birds in the early morning light.

CHAPTER 3 - AND THEY CALL IT A MINE

ILYA—CURRENTLY BLAKE’S sole ally in the tower dungeon that had trapped him— eventually returned to their tent with a basket full of food. The disturbingly attractive female orc set to work cooking in silence, expression difficult to read. Again he was tempted to improve her trust and smooth things over with Mental Influence, but he took a deep breath and decided against it. At least for the moment.

"My real name is Blake," he said, and Ilya froze. "I'm from a human settlement to the West. There's only a few hundred of us, and I'd never even seen an orc until your people attacked mine. That’s the truth."

The orc's face scrunched and she turned to look at him. "Attacked you? We don't leave the towers in numbers. Our warriors only exist to protect us, to protect the holy stones."

So she didn’t know? How interesting. Blake had been in the mind of many orcs now, and more and more he was starting to understand these creatures weren’t so different than humans—that they had hierarchy, politics, religion, and all the complexities of a rich cultural and social life. He shrugged.

"I don't know what to tell you. I saw it with my own eyes. Fifty orcs? Maybe more. They attacked mostly unarmed women who had no interest in a fight. If it wasn't for my brother and the warriors of my town..."

"I don't believe you," Ilya hissed, going back to chopping vegetables and angrily tossing them into her pot.

Blake sighed, and thought back to all the names of the orcs he'd touched or controlled. "They weren't all Blacktusks. There were Redfists. Stonebloods. Oh and there were many families and tribes. Uh. Hargots? I don’t know how to pronounce any of this. Chlek-tay? Chleek-tee?"

Ilya slowly turned back, sharp eyes looking far more convinced. "How could you know warrens family names? Not even other tower orcs would know."

"How indeed."

Blake adjusted himself, trying to get comfortable. He’d been stabbed in the side trying to wield mind magic to cause an uprising, and moving wasn’t particularly pleasant.

"I've told you—they attacked us, and I touched their minds with my magic. Before that I knew nothing of your people, or this King Gromsh. I came here with others to try and stop your people from killing mine, that's all. Then somehow Gromsh trapped me in the tower. Now my only way out is to kill him. I suspect he's the reason for all this mess."

Ilya sat in silence awhile, fiddling with something that looked like potatoes. "I'd heard...rumors,” she said finally. “Of a raid. That the Blacktusks were paying any orc who could step through the waygates. I...didn't believe it."

"Don’t worry, we humans are no better." Blake sighed, finally finding a position that eased the pain. "We love enemies, real or imagined. We kill each other. We kill ourselves. It seems to be the way of things."

"Where do your people come from?" Ilya asked, voice a little softer now. "Why have we never seen you before?"

Blake practically snorted, no idea how to answer that. How did you tell someone they were the sudden creation of a god-like robot? That everything you were and ever had been was a fiction, a lie, some creature's...world-building?

"We were...put here," Blake said, deciding the opposite of the truth would be as close as he could get. "Some kind of god is testing this world, and it's using us."

"What does that mean?" Ilya said quietly, clearly worried.

"It means your people were probably right to try and kill us," Blake said, meeting her eyes. "It means our gods are giving us divine commands, which we follow almost without thought, and if one day they command my people to kill yours, they'll likely do it as mindlessly as your raiders tried to kill mine."

Ilya’s strange, but beautiful amber eyes went down.

"But...why would they? What have we ever done to them? To you? Why are your human gods doing this?"

"I've no idea, Ilya,” Blake said very honestly. “I have no more respect for them than you. But here we are." He took in a deep breath and forced himself up. "That's starting to smell rather good."

Ilya stirred her pot, shoulders slumping in a defeated shrug. Blake moved a little closer.

"Ilya, I don't hate your people. If I survive this I'm going to try and stop any more fighting, that's a promise. I’ll talk to the others. Explain your people are just like us."

The orc met his eyes, clearly conflicted, and maybe afraid.

"Why would you do that?"

"I don't know," Blake again said honestly. "Maybe because...I truly don't see much difference between us. Because life is hard enough. Because maybe orc and human might need each other and I don’t want to waste resources. It's a big world and I see no reason to make enemies when you could make friends."

Ilya smiled a little at that. She dished some of her soup into a bowl and blew on it. "You're pale. It's not cooked but you can drink a little broth at least. Blay-k."

Blake grinned and took the bowl, rather surprised how not-near-dead he felt. Whatever healing magic Ilya had used apparently worked wonders. He tipped the bowl, and slurped with abandon.

* * *

Ilya's friend eventually returned. She was considerably less reasonable than Ilya. After several minutes of not even looking at Blake, then angrily confronting Ilya about housing a 'traitor' and why she shouldn't go to the chiefs right this second? Blake decided things were getting too far out of hand.

He wrapped the orc's mind in thick layers of Mental Influence, smothering her with Trust, and Calm, and a little Greed.

"You'll be rewarded, Ferrah," Blake promised, and the girl finally squinted and met his eyes. "When this is all over, I won't forget those who helped me."

"I must be out of my mind," she said, running her hands through thick dark hair, dropping to a nearby stool.

Ilya looked at her friend with surprise, eyes drifting somewhat suspiciously towards Blake. He shrugged as if to say 'what else could I do?' before eating more soup and sleeping again.

The next 'day' (Blake had no idea what time it was in this place), Ilya said he was healing shockingly well but needed to move his body. She helped him take a long walk through the orc 'city', which seemed an almost endless series of cheap dwellings, moving vendors, and strange, underground life.

On the 'outskirts' she showed him huge caverns of agricultural land, filled with all kinds of plants (presumably fungus, but who the hell knew in the post-apocalypse) that grew beneath the earth, and the many domesticated animals raised with it.

Blake was amazed by it all, eager to see how these creatures lived. They had mines, crafter quarters, merchants, a caste system of peasants, warriors, nobles, and even priests, or shamans, that attended to the orcs' religious life. They had their own water and waste with underground rivers, and were apparently entirely self-sustaining, needing only to harvest wood from the nearby forest.

"What's this?" he asked, as they passed a completely closed off entrance to what seemed a kind of mine.

"Ancient tunnels," Ilya said, with a small shudder. "Where the demon and his minions emerged. Every now and then a new orc lord tries to destroy them forever, but always fails. There is dark magic there. But if we stay away, it doesn't hurt us."

Intrigued, Blake moved closer until Ilya was practically pulling him away.

"Did you not hear what I told you?" she said, looking to make sure no one was watching. Blake ignored her and moved to the wooden boards covering the hole, an intuitive urge to touch it and see...

[Secret Dungeon discovered! Ancient Orc Mine. Do you wish to enter now?]

Blake smiled and removed his hand, letting Ilya pull him back towards their tent. "It's a dungeon," he explained, not surprised when the girl's eyes narrowed in confusion. "You're right,” he added, “it's a kind of...magic place, other worldly. A person can go inside and disappear to an entirely new area, and find great dangers and rewards."

This only made the orc girl stare at the 'mine' with renewed suspicion and distaste, and Blake couldn't help but laugh.

"Come on," he said, pulling her on. "I'm tired. And hungry. And getting slightly addicted to your magnificent soup."

Ilya smiled shyly, very pleased as ever it seemed with any kind of praise. Blake was beginning to understand that orc culture was extremely male and warrior-centric, and considered almost anything else as 'beneath' that highest pursuit.

There were some female warriors, almost like 'Shield-maidens' in Norse culture. But most women were seen as lesser creatures, only as important as their family name. And Ilya's family was gone.

The old Blake would have accepted this fact as useful. And he supposed the current Blake did, too. But another tiny part of him also chaffed at the thought of this kind, beautiful creature, who had saved his life, being treated as a leper.

It was a strange thought, and he wasn't sure what to do with it. But for now all he knew was it cost him nothing to be kind.

CHAPTER 4 - TREE LOOKS FINE

ALEX, IT SEEMED, was a man who knew how to suffer.

Mason ran them all day and into the evening with hardly a pause, and the older man endured all of it. When they finally stopped he was red and drenched in sweat, leaning against a tree with closed eyes before apparently healing himself.

"I'm impressed," Mason said, giving him a good slap on the shoulder. "Now stay here while I hunt something to eat. May as well save our supplies for the tree. Can you make a fire, Phuong?"

The Vietnamese ex-soldier just nodded and got to work, and Mason took off with Streak and his bow. There were plenty of birds like grouse in the forest, which—just as in the real world—were big and slow and not that smart.

With his speed, senses, camouflage and magic bow powers, hunting wasn't particularly difficult. He shot three in less than an hour, as well as a squirrel that happened by, then returned to camp and found the men watching their small fire burn.

"I hope you like chicken," he said, holding up the animals, tossing the squirrel to a whining Streak. "You could have hunted on your own, you know," he said as the animal tore into the little thing. "How come I have to do all the work?"

He tussled the wolf's head but it was far too focused on food and just growled in pleasure as it gnawed and chewed. Mason and Phuong butchered the birds in comfortable silence, and the three men sat by the fire as they all cooked on sticks and with a couple pans.

They didn't have anything but salt to season with, but Mason got the impression that didn't bother any of them much.

"Feels like home," Phuong said with a gap toothed grin. "Like I'm back camping with my sons and grandsons."

Mason smiled, not sure if he should ask any questions or make the man think about his family much, considering how things were.

"My father never took us," he said instead. "But I went on my own. Later in life. Not sure why, but I always loved the woods."

"Then you must be in paradise." Phuong laughed, and Mason grinned. He realized he kind of was. Between his girls and being away from cities and massed civilization, he almost couldn't imagine a better situation, save maybe being even more alone. But he thought of Blake trapped in that God forsaken death trap of a tower and lost some humor.

"I hate woods," Alex said, natural frown curled like an upside down U. "I miss plays. Opera and symphonies. I used to go every week."

Mason failed to control his eyebrow raise, and gave Phuong a quick glance to find equal surprise.

"No offence." Mason cleared his throat. "But you look like a man who drove trucks across Siberia."

Alex squinted, then his frown slowly leveled out, and he laughed loudly from his gut. The sound was almost unnatural, and even startled Streak for long enough to stop chewing. At least for a second.

"I play violin," he said, the humor instantly gone. "Piano. Flute. Private lessons. But, not much money." He grinned. "So I drive trucks, too."

Mason and Phuong laughed together. They cooked in silence awhile, and were soon eating the smaller pieces and grunting in pleasure at the taste. Whether it was the hard run (for the others...) or just eating something other than system made produce, it seemed like it was best damn bird they'd all had in ages.

"I'd kill small child for vodka," Alex said later with a sigh.

Mason practically choked, but actually kind of wished he'd brought something. A few seconds later Phuong lifted a bottle from his pack.

"Leave the kids alone." He winked, then passed what must have been some of Billy the Brewer's moonshine around the fire.

"Ohh, thank you, thank you," Alex took a sip and closed his eyes, practically trembling before he looked at the other men. He went a little pink as Mason and Phuong grinned, then he passed the bottle.

They damn near finished the thing as they ate, then put out their fire and lay down in their sleeping bags, Mason looking up at a few stars through the canopy as his brain fought sleep.

All he could do was think about Nassau, Blake, the nymphs and the trees and his druid dreams and, well, everything. He wasn't usually the type to dwell or wrestle with things beyond his control, but then he hadn't been in charge of a settlement before.

It felt like he had a thousand things to do and yet it all took too much time. Just crossing the damn forest took precious days he might have used exploring or patrolling the woods near Nassau, mapping all the grey areas of the world and figuring out what the hell was going on.

So far 'phase 2' hadn't seemed to make much difference. But he knew that was an illusion. Sooner or later threats were going to come, going to challenge them until this damned robot God got whatever it wanted from all this. They had to be ready. He had to be ready.

It was his last thought before the light from the stars faded to black.

* * *

Another full day and they reached rockier ground, then the edge of the forest and the hills and plains that led to Sanctuary and the orc fortress.

From what the nymphs told him, there was another great tree past this and in another, much smaller patch of woods East of the orc towers. But he couldn’t actually see a giant tree rising out of it all, so that was a little confusing…

Was it protected like the nymph tree by some kind of magic illusion? Had it been cut down?

He was tempted to go to the fortress and try the dungeon again, though he suspected it would make no difference at all. Still, he was here...

"Do you want to try the tower?" Phuong said beside him. "It's not far. We might as well."

Mason smiled gratefully. "If that's alright."

The others nodded, and they walked on without a word, and this time there were no orc scouts or anything else it seemed blocking the way. Mason left them slightly back as he made his way to the gate, and touched the door.

[Error. Please try again in 24 hours.]

He sighed, then walked back to the others and shook his head. "Well. Let's do what we came for. The tree shouldn’t be far." If it’s still there, he thought.

They circled the tower walls and carried on towards the new woods and the giant invisible tree. Mason could sense far less life here, and the soil looked thin and arid. The forest felt like an island being washed away by the sea all around it, and even the smell felt wrong.

He took them into the trees cautiously, and the other men clearly sensed his hesitation and stood on their guard. They didn’t have to walk far before the ‘wrong’ scent Mason had smelled became worse and worse.

Then they found the tree. Just as before, there was a clearing all around it, but this one wasn’t shrouded by mist. As Mason and the others got closer, it simply appeared out of nowhere, stretching up above the canopy, jutting like a skyscraper from the landscape.

“My God.” Phuong whistled. “How could we not see it before?”

Mason just shrugged, not sure he could explain. As they got closer, they could see something like mould covered half the trunk, so reddish brown it looked like a gaping wound carved into the wood.

Bark sloughed off like dying skin, covering the ground on the infected side of the tree. The small creek that ran through the valley looked filled with toxic sludge, as if it was connected to a factory and not a giant tree.

"What is problem?" said Alex. "Tree looks fine."

Mason gave the man a wry grin, then walked down into the valley clearing. The closer he got, the more unpleasant he felt. It was like he could sense the pain and corruption of the land itself, like the scent and very air itself were poisonous if he lingered too long.

But his discomfort was overcome when he heard noise coming from the opposite side of the giant trunk. It sounded like voices.

"Be ready," he said to the others. "There's something or someone out here besides us."

Phuong's hand sizzled as his blue sword materialized out of nothing. Alex just sort of hunched.

Mason didn't see any kind of obvious 'entrance' to the tree, though he suspected like the nymph tree he might just need to touch the bark. It also occurred to him he might be wrong about Streak, and that the wolf couldn't enter at all. But if so he wasn't that worried about sending the animal home on its own.

And he wanted to investigate the noise first. He touched the ground and activated his Nature's Sleeves, watching his body and even his clothes somewhat shift in color. With bow at the ready, he circled the huge trunk with eyes and ears tuned to their peak, ready to draw and kill at a moment's notice.

The voices increased in volume and became more obvious. They sounded human. At least two male. One female.

Mason held up three fingers, and Phuong nodded, still close behind. Together they crept around several patches of high reeds and grass, then a small outcropping of giant mushrooms, until finally the speakers came into sight.

"It's this place," said what looked like a young Asian woman, kneeling before a larger Caucasian who sat slumped against the tree. "My healing doesn't work for shit."

The third, a red-headed, mid fortyish Caucasian man was pacing back and forth beside them, hands gripped in his hair.

"Well then let's move him. We can't do this without him. And maybe not even with him, yeah? This quest is absolute shite."

Mason turned to the others, who both shrugged. He sighed and stepped out.

"Hello." He showed his bow and hands and walked slowly, making himself obvious. "There's three of us, and a wolf, just so you aren't alarmed. Can we…help?"

The red head stared for a good five seconds. Then he raised his hands, his eyes blazed a deep scarlet, and he started to flow with what looked like flames. Mason winced, and sighed.

CHAPTER 5 - ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?

BLAKE LAY DOWN on his furs in the tent with Ilya and groaned. He knew he should try and Dreamwalk and talk to the others, but he was tired and in pain after the long walk and just wanted to sleep. Anyway, what the hell was he going to say?

'Yep, still trapped. Super trapped. Oh apparently I'm here because a rogue personality or possibly underling of roboGod wanted me dead. Specifically. So yeah, really doubt there's a way in. And there's a god-enhanced orc in here after my balls. Yeah, I'm pretty fucked.'

The thought was growing increasingly frightening, actually, but he locked that away behind a wall of will. He realized he didn't want to talk to Mason because if he saw his brother he'd be reminded how alone he was. If he saw Mason he might actually crack and show some fear. And Blake hated being afraid.

So no. He wasn’t Dreamwalking anywhere. Better to have some progress, first. Everyone liked good news.

"I'll be ready for more with Chief Terzog tomorrow," he said, "if it can be arranged."

Ilya looked over at him from her cooking with obvious surprise, then some nervousness.

"I…haven't spoken to him, or any of the chiefs. Not since the…attack. I don't know how they'll feel. But I will try."

"I can come with you," Blake said. "It might be easier coming from me."

She nodded, and smiled a little, stirring at her pot with obvious nervous energy.

"Tomorrow, then, we'll go together."

"Thank you, Ilya," Blake said and meant. "For everything you've done. I'd be dead several times over if it wasn't for you."

She smiled shyly, obviously pleased but also unsure what to do with such words. But she hardened, and looked at the swirling liquid over the fire. "Whatever it takes to stop Gromsh. I won't rest until he's dead."

"I understand," Blake said, sitting up with a wince. "Will you tell me about your family? I don't mean how they...I mean how they lived."

Ilya blinked and kept staring.

"My eldest brother liked to sing. Father never encouraged it, but, he did it anyway. It wasn't 'seemly', father said, and he'd be mocked by the others. He was for awhile. But he grew up strong and wise and became a fine warrior. He sang for the others when they trained, and they all loved him for it. Black bird, they called him, because his skin was dark, like my mother's."

A tear rolled down Ilya's face, and she looked away.

"You must think me a weak, foolish female."

Blake stood despite the pain and moved next to her, wiping a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"No," he smiled sadly. "I think you're brave and beautiful, and your love for your family does you credit."

Ilya glanced at him and shook her head, obviously not sure how to react. "You human men are very strange," she whispered. "Do you all speak this way to your women?"

He laughed. "No. I suppose we don't. I'm probably a weird human."

Ilya smiled and gestured at her mother's oracle staff sitting in the corner. "I guess I'm a ‘weird’ orc, too."

Blake couldn’t help but notice how close they were standing in the little tent, and how the small fire flickered in Ilya's amber eyes. He put his thumb back on her cheek, cupping her face as he leaned in closer.

She seemed like she’d almost never been touched at all. She practically leaned into his hand like a cat, looking ready to purr, but also possibly spring away, or scratch his eyes out.

With a human girl he'd have kissed her, knowing nearly all of them disliked a man who had to ask. But with Ilya...he had no idea, and only wanted to be as gentle as possible.

"Would you…like me to kiss you?" he said, trying to smother his own desires. "Is that something orcs do?"

"We do," she said, clearly unsure. "But…my friend could be back at any moment. I..." she bit her lip and stood a little straighter. "Yes, I think I would."

Blake smiled, then slowly put his lips to hers. They were surprisingly smooth and soft, and he wasn't sure why he expected it otherwise. She clearly had no idea what she was doing, so he took his time and taught her with his lips. He fought every burning instinct in his body to push further and start touching, just sitting and 'making out' like teenagers.

When he finally came up for air, Ilya put a hand to her lips and smiled shyly. "That was nice, thank you."

"My pleasure." Blake grinned, feeling like a kid with a crush. He wasn't sure exactly what he was doing, but it felt right and good and for now that was enough. "Thanks for telling me about your brother. I have a brother, too. I miss him a lot."

"Is he...?"

"No, no. He's just...not trapped here with me." Blake smiled. "Much too sensible for that sort of thing."

"You're the risk taker of the family?" Ilya grinned.

Blake laughed. "I suppose I am. Or at least I used to be. Though I've never really thought of it that way." He winced slightly as the pain in his side flared. Ilya noticed and pulled up his shirt to check the bandage.

"We should change this."

Blake nodded, and Ilya took off his shirt and unwrapped the bloody cloth around his side, shaking her head again at the speed of the healing wound. "It's so strange," she said, "seeing you as an orc after...seeing you as you really are. You seem so...flawless. I would never know, even though I know."

Blake pulled out the waistband of his pants and glanced down, then looked up at Ilya with a wink.

"Yep. Everything's where it should be."

She flushed yellow instantly, and Blake practically cursed himself for a damn fool before she sputtered with a laugh.

"It's time to sleep." She rolled her eyes, but was forced to lean in close as she wrapped the cloth around him.

Blake smiled and tilted her chin, kissing her again. She looked surprised, but closed her eyes and made a little moan against him, frozen when he'd finished.

"I picked up some drakeroot for the bleeding," said Ilya’s friend as she pulled away the flap on the tent, coming in with her eyes on the item in question. Ilya practically leapt away from Blake, in the least cool ‘we're just applying some bandage over here’ fluster imaginable. The other orc looked up and her eyes went back and forth from Blake's shirtlessness to Ilya's bright yellow skin.

"Oh, Ilya," she said with something like resignation, which only made the yellow blush worse. "I can come back, if you two need a..."

"No," they said in unison, and Blake put on a charming smile. "She was just helping me with this." He gestured. "Thank you. I'm going to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning."

He was tempted to yet again flush Ferrah’s mind with whatever mana he had left for Mental Influence, but decided instead to just sleep. Who knew what might find him in the night? And he supposed Ilya wouldn't like it if Blake kept her friend's brain floating in a magic cocktail of emotion.

With considerable effort to inform his erection it really wasn't helpful or required, he lay down and closed his eyes.

* * *

Blake dreamt of his home in Houston—a queen sized bed with down feather pillows, silk pajamas and a steaming hot shower. He and Mason had the run of the place most days.

Their adoptive parents were always busy with their work or charity or social lives. They weren't bad parents. They just weren't very interested parents. And it left the two young boys plenty of opportunity to get in trouble.

"Come on, they won't even notice we took it," a thirteen year old Blake told his brother in the estate's triple garage. "A quick pass by Sophia's house, we honk the horn until she sees how awesome we are. Then we zoom back like nothing happened. Easy."

Mason had called him an idiot. He'd said all the ordinary, practical things—their father loved this car, they were both terrible, inexperienced drivers, Blake's little crush might not even be home, etc. But as usual Blake was not to be denied.

Soon they were pulling out onto the crescent with music blaring until Mason scowled and turned it off. They even made it to Sophia's house and got her attention. Then on the loop back, their neighbor—Mrs. Friedsman—happened to drive by. She took one long look at 'the two orphan boys' driving Mr. Nimitz' Bentley, and had her phone out before they passed.

"What the hell were you thinking?" said their adopted father later as he paced. "Don't you know that's exactly what people think of you? That you'll be no good, ungrateful criminals no matter what I do?"

"It was my idea, sir," Mason said, eyes to the floor. Blake hadn't said a word, and Father had looked at him so long and hard he thought he'd crack.

"I know it wasn't. And for letting your brother take the blame, whatever punishment I come up with you get double, Blake. Now go."

That part was good parenting, more or less. The ‘confrontation’ stage. They just never had any follow through. They'd grounded Blake for two weeks, which soon became one week and then a few days, none of which he'd actually spent truly grounded.

"Why'd you take the blame, anyway?" Blake asked his brother later, and Mason shrugged his already broad shoulders.

"Because being grounded makes you crazy. And I don't even really care."

It was classic Mason: true, in a fashion; self-sacrificing; a bit obtuse. But Blake had grinned, and soon forced him to leave his self-enforced grounding, and things were back to usual.

But it was just a dream. Blake woke to the sounds of shouting, screaming orcs. Ilya was frantically looking for her friend, then a deep, booming voice echoed through the city.

"Ilya, daughter of the Vori, I know you're hiding the human. Come out from wherever you are, give him to me, and I will spare your life. But disobey me now, and I will rip your limbs from your body and boil what’s left. Decide quickly."

Blake met the orc girl's eyes, and saw the terror. He couldn't afford to feel the same, and as the fog threatening to overwhelm his senses emerged he tried for the first time to turn Mental Influence on himself.

It worked, surprisingly enough. So he flooded himself with Calm, which didn't do much, but every bit helped. Ilya was pacing across the tent, hands in her hair before peeking out the flap of the tent.

"He has warriors all over," she said. "He's going to find us. There's nowhere to go."

"There is," Blake said, feeling suddenly very sure. "We can go to the dungeon."

"What?" Ilya turned and stared. "The demonic ruins? Are you out of your mind?"

Probably, but it’s worked for me so far, he thought.

Blake knew he couldn't wait. Ilya was close to breaking and he doubted he'd ever get her into that mine. But if she didn't follow him now, or else turn him in like she probably should have, she'd die screaming.

"I'm sorry, Ilya," he said, as he activated Mind Control. "But it's our only chance."

She looked confused until the power hit her, her mind wiping of everything but rapt attention, his Orc Whisperer title glowing its subtle blue.

"The mine isn't what you think," he said. "It's the only thing that can save us. We have to get to it. Right now."

She blinked, and held out her hand.

"We can make it. Let's go."

CHAPTER 6 - DID YOU GET THE PROMPT?

BLAKE AND ILYA walked through the growing chaos of the orc warrens with hoods over their heads. It still hurt a little to walk, but Blake decided getting flayed alive would probably hurt more.

“I can’t see anything,” he complained. “Is anyone looking at us?”

“Just keep your head down and walk,” Ilya said, pulling him along arm in arm.

Blake soon stole a quick glance, activated Mental Influence on a random passer by, and watched the scene through the orc’s eyes.

Things…didn’t look great. Orc warriors were corralling every citizen into what looked like a central circle. They had formed a wall of bodies in a ring, shoulder to shoulder as they squeezed it closed.

The dungeon Blake and Ilya needed was on the other side of said circle.

“There’s warriors in our way,” he whispered. “We’re going to have to pick a spot and go through.”

Despite the mind control, Blake could feel Ilya’s terror. But she grit her teeth.

“We have no choice,” she said. “It’s the only thing that will save us.”

Blake winced at his exact words quoted back to him, hoping the girl would forgive him when she came around. Hopefully she’d see they had no choice…

“Quite right.” He pat her hand. “Stick with me, and we’ll manage.”

“You there! In the hoods. Stop and show your faces.”

Apparently they’d run out of time. Blake and Ilya just kept walking, ignoring the repeated and increasingly angry command as they picked up their pace. Then there was warriors yelling to stop them, and men pointing and trying to figure out who the hell they were talking about.

They reached the outer circle of bodies, and Blake had to decide: Mind Control, or Telekinesis? Something told him Mind Control wasn't wise. The orc chiefs had talked about the king's power to control the minds of the warrior orcs, and Blake seriously doubted he could easily overcome that with ease. No. Better to use something more reliable.

But how to deal with so many orcs...

With something like giddy madness, it occurred to Blake he didn't need to move a dozen orcs. He just needed to move one female, and a relatively skinny human...

"Go back," said an orc from the circle as Blake and Ilya arrived. Then they looked over their shoulders to see other warriors in pursuit, shouting to stop them. "Wait," another growled. "Drop your hoods and show us your faces."

"Finally an order I can agree with," Blake said with a sigh, pulling back the cloth. Ilya stood frozen beside him, eyes going wider and wider with panic as she looked but found no obvious escape.

The orc city was dug with a good high roof, maybe fifteen or twenty feet above all their heads to make room for various buildings. Blake gripped Ilya's arm, and took a deep breath. He'd never tried this before, and suspected it would take some finesse.

"If I crush us both against a wall," he whispered. "I'm deeply grateful for all your help. I truly am."

"What?" Ilya instinctively tried to pull away from his grip a little, probably because of some crazy look in his eyes. Then he flung them both into the air with Telekinesis.

He readied it again the moment they flew, propelling them towards the ancient mine, trying not to hit a building or a hanging rope filled with clothes. The orcs were shouting in some combination of order and alarm, all kinds of orcs just staring in utter confusion as two figures flew above their heads.

Ilya was screaming in terror, but Blake kept his focus. He launched them four, five, six times before deciding they'd gained enough distance to land and run for it.

Right, he realized. Landing.

He hadn't really considered that. He waited until they'd nearly struck the ground, then used his power to 'catch' them as he'd done in the tree dungeon. At some point he'd lost his physical grip on Ilya, and now she sort of slowly spun forward in the air about a foot from the ground. Blake dropped himself first, then did his best to help steady her.

"What...I..." she was pale and looked ready to vomit.

"No time for that, my dear, run!"

Blake grabbed the unsteady orc girl and pulled her forward, scrambling past staring orc civilians but a distinct lack of guards. All of them were obviously back in the circle, many chasing but too far away now to stop them.

They reached the dungeon in less than a minute of scrambling around buildings and trying not to trip, finding the same boarded up descent into darkness. It only really occurred to Blake, then, that Ilya was not a player, and may not even be able to go inside.

She'd said orcs had tried, and he'd believed her, but he realized maybe that was all just nonsense implanted in her brain by roboGod—as false as her people's history.

He met her eyes and took her hand, thinking back to Mona, the girl he'd met in the tutorial. Was another good person going to die for him? Was Ilya even a person at all? Or just some complex NPC?

In that moment he didn't care. The idea of her suffering for helping him was almost unbearable. He could Mind Control her again, he thought, craft her a story that would make the orcs understand she had no choice but to help him all along.

But the guards were coming. It was too damn late. He grabbed her hand and put his other palm to the door. "Come on," he whispered to the system. "My brother has his wolf. Let me take an ally."

[Would you like to enter secret Grey Tower dungeon—Ancient Mine?]

"Did you get the prompt?" he told her. "Can you go inside?"

She stared at him, obviously confused.

"Of course I can go inside. What do you mean?" She grabbed at the wooden boards and started pulling. "But we have to get these down. Hurry!"

Blake blinked, heart pounding as he realized it must have failed. He used Telekinesis and ripped the barricade apart.

"Go!" he shouted, then ran through the opening. As he did, he felt a tingling on his skin, the darkness pulling him through the now familiar portal of a dungeon.

"No!" he yelled, “I didn’t accept!” He reached for his companion. "Ilya! Take my hand!"

She turned back to look at him, amber eyes glowing dimly in the gloom. Then he was gone.

* * *

Blake opened his eyes to see a corridor that belonged in some 1980s role-playing game like Wizardry. Perfectly cut stone squares made up everything, overly symmetrical moss growing between every crack. He spun to find nothing but a wall behind him, and no sign of Ilya.

His knees felt weak, and he dropped as he put his face in his hands. He'd abandoned her back there, then, to be found, interrogated, tortured. A crushing weight hit him, so unfamiliar, so unwelcome, like it sapped his strength and will to do anything.

Eventually he realized it was guilt. Or what Mason sometimes described as guilt—Blake wasn’t exactly familiar. Guilt, he decided, for what he'd done to her, knowing all the while what it probably meant. He slapped himself hard, opened his Mental Partition, and did his best to shove it all inside.

Amazingly, it worked. Kind of. He took a deep breath, feeling much better, much clearer. And when the hell had he started feeling guilt?

[Objective gained: Find and rescue Ilya Vori from somewhere in the dungeon. Reward: ?]

[Objective gained: Unlock and unravel a mystery of the Makers. Reward: ?]

Interesting, Blake thought. Very interesting.

He was very glad first of all to see Ilya was involved, because that meant she wasn’t dead and he could save her. Mason had also mentioned something about 'Makers' in the worm dungeon he'd done with Carl. Apparently it was Blake's turn.

Of course, Mason had described killing a building-sized worm in said Maker hall, so Blake had possibly just gone from the frying pan into the fire. But there nothing else for it now. He stood up and started walking.

All he had was a knife or two in his pockets, and his Mana Gem. Not exactly an inspiring toolkit to try a phase two dungeon alone. Would the place be filled with giant monsters ready to rip him apart? Something humanoid he could potentially control? He could only hope.

The corridor ended quickly, expanding into a square room lit by glowing orbs in each corner. On the far side he could see text in English on the walls, each with symbols and images beneath. On the floor, a series of tiles with matching symbols and images. Other than that, there was just one door.

Blake smiled, the earlier crushing feeling replaced by a giddy excitement. It was a puzzle. And maybe a dungeon of puzzles, rather than a host of terrifying creatures. And Blake loved puzzles.

He cracked his neck and fingers and suddenly missed Psionic Physiology. Maybe he could level and take it again. But until then, it looked like he would have to do it the old fashioned way. He started reading the text, inspecting the symbols and images and memorizing them with familiar glee.

"Damn," he muttered, "all I’m missing is some Red Bull."

The symbols were completely unfamiliar. Blake was rather fond of languages and knew quite a lot about their history. But these didn’t look like Sanskrit or Cyrillic or any kind of Asian character. And there were only nine of them, which made it unlikely they represented an alphabet. The grid on the floor was also 9x9, which seemed important. The text on the wall made no sense.

The old green pond sits. A frog leaps in, splashing it. The sound of the water.

Uh, what? There was another, just as strange.

Spring ocean stretching. Swaying gently, blue and wide. All day and night long.

They almost seemed like...poems. As the thought struck him he counted syllables and sure enough—17, five seven five. Haikus.

He went over the imagery and the symbols, trying to recognize a shape or image, then putting letters to symbols and counting the letters every way he could think of. He couldn’t read any Japanese but he was pretty sure they had a couple writing systems. Or was it three? Hira..gami? No. Kanja? Shit.

Nine symbols. Two haikus. A 9x9 grid. He paced back and forth, wondering if he could use Telekinesis to just rip open the door and float right through, but discarded the idea. You didn't fuck with dungeon puzzles. That probably pissed off robot Gods as much as it pissed off the DMs who’d gone to all the trouble to set them up.

Blake stared until his eyes went blurry, then almost laughed as it came to him. He'd done plenty of Sudoku in his life—a sort of number based puzzle in a grid. He even knew what it meant, roughly: all symbols in a line.

The symbols were just numbers. Well, numbers were really just symbols. The words probably didn't mean anything—they were just giving him a hint this was a Japanese puzzle. He had to fill out the symbols like a Sudoku, where everything lined up with no repetition.

Of course the alien symbols made it difficult visually. Blake had to remember which ones were which, and a couple looked damn near the same. He studied them long and hard before moving to the tiles and finding they could spin, sort of like dice. Most he moved by hand, but once it got to the middle he moved them with Telekinesis just so he didn't accidentally spin anything he stepped over.

The puzzle was hard, but Blake had nothing but time. In maybe thirty minutes he was finished, or hoped he was finished, but took a good long inspection before he was satisfied.

Nothing had happened, of course, which maybe meant he was wrong. Or maybe meant he had to try the door.

With another minute of inspection, and another after that of pep talk, he floated over the puzzle, squinted his eyes, and reached for the door.

CHAPTER 7 - PEST CONTROL

[DUNGEON PUZZLE EVENT completed. Experience awarded.]

The door clicked open with a very smooth, and very satisfying beep. Despite the somewhat ancient looking dungeon, the metallic door and hinges seemed freshly greased and perfectly made, swinging wide to reveal...

Yet another corridor. Blake sighed and walked through, hoping this didn't go on so long he'd test whether he died first of thirst or boredom. He hurried forward, eager to reach the next room and the next challenge.

The stone floor cracked and shattered like a pane of glass. Blake had barely managed to shout in alarm before he activated Telekinesis in panic and stopped himself from moving.

He looked down to see a fifteen foot drop into spikes the size of his leg. His heart pounded in his chest, and he slowly pushed himself back onto solid ground before collapsing to the wall and closing his eyes with slow, deep breaths.

OK, he thought. Let's not get too careless. Also it was clearly time for a new Mental Partition rule.

He constructed a new if/then statement for Telekinesis that went something like this: [If I change speed without meaning to, then activate Telekinesis and stop me.]

He hoped that was clear enough and didn’t result in some kind of unforeseen problems, then finally stood back up. His mana was actually still fine, so he simply floated himself over the entire length of the corridor, all the way to the next door. This one opened to a much larger hall, equally well constructed and ancient looking, but with little enough light Blake was already squinting.

Great, he thought. Where the hell was the low level light spell?

But he did at least get some light from the corridor, and did his best to follow a wall as he looked out and listened for danger. Eventually his eyes adjusted, and when he looked out he saw some kind of pool of water and what looked like another metallic door. He inspected the pool and found nothing unpleasant, and though he was pretty damn thirsty he decided a drink could wait for him to get a bit more desperate.

About the time he'd decided he had no choice but to move out into the darker depths of the hall, a small, green light appeared in the gloom, like someone had turned on a flashlight.

"Welcome to the Hall of the Makers," said an almost cutesy, childish voice from the direction of the light. "Are you finally here to help us with the pest problem? Or, oh," the voice lost some enthusiasm. "Would you just like a tour of the facility?"

Pest problem? Sounded like a quest. Blake had a feeling how he answered was important, so he put on a winning smile and squinted into the light.

"How about both? If you give me that tour, maybe it'll help me solve whatever problem you might have."

"Oh, wonderful!” cooed the voice. “Right this way!"

With that the 'flashlight' turned and left Blake blinking in the dark, white spots blocking everything.

"Wait!" he called, and the flashlight spun and shone directly back into his eyes. He raised a hand to shield himself. "Is there, uh, some lights in this place? Other than you?"

"Oh! Yes of course! Except...no, not really. You'd have to fix them. Shall I take you to the hall generator?"

"Please do," Blake said, trying desperately to remember anything about electrical systems. He did his best to keep his feet and not fall into anything, tempted to fly after his new friend with Telekinesis. But instead he followed the light and found nice, smooth tiled floor, leading past the pool and the door, deeper into the darkness.

Eventually his guide stopped and turned its light at some kind of giant…mirrored window, that was just transparent enough to show a big red button with a ‘power’ sign on the other side. It had no obvious way inside.

“The generator is here,” the light said neutrally, then changed tone back to the cute and friendly ‘guide’ version of itself. “But I’m not sure how to get through. In the last decade I think I’ve realized it has something to do with the mirror image! I’m sure you’ll do better.”

Blake squinted and refrained from trying to use his helper like a shop light.

"Sure. Just give me a couple minutes..."

* * *

The dungeon did not give Blake a couple minutes. After about thirty seconds of staring at himself, he heard a monstrous roar echo down the hall, sending little hairs up all over his body.

The sound echoed through the cavern with an increasingly deafening boom, also causing him to leap in uncontrolled panic before covering his ears.

"Um. Yes. Please do try and hurry," said the light pleasantly. "We haven't even started the tour, and that critter will ruin everything!"

OK. So this puzzle had a time limit. And critter? That sure as hell didn’t sound like a ‘critter’. Blake had apparently escaped being chased to his inevitable doom by an orc king, just to trade up for a terrifying monster. Huge improvement all around. Things were going swimmingly.

He focused on the room itself, looking for anything inside he might use. Then he tried using Telekinesis to break the glass (failure), or simply push the button (also failure). In fact it seemed the ‘glass’ was somehow absorbing his magic entirely.

He pushed away the thought that maybe this was a waste of time and he should be exploring with the light or maybe asking a hundred questions. The darkness terrified him, and he couldn't do anything if he couldn't bloody see where he was going.

“It’s just a puzzle, and it has to be a simple one,” he told himself, because it didn’t have symbols or moving parts. In fact the only thing that changed at all was the reflection looking back at him.

He examined his image in the glass and saw no difference. He touched the glass, finger connecting to hard surface just like any normal mirror. He frowned, then blinked in surprise, because his reflection did not.

Again a monstrous scream pierced the darkness, and Blake’s little light friend seemed to quiver slightly as it looked.

“I don’t mean to rush you, pest controller, but, I daresay it’s coming closer. Somewhat fast.”

“Shut up,” Blake said, watching his reflection, which didn’t repeat his words. It reminded him of an old D&D puzzle he’d solved in a very similar situation—where a kind of reflection of the party had only hurt them as much as they did the same. He stepped back and gestured into the darkness.

“Please, after you.”

His reflection smiled and stepped away, mirroring him. Then it winked.

“No, no,” it said out loud, “I insist, after you.”

Blake stepped inside without even testing the surface. He walked straight through the mirror as if it didn’t exist, then smashed his hand down on the giant red button.

The cavern flared behind him, growing brighter and brighter until it was more like a modern building filled with florescent light. Blake stepped out and tried to mentally prepare himself for whatever ‘critter’ was on its way.

"Thank you very much!" said the light, which was in fact a floating...lantern. It had a little face on the front like a piece of cartoon furniture from Beauty and the Beast, and Blake decided its name was obviously going to be Lumiere. "Now would you like to continue the tour?” it asked hopefully. “Or…maybe you should deal with the critter first?"

Blake turned to see 'the critter' at the far end of the hall.

It had stopped when the lights turned on, as if detecting a change in its environment, but little more. It stood at least nine feet tall, a kind of headless humanoid with four gangly limbs like a cluster of rotting, tangled tree roots. At the center of its 'core' was a fanged mouth that dripped with something like tar.

It raised one of its arms and pointed vaguely towards Blake, holding out its hand.

A single, red eye opened and blinked as if it hadn't done so in years. As if the darkness had been the only thing preventing it from seeing clearly. The eye locked onto Blake and twitched with obvious excitement, pupil bouncing back and forth.

Then that terrible maw of fangs widened, and screamed.

CHAPTER 8 - DON'T GET COCKY

"YOU'VE GOT THREE seconds to drop that bow, mate, or you'll cook like a fecking kebab."

What was the accent? Irish? Mason stared at the growing power in the man’s hand and sighed. Getting hit by fire spells historically didn't feel great, but it also didn't hurt him much.

He decided he could take a little chance and not murder the man instantly. Nassau desperately needed ranged players and mages. It was time to think like Blake for a minute. Maybe he could recruit them. He sighed and put down his bow.

"We're not here to hurt you. We're here for the tree. So just...relax. And we'll all be fine."

"Yer glowin’ fecking red with player kills, mate. So no. I won't be relaxing. Why don't you just bugger off, like. Wait, no, I changed me mind. Don’t move. Stay right where I can see ya!"

Definitely Irish. Or possibly Scottish. OK Mason was shit with accents. But apparently this guy could see auras like a civilian. Did that mean he had some kind of identification power? If so it made him even more useful. But it was also something of a current problem.

Streak came snarling out of the bush, which didn't help much.

"What the feck!" The fire wizard looked back and forth between Mason and the wolf with his hands outstretched. The little Asian girl was coming up behind him now carrying what looked like…a cooking wok?

"Streak. Sit." Mason commanded, and the wolf whined and licked its lips but sat on its haunches. Then Phuong and Alex stepped out behind Mason, and Mr. Fire Wizard looked like he might go cross eyed.

"Stay back! Fecking all of ya, or I swear I'll..."

"Oh just shoot me," Mason said, and the fire wizard crooked his head and looked back and forth.

"What's that you say now?"

"Your fire spell. Whatever it is. Just…hit me with it. Then maybe we can talk."

"Are you…are you out of your fecking mind, then?" said the wizard, his voice slightly rising in pitch.

"Probably. Just do it. I won't move. OK? Then that'll be out of the way and we can talk like gentlemen. So go on now."

"I'll fecking do it!" The guy was practically vibrating and Mason sighed. The little Asian girl was at her ally's side whispering, but Mason’s ever enhancing senses let him hear her.

"Let's just run,” she said. “Come on let's just get Mac and go. We can't do this anyway."

Mason decided to expedite things, and pretended to raise his bow. Mr. Firemage jumped and loosed his spell.

Everyone seemed to cry out in something like protest. Then a cluster of fiery projectiles shot out and raced straight at Mason's gut.

[Apex Predator activated: Elemental Affinity]

[Title activated: First Blood]

As promised, Mason didn't try to move. He knew his resistances would kick in, and his vitality was starting to feel fairly ridiculous…

The fiery missiles slammed into him with the force of thrown baseballs, sizzling and lighting his shirt on fire. He ripped it off and tossed it to the ground, inspecting the slightly charred marks of skin along with everyone else.

Frankly, he hadn't really felt much heat. Though his flesh did feel a little tender. He flicked off some burnt hair and cleared his throat.

"OK." He kept his tone positive and slung his bow back around his neck. "I assume that settles that. I'm Mason. This here is Phuong, Alex, and Streak." He gestured to each in turn. "We've got a settlement a few days away, and we're always looking for new recruits."

Mr. Firemage and the cooking utensil-wielding healer both stared long and hard at Mason's chest. The Irishman finally sniffed and pinched his nostrils, then his magic aura faded and he came forward with his hand out.

"I'm Seamus. That there's Mai and Mac. Sorry about the spell and all. It's lovely to meet you. I hear it's harder to kill a man when you know his name. So. Again, that's Seamus Finnan. I've got two kids as well. And a dog. I like dogs. Good doggy." He looked at Streak and smiled awkwardly.

Mason took his hand, and grinned.

* * *

After the formal introductions, Mason and Alex took a look at the injured Mac, who was apparently a Scot.

"We went into the dungeon there," explained Seamus. "Little green men the game calls goblins like a fecking fantasy movie. They stabbed him, like. Which don't hurt a man like him much. But we think there's some kind of poison."

Mason sniffed the wound and definitely detected something, but actually it seemed quite shallow. Mac was a big man with a lot of fat and muscle, and the blade certainly hadn't cut anything vital. As they inspected him he blinked awake and practically tossed Alex into the tree.

"Who the fuck are you?" He tried to stand but failed, which is when Mason began to realize he'd been cut several times. Though they all looked equally shallow.

Seamus explained the situation, and the big man soon quieted and slumped back down.

"Ock, I feel like shite." He put a hand to his pale face and dry heaved.

"Mai here can heal but she says this place somehow interferes," said Seamus. "Dunno if that makes any sense to ya."

"Give it a try, Alex." Mason gestured, and the Belarussian's eyes glazed for a moment before he touched the big man's chest. It was clear it did...something.

"Oh Christ that feels good." Mac's eyes practically rolled back, and his color looked instantly a little better. "Thank you, sir, thank you very much."

Mason frowned, and Mai looked a little annoyed and a little embarrassed. "I don't know anything, but if I had to guess I'd say it's something to do with affinity. This 'game' seems to use that for a lot of things."

She nodded, and Seamus clapped a hand on the big man's shoulder and seemed to relax. "Whatever the reason, we owe ya." Then he met Mai's eyes and looked at Mason. "You said something about...being here for the tree? Us too. Maybe we could...join forces, so to speak."

"I doubt we can all enter," Mason said. "Dungeons are usually built for four."

"Oh." Seamus slumped a little, then squinted. "Wait, no! I think it said six. Didn't it, Mai? It recommended six when we went in."

Mason got a little more hopeful at that. Though it likely meant the dungeon was rather nasty, and these people didn't seem wildly powerful. He decided to just walk up and touch the tree with his palm. The prompt came instantly.

[Would you like enter dungeon: Great Plains Tree? Note: it is recommended you bring 5-6 players.]

"So it is," Mason said, then frowned as he looked at the group. If they took all three of these people, it meant Streak couldn't enter. "Mac—you up for this? I don't want to delay."

"Not sure," said the big man, still swallowing back spit as he leaned against the tree. "I'm supposed to take punishment, but with all that poison...not sure I can do it, being honest. I might be useless."

Mason nodded, his problem maybe solved. "Alright, Seamus. Well we're going in right now. If you and Mai want to come along, you're welcome. I'd bring you all if I could, but I don't think it's an option. Is there a safe place nearby Mac can go?"

Seamus failed to hide his excitement. He turned back to his friends and they spoke quietly for a minute, while Mason tried not to listen in. But he got the gist.

"He's going to wait here," Seamus announced. "Mai and I would like to come along, if that's alright. I'm the one with the objective anyway."

"OK then." Mason looked back to Phuong and Alex. "We ready?" The men nodded, and Mason called for Streak then walked to the tree. He hoped maybe if he held the wolf he could make it work. "Alright. Everyone touch the tree." They did, and Mason checked the prompt.

[Player group detected: five players, one unbonded pet. Would you like to enter together?]

Unbonded pet? Whatever the hell that meant. But at least it seemed to work this time, and though Mason wondered idly if they could still take Mac too, he accepted the prompt. His vision faded in the now familiarly unpleasant feeling of being teleported, and everything went black.

* * *

Mason instinctively summoned his Claw as the dim, cluttered first room of the dungeon appeared. Just as with the first Great Tree, the place seemed carved out of the trunk, with gnarled wooden walls and floors, with a low ceiling just above Mason's head.

One by one the other players materialized by Mason's side, Phuong coming last and instantly forming his own blade when he saw Mason's out. But there wasn't much in the room save for a door ahead, a few barrels to one side.

"Nothing but water in those," Seamus gestured, then blinked. "Wait. Oh shit. There should be a dead goblin here and a lot of blood. It's all gone. How'd they clean it all up so fast?"

Mason frowned, expecting the place had somehow 'reset' like the damn game it was. "Let's assume whatever you did before doesn't count," he said. "But it might not have changed. What's through the door?"

Mai swore and Seamus shook his head, looking a little defeated. "A big room and a bunch of goblins. Maybe six, with some kind of jackal creatures as guard dogs. Bloody hell of a fight. Such a damn waste."

Mason nodded. "Room for my bow, or should I just go in with swords?"

"Not likely." Seamus shrugged. "They were on us quick. Hence the condition of poor old Mac out there."

"Alright then. Phuong, Streak and I will charge in swinging. Seamus and Mai—you have any powers I should know about and work around?"

Seamus shrugged. "Mai's tougher than she looks. She can go in with you and start whacking things. I'll pretty much just blast whatever I can."

Interesting, Mason thought. He hadn't seen a healer who could get in and mix it up. But then he supposed he'd hardly seen anything when it came to other players.

He summoned his other Claw and took a steadying breath, clearing his mind for the intensity to come. "Streak and I'll go left," he said to Phuong, and the older man nodded. Then he gently pushed open the swinging door, taking in the room as quickly as he could.

Seamus’s description was basically accurate. There were at least five and maybe more goblins in something like a dining hall. Two long tables ran across it, a few more doors at the end, the creatures sitting on benches playing with some kind of bones, or wandering the room.

Mason touched the door to camouflage, turned to his left and charged.

He leapt over the bench to get to open ground as he raced straight at the goblins. They were up instantly as if expecting danger, shouting and drawing long knives, bucklers and short spears. But the closest to Mason didn't move fast enough.

It looked up with wide eyes, knife in hand as Mason cut through its lower jaw and most of its neck and spine in one Predator's Strike.

He ran right past, cutting off the hand of his next target with his curved Claw before deflecting a spear strike with his Sleeves. Then Streak was on his attacker, ripping the goblin from its feet with jaws clamped firmly on its arm, thrashing it on the ground.

From the other side of the room, Mason heard Phuong's now familiar sizzling energy blast, then heard flesh and bone getting hacked apart as goblins shrieked in panic.

Apparently there was a staircase on Mason's side. More goblins came running up from the floor with curves knives in hand, and Mason activated his often neglected Shield gem, then plowed straight into them.

They bowled down the stairs in a line, totally unable to withstand Mason’s weight and speed. Then he deactivated it and followed down chopping, taking limbs and opening torsos with three, four, five unanswered blows.

He turned and dropped traps on the stairs as he ran back to the main room, only to find Streak, Phuong, and Mai smashing targets down with brutal efficiency.

A final goblin in a dark cloak leapt from behind a kind of tapestry at Phuong's back, where he stopped instantly and struck a blue shield, then stared in confusion for a moment before fiery projectiles knocked him flying into the wall, where he promptly lit on fire and lay still.

"That's what's supposed to happen!" Seamus yelled, marching into the room with fiery eyes and a grin.

"Any more?" Phuong called, after a nod of thanks to Alex.

Mason's trap exploded. Two creatures screamed and clearly fell at the bottom of the stairs.

"Nope. Think that's it." Mason grinned.

"Apparently..." Seamus's magic faded as he looked around the room. "That fight…wasn't as hard as I suggested."

"Don't get cocky," Mason said, checking the corpses for anything useful one by one, then moving towards the new doors. "It was just the first room. The last tree finished with a chimaera."

Seamus nodded with a grave expression, then Mason heard him whisper to Phuong. "Hey, uh, what the hell’s a chimaera?"

CHAPTER 9 - THANK YOU, AND GOODBYE

"CONTINUE THE TOUR!" Blake shouted as he ran. "Is there anywhere that critter can't go? Take me to that!"

Tree-limb-acid-face started loping forward like the ugliest gorilla known to man.

"Apologies," said high tech Lumiere. "But I've no idea where the critter can go or where it can't. But the first room on the tour is the dining room, and it is extraordinary. If you could just come right this..."

"Is there an armory?" Blake shouted. "Take me to the armory!"

"That would be highly unusual," said Lumiere. "The tour is the tour, designed carefully to explain the history of the Maker's Hall and end on a high note of..."

"Take me to the damn armory, now! Or I'll leave your critter forever!"

"Oh very well. It's down the Hall of History, second door on the right. If you’ll just follow me we’ll be passing by several very interesting…"

Blake ran and tried not to look back, ready to start launching himself forward with Telekinesis. But he suspected he needed his mana. Second door on the right, he thought. Simple. Couldn't be too far. Second door on the right.

Except apparently the Hall of History was fucking enormous. The first door turned out to be nearly 500 feet away, the second at least a city block. In tree-demon-chasing-you-at-high-speed terms, that was about fifty miles.

Blake fucking hated the apocalypse. He remembered seeing the movie Zombieland and all that talk about cardio. And he thought about Mason running every single day, and how damn fast he was now. If Blake lived through this, he decided, and ever told the story, he was really going to get another I told you so.

He moved at full speed, faltering and nearly stumbling in panic as Lumiere sped right by.

"The Hall of the Makers shows every phase of The Grand Project,” it said like a demon wasn’t chasing them, “from portraits of its founders to the many stages of the project. If you look on your left, you can see the failed early designs of their very first creatures. Which, as you can see, look nothing like the triumphs of today! What day is it, by the way?"

Blake would have liked to have been fascinated. He truly would have. Instead he looked at zero of the portraits, his legs and lungs burning as he sprinted, desperate to look back and see how close the creature was. All he could hear was the thump thump thumping of the thing's limbs like some evil metronome, whacking the stone in perfectly spaced repetition.

Then Blake was at the second door, which thankfully wasn't really a door but an open arch that he instinctively through himself in without stopping, just as the demon's arm swished exactly through where he'd been standing.

He landed harshly and rolled across the tile, but so did the demon. It tumbled and flew out of sight as it ran past the door, crashing and screeching as Blake rose and looked around the room.

It wasn't exactly what he was hoping for. He wanted a whole bunch of swords and spears and axes lying around—a room full of projectiles he could toss at his enemy and pray he at least blinded that eyeball-hand. Instead he found...statues? Some kind of ancient robots?

Shit. Shit!

Then he saw something like lances or spears in a row on the far wall, and thanked whichever God was listening.

'Lumiere' was still narrating as the demon entered, hand forward and eye searching as it gestured around the room. Blake hid behind one of the statues, activated Telekinesis to seize a spear, and threw it at the hand.

And missed. The spear smashed into the demon's body, at least, sticking in about a foot and causing the creature to shriek in rage. It loped forward with one arm and both legs, the eye-hand held forward as it searched.

Blake lifted more spears. He had most of his mana and a full Mana Gem, and he intended to stick every single one of them into that ugly bastard until...

A voice blared over the room.

[Disturbance detected in the armory. Locking down. For your own safety, please don't stand next to the gates. Thank you for your cooperation.]

The open archway slammed with a metallic clang as a huge iron grate dropped from the roof. Even the demon was surprised, stopping to look back and examine with its eye. Blake didn't waste time or energy worrying about it—he just seized two more spears and hurled them at his now stationary target.

Both stuck in about as deep as the first, three giant quills sticking from one ugly ass porcupine. The monster growled and seized the spears one by one, pulling them out with no blood or really indication of much damage at all. Blake just threw more spears.

For several seconds they stood maybe thirty feet apart, the beast growling and pulling out spears, Blake lifting them and piercing them back in. Finally some black ooze was dripping from the creature's wounds, and it gave up and charged towards his statue.

He scrambled away, mana less than half now as he ran to another statue and tried to target Telekinesis on the move. It worked well enough, the spears almost 'fire and forget' once he told them his target.

But their aim on a moving target was…shit. They seemed to fly basically to where the thing was the second he targeted it. Which meant he might have to lead it or make straight shots.

The only thing that saved him was the creature's terrible vision. After every statue it had to stop and look again, following him with his arm but smart enough to protect its eye and close its fist when it could.

Blake considered trying to push a statue over to land on top of it, but the things were way too damn big and heavy looking, with a couple exceptions...

One statue was vaguely humanoid in size, a little like The David if Michelangelo had put the man in a sci-fi exo suit and a helmet. Blake ran behind it and activated Telekinesis to touch the statue, just looking for options.

[Arcane affinity detected: activating]

Blake blinked in confusion, his Telekinesis blanking as if it had worked but the spell was somehow...absorbed. Or wrong.

The demon lunged, and Blake barely jumped to the side as its arm slapped into the statue with a solid crack. He scrambled up and ran to another, intrigued and terrified and still not sure what the hell to do. His spears had hurt the thing, but it seemed very much not dying. He'd need a sword or something to hack it apart—the piercing weapons just weren't wrecking its body.

On something like whim, he activated Mental Influence and focused on the statues. They all lit up.

"What the fuck does that even mean?" he whispered, trying the small humanoid. He picked 'Loyalty' then 'Trust' then 'Anger', all vanishing like his Telekinesis as if into the ether.

The demon was still coming and Blake had to run. He had to choose now whether he kept shooting spears and hope for the best, or gamble on these damn statues. But he knew really he had no choice.

Option one just wouldn't work. Logic told him no matter how unlikely, option two was all he had. He scrambled away and bought himself a second, turned on the statue, and activated Mind Control.

* * *

The statue was like a bottomless pit. Blake clutched his Mana Gem and poured his spell into the thing, trying to find some sign of a mind he could bend to his will. He felt vaguely insane now, throwing precious mana into a thing that might just be completely wasting it.

But it felt somehow right, it felt like a chance. And over the years, Blake had learned to trust his gut. His mana pool vanished, and his gem was halfway gone before he almost gave up.

[Mana threshold reached. Initiating.]

Blake fist pumped in triumph. The demon smashed him in the side of the head.

His Mental Partition flared, and Psionic Shield surrounded him in purple light as he bounced across the room. The Mana Gem in his grip went cold, and though he was unhurt he knew he was completely drained. He looked up, for the moment unafraid of death, obsessed with just wanting to see if he'd been right.

The humanoid statue stepped from its pedestal.

"Planar entity detected," it announced from a jaw that moved like claymation from that old Christmas movie. "Responding."

The creature turned and growled, eye inspecting its new foe with cold assessment. Frankly Blake didn't care what happened as long as they left him alone a minute. He looked for somewhere in the room to climb, but saw nothing useful. There was no obvious way to escape.

With something like a desperate hope, he held his now burning knife-wound and watched. The demon charged, and the statue held up its hands as if to catch a naughty child.

"Halt," it said, bending its knees but making no other aggressive movement. It was either very confident in its own strength, or it was about to get smashed like a…

The beast crashed into it, lifting and carrying it forward until it struck the wall with a horrible crack.

"Ah hell." Blake got up and moved around the wall, looking for something else to help him. He heard more growls and cracks and was pretty sure he could hear the demonic thing ripping his desperate hope into little pieces. With no other plan, he finally lifted a spear with his own two hands and ran over to stick the bastard.

He found the ‘critter’ and statue hadn't moved from the wall. The beast was still holding the thing, thrashing against it with what looked like increasingly slow movements of its arms. Blake stared and came closer, finding the statue was just holding on. But something felt...hot.

As he approached, Blake found the statue's hands were pressing against the creature's bubbling flesh. Its arms moved closer and closer together, until it had buried its limbs into its opponent’s body. The monster finally twitched and sagged against it, very clearly dead.

[Planar Entity: Carnagura demon killed. Experience awarded.]

[You have earned enough experience to reach level nine! Please select your new power.]

Blake dropped his spear and sagged to the floor with mental and physical exhaustion, extremely happy to see his level. The statue made no move to get up. Its legs were half smashed, and the jerky movements it had made seemed entirely stopped as it seemed just like a statue again. Had it used up all the mana Blake gave it? Maybe the ‘demon’ just destroyed it?

He lay back and took a few deep breaths, seeing the gate was still very closed. But at least he was alive.

Lumiere drifted over his head, causing him to squint against the bright light.

"Apologies, Pest Controller. But I'm afraid that will have to be the end of the tour. Thank you. Goodbye."

CHAPTER 10 - A NEW SHINY

"NOW WAIT A damn second, I killed your critter!” Blake tried and failed to seize Lumiere with Telekinesis as the little bugger sped off. “What's my reward?"

The floating lantern was practically at the gate before it stopped and turned, clearly small enough to zip right through the bars.

"You haven't been...paid?"

"No I have not." Blake took a deep breath and Meditated, hoping to build enough mana to grab the thing if he needed to. "I've got a lot of questions. And I'd like that gate opened. How about we start with that?"

Lumiere frowned with its ridiculously dramatic face. "I'm afraid only the Curator can open the gate." Then he beamed. "But I am happy to answer your questions! That's my secondary function!"

The ‘Curator’, eh? Why did that sound vaguely familiar? Well. Answers were something.

"What are these statues? How do I make them work?"

"These are not statues, Mr. Controller. They are Arcane Constructs, built by the Makers in the Age of Ignorance. As you can see," it looked towards the dead demon. "They are still moderately effective. How to make them work is simple! You've already done it. Just infuse them with mana."

Blake nodded. Simple enough, then. At least if he had the mana.

"After I've infused them with mana, can I command them? How long do they last?"

Lumier frowned again. "I’m sorry, commanding Arcane Constructs is not a topic I have knowledge of." Again its expression transformed very creepily and instantly to something more pleasant. "But I can tell you they run on mana, and will last until their charge depletes."

Right. So basically exactly what Blake expected, which made the thing's answers not helpful at all. Maybe it was time to do his level. "Just stay right there a second," he said, then pulled up his profile.

Another power was sure as hell welcome. Psionic Physiology had been pretty damn cool, but he figured he should at least see if there was anything useful. Mostly everything looked the same, and he flicked through them without much interest until he saw something highlighted in blue.

He hadn't seen that before.

Psionic Construct.

Wait, yes he had, it just wasn’t highlighted. Was it because he'd found these things and interacted with them? Did that mean you could get better powers based on what you did and experienced in the game? He read the brief description: Animate, and even create, objects with psionic power.

That was all it said, which was infuriating little information to go on. Was it something like Telekinesis? Or by animate did it mean 'bring to life' like the statues?

Surely that made more sense given the circumstances. Though he had no clue what it meant by 'create'. As in make new objects with his mind? That sounded extremely intriguing, he just didn't want to get stuck with a sub-par power if it turned out unhelpful.

Blake looked between that and Psionic Physiology, which he knew would be useful, unable to decide. Ultimately the special blue color was impossible to resist, and he hoped he wasn't an idiot just chasing a shiny object and that it actually mattered. He took Psionic Construct.

The power entered his list, and he went to activate it, then watched it bleep red in his vision. He immediately felt like he'd been smacked in the side of the head, groaning as he put a hand to his temple. Apparently just activating it took more mana than he had left.

He sighed and looked around the silent statues, then the floating little light with a face. He supposed he'd better get comfortable. He was likely going to be here awhile.

"I don't suppose you can bring me any food or water?" he asked, settling for a nice cosy patch of cold, hard stone in a corner.

"Refreshments? Certainly! Please wait here and I'll return shortly!"

With that Lumiere zipped off through the gate before Blake could even question what he might bring back. Instead he just slumped against the wall and started Meditating.

* * *

When Blake opened his eyes at about half mana, Lumiere had apparently stacked up a veritable feast. It looked like…canned water, and ancient...spam? He sniffed it, and at least didn't feel like vomiting.

"Is this...edible?"

The floating lantern looked at it, then back at Blake, giving a hopeful expression and what might have been a shrug.

"How did you even carry it," Blake grumbled, "or open these cans?"

But he was starving and didn’t really care, so he scooped a little and chewed the soft, bland, but salty 'meat' and hoped he didn't die. After finishing most of it, he stood up with a few crackles and focused on his new power.

"OK," he said. "Round two."

This time Psionic Construct worked, draining maybe 10% before the world lit with possibility. The statues weren't eligible, apparently. Nor was Lumiere. But all the spears he'd been throwing at the demon were. His clothes, too. And the gate. Some of the pedestals the statues were sitting on. He also saw a 'creation' menu but decided he'd try that next time.

For now he focused on the gate and accepted the prompt. It gave him two options: permanent, or temporary. Uh, temporary. Physical attributes, mental attributes, or both? Mental.

[Activating.]

The spell took considerable time to cast—much more than Arcane Blast or Mind Control. He was forced into a very limited 'channel' state, feeling arcane threads connecting him to the gate like with his mind powers. It felt like it was pulling him, sucking the energy out as it infused the object.

In what seemed only moments, he felt like he'd been reading a textbook for two hours, his concentration hard to maintain. Then the spell finished, and Blake's mana sagged maybe another 10%.

He walked forward to inspect the gate, no idea what he’d find.

"Uh, hi? Are you alive now?"

Even though he was sort of ready, Blake still startled when the gate opened its ‘eyes’. It had a 'face' much like Lumiere, the bars making its mouth look like a grill.

"Master," it said with a cold, monotonal voice.

The moment it did, Blake felt its ‘presence’ in his mind. Something like a video game pet bar appeared in his vision with an obvious timer, which seemed maybe only a few minutes. He grinned, even though it hadn't done anything. He could make pets!

"Open," he commanded, not really expecting it would work.

The gate rattled with a metallic noise, screeching as it flew back up towards the ceiling, ending in an audible clang.

"Well son of a bitch." Blake looked up and grinned. "Lock up there, if you can lock," he said. And the damn thing made a click.

Lumiere was staring now, too.

"The Curator may be angry," he said with a frown, then looked extremely happy again. "Shall we continue with our tour?"

"My friend," Blake said with a sigh. "Nothing would please me more."

* * *

Getting information from a talking lantern was a lot easier without a demon trying to kill you. Blake listened patiently to the entire history of the Makers, including the 'three ages' of their ultimately doomed empire. 'Awakening' was apparently first, followed by 'Ignorance', ending with 'Destruction'. Though Lumiere was a little shaky when it came to the details.

"What destroyed them?" Blake asked, looking at a painting of what looked like a planet imploding.

"I do not know," Lumiere said with a frown. "But they left us with many gifts."

"Did they make you? This place?"

"Oh no." Lumiere pretended to laugh. "I was made by the Keepers of Official History. As was most of this structure. But there is one place made by the Makers, and we'll see it at the end of the tour."

Well, ‘Keepers of Official History’ was the most Orwellian name Blake had ever heard. "These Keepers...are they still...here? Alive? Who are they?"

"Wizards, of course, like yourself,” said Lumiere. “I thought they’d sent you! They made several such halls to remember the glory of the Makers. Where they are is not in my knowledge. But I have never seen one. Right this way, please."

Blake asked how old the place was, where the demon came from, where the Curator was, as well as questions about Ilya and where he might find her and if there was any way out of this hall. Lumier proved not at all helpful.

"And this is the door to the Maker Hall—the last true remnant of their greatness in this area of the world. If you'd like to see more, please insert your key and go inside."

Blake frowned. "I don't have a key."

"Oh."

Lumiere stared until his eyes wandered in separate directions. Then a small metallic glint shone from the bottom of his body, and a plastic skeleton key floated out more or less like he'd used Telekinesis.

"Great news! In thanks for clearing the hall critter, I'm authorized to lend you a spare! But please return it when you're finished."

Blake grinned and took the key from the air.

"I'm beginning to like you very much," he said, then inserted the key into the obvious lock, which was more like a keycard, and shivered as he felt something warm move up and down his body in a ring.

The door opened, revealing a medieval looking vault full of art and maybe coins. Without a care or concern in the world, Blake walked right inside.

CHAPTER 11 - WE'RE IN A HURRY NOW

MASON LED THE others through a series of similar rooms to the first dining hall. Small numbers of the same, relatively weak goblins were spread throughout a place that seemed like communal housing more than anything.

Mason and Phuong took point. With Alex's shields, as well as Mai, Seamus and Streak watching their backs, they mostly just slaughtered their way through.

"This is almost too easy!" Seamus beamed as they killed the last goblin in a small barracks filled with bunk beds. "I'm totally going to get this quest done, I can almost taste the reward."

"Shut up before roboGod hears you and squashes us like bugs,” Mason muttered. “And what is your quest, by the way?"

"Oh, the usual," Seamus shrugged. "Purge with fire. Burn the unclean. That sort of thing. And then I get a big ol' experience boost."

Mason squinted. "Burn what, exactly? And when and how did you get this quest?"

"Patron." Phuong lifted a kind of flag hung on the wall, and found a hole burrowed behind.

Mason came closer and frowned, giving it a sniff but not detecting anything different. The goblins in the barracks hadn't seemed unusual at all, though there was a few wooden totems and some kind of incense in clay pots.

"That's not a very big hole," he muttered. "Even if I fit through that, I don't think I want to." Then he glanced back at Streak and activated Speak with Nature.

Can you go through and take a look?

The wolf yipped and practically charged into the hole without a thought, hunched down and vanishing almost instantly.

"But be careful!" Mason called after him, then sighed. He squatted and waited, listening intently for any sign of trouble through the hole.

"So I let the wolf thing go as just a pet, but uh..." Seamus cleared his throat. "Did you just...talk to it?"

Mason didn't bother looking over. "You shoot fire, that's pretty weird." He sighed. "I'm a druid. I talk to animals."

"No shit?" Seamus walked over and squat down next to Mason with a grin. "Druids are Irish, you know. Well, Celtic, or whatever. But my bloody ancestors, that's for certain. That why you're in here, then? Some kind of druidic blood ritual or some such?"

"Or some such," Mason agreed. He didn't exactly feel like explaining sex-powered immortal nymphs and teleporting between trees. "Where are you guys from, by the way? You have a settlement?"

"No, no, not us." Seamus shrugged and gestured at his companion. "Mai here was with me and Mac in a tutorial. We made a good team, stuck together, like. That's pretty much all there is to it, really. Came from the mountains to the east."

This got Mason's attention. "I haven't been that way at all. Is it just mountains? What sort of creatures? Did you see a coast or any other settlements you just avoided?"

"Woah, woah, now." Seamus laughed. "A little equality, eh mate? Quid pro quo. I tell you a thing, you tell me a thing. Seems only fair, right?"

Mason squinted. "We’re all friends here. And I’m not sure if you've noticed, but my friends and I are currently pretty much carrying you through this dungeon. How's that for equality?"

Seamus smiled, but the bruised ego behind it was pretty damn clear. Blake would no doubt know how to handle the man and say just the right thing to keep him mollified, but Mason had no talent, or frankly interest. He was about to ask more questions when he heard a bestial howl echo down the tunnel.

"Streak?" he called.

No answer.

He swore and tried to fit in the hole, but the second he got inside he knew he could hardly crawl and certainly couldn't fight.

"God damnit." He pulled back and took the rope out of his bag, then looked at Mai. "I need someone small."

* * *

Mai eventually agreed to take a look. "But no more talk of carrying us," she said with intense eyes as Mason tied the rope around her slender waist. He met the stare and nodded.

"Agreed. If there's any problem, just yell and we'll pull you back."

"The rope isn't that long," Seamus was saying as he paced. "Surely you don't expect for her to really get that far, and even if she did..."

Phuong took another rope from his bag and started tying it expertly to Mason's.

"Go on, please hurry," Mason said, and helped Mai crawl inside. She was even smaller than Streak, and with her head down crawled quickly on all fours until she vanished into the tunnel.

Mason clenched his teeth and cursed himself for sending the wolf, hearing that howl again and again in his mind. It was familiar but somehow wrong, and he wasn't actually at all sure it was Streak.

In fact he was beginning to think it wasn't, but what did that mean? Was the wolf fighting some other beast? Was it trapped? Had it been killed?

He had no kind of 'contract', no way to tell or know for sure.

"I shouldn't have brought him," he muttered.

With the way things were, and the powers and danger of things increasing, he was beginning to think he should keep Streak from danger entirely. He was strong and clever, but he was just a wolf. Mason and the others had superpowers and the danger was growing accordingly.

The waiting was hard. They said nothing as Mason paced with little steps, his hands on the rope ready to pull. When they'd heard nothing for at least three minutes Seamus was starting to complain and say they should pull her back, then Mason hushed him as he heard the sounds of renewed crawling.

Mai came back out and dropped from the hole, wiping dust from her hands and knees as she stood, sweat gleaming on her brow.

"There's a cavern," she explained. "Some kind of...giant totem inside, wrapped by a giant serpent with...a ram's head, maybe? Surrounded by rocks. It didn't seem to know I was there." She could obviously see Mason's question and cut him off. "I didn't see the wolf."

A giant mutated…snake. God damn of course it was. And why on earth would Streak have gone inside? If Mai had snuck up why couldn’t the wolf? He was probably a lot better at it then the average human.

"Shit."

Mason paced another few steps but knew he had to decide. The others might fit without him, but he couldn't send them alone. They'd have to find another way. His limbs pulsed with adrenaline and anger, a familiar restless energy telling him to act, to hunt, to kill.

"Follow." He turned and walked back towards the unexplored doors. "We're in a hurry now. Stay sharp, and keep up. I want prisoners."

He heard Phuong mutter something like ‘oh boy’, but ignored him. And he didn't stop and listen carefully at the next door. He simply opened it and charged through, finding a kind of storage area with crates and barrels filling one side of a larger room, the other with goblins at tables or standing nearby.

This time he activated Aspect of the Cheetah instantly, crossing the distance with Claws out, aiming for arms and legs. The goblins shrieked and reached for their weapons, stumbling over each other in panic as some tried to engage, others retreat.

The closest jabbed with its spear, and Mason slapped it away with his smaller blade, then cut off the arm that held it. He blocked a knife with his Sleeved forearm, then cut off the wielder's hand.

Blow for blow he relied on his speed, Sleeves and blades to meet every attack as he swirled around the room taking off goblin limbs until the other players caught up.

Phuong disabled one rather more delicately. Mai knocked another out with a swing of her glowing frying pan. Then the room was still and silent save for the agonized groans of the crippled goblins. Mason found the cleanest looking creature and lifted him by his shirt.

"The secret tunnels," he said. "A snake with a ram's head. Tell me how to get there, or I'm going to cut you apart piece by piece."

He practically felt the players exchanging looks behind him, but frankly didn't give a shit. The goblin nodded with wide eyes.

CHAPTER 12 - THE GREENBLOOD ORDER

"DON'T KNOW!" THE goblin squealed and squirmed uselessly in Mason's increasingly terrifying grip. "Just worker. Don't know secrets!"

"There's tunnels in the walls," Mason hissed. "Behind bed sheets or flags or whatever they are. Don't tell me you've no idea. Where do I get in the tunnels?"

"Just a worker!" The creature whined, then his eyes went wide in hope. "Engineers will know. Engineers know things, make tunnels. Yes. Go through door, and up further into tree. They mine crystals."

"What crystals?" Mason forced himself to get more information before he turned and charged away. "What are you creatures doing in this tree?"

The goblin moaned in pain, growing paler by the second as it dripped blood all over the floor. "Don't know. Just mine crystals. Heart of tree. For big bosses."

Mason growled and rammed his sword through the creature's chest, then tossed him away. He looked back at the others, all of whom stared with obvious…concern. But he didn’t have time for it.

"We're here to kill every last one of these creatures. Time to grow a spine and pay attention. Until I find Streak there's no quests, no mercy, no weakness. You stay with me and you do your job. Or you can turn around and leave. Now move."

Mason forced himself to open the door at the end of the room quietly, despite wanting to smash it from its hinges. Beyond was a winding corridor, and like the first trees he'd cleared, the path was clearly leading up. He walked through passing several doorways, glancing in each to find more supplies and crates and the occasional goblin that just looked like more workers.

He put a finger to his lips for the others, and gestured for them to move. He didn't know how long Streak had, but he wasn't wasting time killing more useless creatures. At the end of the corridor he could hear rhythmic pounding that grew in volume. He felt some hope, because the sound might be picks hammering at the tree.

He ran his hand along the wall, camouflaging himself the color of the tree as he left the others slightly behind. Then the hall opened up into a massive cavern, as usual too impossibly large to actually exist in the great tree they'd seen outside. It practically glowed with a dull phosphorescent blue, and all along the walls Mason could see what looked like 'crystals', just as the goblin said.

Most were blue, but he saw many other colors. Construction apparatus was set up everywhere. Ramps, ladders, platforms, and even mechanical lifts allowed hundreds of goblin workers to scale the tree and work at the crystals. Dozens of carts, and thousands of buckets were filled or in the process, the cacophony of working noise and goblin voices filling the cavern.

At the bottom, Mason saw many goblins dressed differently than the others—some carried little devices and wore what looked like goggles or lenses, others with pads of paper or blackboards, scribbling away. They sure as hell looked like 'engineers' to him.

"Wait, Patron," Phuong put a hand on his shoulder. "What is your plan?"

Mason clenched his jaw and stared at the cavern. "Maim engineers until they talk. Kill anyone who tries to stop me. Any other suggestions?"

The older man winced and shrugged. "That's a lot of goblins. Could we capture an engineer and bring him back here? Perhaps...lure one?"

Mason gripped his sword with impatience but eventually nodded. It was a good idea. And though he'd literally used it maybe once, his Trapmaking actually did have non-deadly variants. He activated the power and could see options to make nets or slings. But maybe just hiding and grabbing one of the bastards would be just as easy...

"Alright. I'm going to get closer." He unsummoned his swords, unslung his bow, then started stripping. Mai and Seamus both stared vaguely wide-eyed as he went down to his underwear and debated dropping those too, but it probably wasn't necessary. "Make some noise or something. Get one of them to come a little closer and check it out. Then I'll grab one and bring him over. Good enough?"

Phuong did something between a nod and a shrug, and Mason decided it would do. He kept low and ran his hands along the ground, keeping camouflaged with his Sleeves. The engineers seemed to be wandering around inspecting everything, and he figured one might even get close enough without something to attract them.

Then a minute later he heard a very goblin sounding shriek from the hallway. One or two of the engineers glanced over but didn't seem particularly concerned. Until a goblin voice started yelling.

"Boss! The crystals are exploding! Help! Oh no oh no!"

Two of the closest engineers exchanged a look, then started running for the hall cursing the workers for incompetent fools. Mason didn't move. They ran right past him, seemingly oblivious, and he decided it was even better to let them go all the way. When they reached the corridor and left the cavern, Mason heard a now familiar sizzling pop.

He crawled back to find Phuong standing over two very stunned goblin engineers, holding a worker at swordpoint.

"Thank you," he told the creature, then lopped off its head. "Two for the price of one, Patron," he gestured with a wry grin. Mason could have hugged him. He felt suddenly not entirely so alone, knowing this man at least would do what was necessary.

He searched the engineers and found all manner of strange tools, binding their hands and feet with rope before the seemed to wake up.

"I have questions," he said as the first blinked awake.

It stared at the players all standing around it, then wiggled and discovered it was tied up. After a long, audible swallow, it nodded vigorously.

* * *

The goblin engineer turned out to be a font of knowledge, just not for what Mason actually wanted to hear. It knew absolutely nothing about secret tunnels or a giant snake with a ram's head, no matter how Mason threatened to butcher it. But it knew many others things.

First, the goblin tribe had been hired by the nearby tower orcs to 'harvest' the great tree. They could apparently convert the magic-infused wood using some kind of chemical process, breaking it down into the crystals they'd seen, to be used for all manner of purposes. That process was what was leaving toxic sludge everywhere, and rotting the tree from the inside.

"Where are your leaders?" Mason said, still angry and impatient and anxious for his friend.

"Top of tree," the engineer said as if it were obvious. "Chief Engineer Mekik. But..." he swallowed and clearly failed to find enough saliva. "Not in charge. Not really. Mountain Tribe in charge."

"What mountain tribe?" Mason said, hardly caring.

"Greenblood Order," the creature whimpered. "Wizards and killers. They rule goblins. Not us. Never us. Not to blame."

Mason had run out of patience, but his anger had cooled. He felt no moral compunction against killing these creatures, but nor did he feel like killing a thing that hadn't fought, and seemed so helpless. He lifted both engineers and walked to the closest room, stuffing them into the corner.

Not sure what else to do, he put his hand against the tree and activated Speak with Nature, at first thinking to try and send out a call, much like he had with Violet in the Devourer's lair. But then he thought about the garden with Seul-ki—speaking with the trees and plants themselves. He tried 'talking' to the tree.

[There’s a wolf here, lost, I'm trying to find him. Can you help me? I'm here to save you. But please help me save him first.]

For a moment nothing happened. Then Mason shook as agony coursed up his his hand and arm—like acid coating his skin. But he didn’t pull away. Not yet. He could take it. He let the pain surge towards his chest, almost gripping his arm like some kind of awful connection.

He felt the thing’s voice more than heard or understood it. Images flashed through his mind, like a cartoon on flipping pages of goblins digging and cutting and burning a living thing. Mason shook at the pain, sensing the rage, the hopelessness that followed.

When the intensity finally faded, the images slowed and showed a snake and totem just as Mai had described. It turned, green and yellow eyes glowing and staring as if straight into Mason’s until a single name burned into his mind: Cerebus.

It occurred to him then he was having a kind of conversation with a tree. But frankly, the insanity of this world was just starting to become normal, and he didn't really hesitate to keep going.

[The wolf. Can you show me where he is? How to get to him? I need him to help you. I swear to Gaia, I will kill these goblins or chase them from you. But I need the wolf.]

Mason felt something like pleasant warmth break through the painful tingling on his arm. A sound like a creaking ship followed—wood bending and shaping to the edge of breaking, stronger than the sum of its parts. He shivered as he felt it pulling him with some kind of indescribable magic. The feeling it was trying to communicate as it did was…caution? Apology? But it wanted him to…let go, and let it pull him.

He looked back at the others.

"I'm going to Streak. Stay alive. Go back to the tunnel. You’re smaller than me, you might fit...you might..." He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek as the agony in his arm flowed over his body. He tasted blood, and the pain was like the Devourer's acid but worse, coating him in a thick, sticky layer of awful.

Then the corridor was gone, and so was he.

CHAPTER 13 - I'M JUST BLAKE

BLAKE ENTERED THE 'Maker Hall' with careful steps, inspecting his surroundings. There were busts of bearded men, more portraits and little stacks of coins, all squished under a low ceiling with plain, stone walls. It made Blake feel like he was in some dwarven billionaire’s panic room.

But there was also an open entrance that led to something larger, and he poked his head inside to see a series of colored 'lanes' leading to more rooms. He smiled, remembering Mason's description of the worm dungeon where he got his prestige class. Apparently it was time for another upgrade.

Except Mason also said his prestige class had been basically tailored to suit him, whether based on powers or behavior so far in the game. For some reason this gave Blake pause, like he was going down a path he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to go down. He wasn't sure why it felt that way, but what he knew more than anything was that before he walked in and made it official, he wanted to speak with his brother.

Dream Walk had worked in the dungeon before. He assumed it would work in a dungeon within a dungeon. Of course he had absolutely no idea what time it was, and since Mason seemed to sleep less and less these days the chances weren't exactly fantastic. But things seemed safe enough, and he tried to hope Ilya wasn't in some terrible situation where every second counted. If that was the case, roboGod would have given him some kind of timer, right?

He slumped down against a wall and Meditated, preparing himself mentally to Dreamwalk and find Mason.

As usual, his perception shifted to a huge, dark canvas full of lights. He flew through it, searching for anyone whose mind he'd touched. Fortunately, it looked like it must be night, because practically everyone was asleep. He almost sighed in relief when he found Mason. Afraid his brother might wake at any moment, Blake focused on the glowing dot and dove straight in.

Mason was apparently deeply asleep. Even his unconscious mind was dark and warm, a sort of smoky cave where Blake found him sitting staring into a fire.

"Well there's a sight for sore eyes." Blake grinned. "Brother you look more like Conan the Barbarian every time I see you."

Mason turned, and his green eyes roamed Blake for a moment as if without recognition. Then he leapt to his feet and rushed forward.

"Holy shit, is it really you? Say something I'd never think of."

"Um. Firefly was the greatest sci-fi tv show ever made. Followed by Farscape. Oh shit I forgot about Battlestar, now I’m not sure if I’m honest."

"Thank Christ.” Mason tried to grab his arms but couldn’t. “Are you alright? I mean, are you still in that dungeon? Is there any way we can come get you? Or make it easier from the outside?"

Blake laughed and took a seat by the fire. "Deep breaths, brother. I can actually feel the heat. By God that's good."

Mason did as he was told then sat opposite, looking around the cave. "I’m not actually sleeping. I don’t think I am, anyway. I was in a tree…in some kind of teleported world…whatever, it’s not important. No clue why we're in here. How you chose this exact moment I have no idea, probably pure dumb luck again."

"Uh huh.” Blake raised a brow. “Let's not worry about luck or Freud right now. I'm…doing well enough. More or less leveling up until I can deal with this giant orc. Which is why I'm here—I've found a place like the one you told me about, a prestige class event of some kind. So I'll get that and probably an item right away."

Mason grinned. "Good. They seem crazy powerful so that'll help a lot. What's the delay? What can I tell you?"

"I don't know." Blake frowned, not even sure what he wanted to ask. He shook his head, wanting distraction more than anything. "Tell me about the settlement? How are things?"

Mason nodded and did, described in his usual blunt way. He told him about the natural 'theme' and the various bonuses they'd gained from the Nymphs—the new buildings and all the new food and surroundings.

"We cleared another great tree, too," Mason said. "Found some new players. A caster, finally, though I'm not entirely sure I won't have to kill him one day. And I see why you complained constantly about the civilians. There's endless belly aching about nothing. Though the new settlement stuff has kept them happy."

Blake couldn't help but smile, and Mason eventually shifted uncomfortably.

"What?"

"Nothing. It just suits you."

"What does?"

"Leadership. I always knew it would, you know. If you'd just applied yourself a little."

"Shut up." Mason tossed a pebble into the fire, and obviously wanted to say something but didn't know how.

"Come on," Blake said. "Out with it. Whatever it is."

Mason shook his head and shrugged. "It's not important. All that matters is getting you out of that dungeon. I feel so damn helpless."

"That's because you are, brother. Which I think you have to learn to accept. Sometimes people have to save themselves. Now tell me what's on your mind because your discomfort makes me uncomfortable."

Mason stood and paced across the cave, clearly getting more agitated.

"I told you to lay off the mind control, didn't I? When you left I guess it...wore off."

Blake nodded, understanding the rest of the story without being told.

"They're glad I'm gone,” he said, feeling strangely unbothered.

Mason looked at him with his weird, green eyes, then sat by the fire again. "They're not glad. They just..."

"Don't want me as Patron anymore."

Mason nodded, but seemed to relax when Blake understood. "You left me in a damn mess. But I don't give a shit about that. I've made it clear, when you're free you're coming back. So whatever you want to do, that's what we'll do. All that matters is getting out."

Blake smiled, feeling the usual cold center of his being warm as it always did for the rock that was Mason. "Yes you do," he said. "Give a shit, I mean. And that's why they want you."

A strange feeling struck him, then, a shiver of certainty that raced up his spine. He looked into the fire like he could see his own future, then snorted in surprise.

"I don't think I'm coming back," he said.

Mason stared for a very long moment.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"No, it's alright," Blake said, fighting a laugh. "I'm a fool sometimes, aren't I?" He smiled and met Mason's eyes, no idea how to say what he wanted to say. How did you explain to someone they had been everything you needed? That by being themselves they had saved you, a little orphan boy without anything or anyone in the world. "Mason...I've always needed you, more than you needed me. You know that, don't you?"

His brother's expression faded, his eyes staring hard. "You're scaring me now, Blake. Tell me what to do. Tell me how the fuck I can help you. There has to be a way."

Blake felt a tear threaten his eyes but fought it. "You've already helped me. More than you'll ever know.” He looked away, unable to face the damn warmth and concern in his brother's face. "It's time you stop worrying about me. Time for me to stop being so greedy and selfish. Other people need you now, too. Your girls. The settlement." Maybe the whole world, he didn’t say.

He stood and let his senses drift back to his profile and powers, readying to end the Dream Walk.

"Blake." Mason's voice was getting desperate now as he came closer. "You're wrong. You can't give up. We need you. I need you. You're Blake Nimitz, God damnit, you can't give up."

"No," Blake said, smiling a little. "I'm just Blake. I think it's time I remembered that." He tried to put his hands on his brother's shoulders and sighed in frustration. "And I’m not giving up. I'll see you soon, moron," he whispered. "But keep them all safe, and don't wait. It might take me awhile."

"Wait," Mason said, putting his hand through Blake's like a ghost, clearly no idea what to say. "Keep Dream Walking at least. Let me know what the hell is happening."

Blake nodded like he would, then let the dream world fade, thinking it likely best if he didn't.

Goodbye, brother, he thought, severing that wonderful source of strength in his mind. I'm not going to see you again, he thought, not until I can stand without you. Not until I make you proud.

He knew he’d leaned on that crutch too long. He'd let the childhood cracks in his mind and body linger and grow and maybe atrophy the things he should have strengthened. But no more.

He had to stand on his own—to deserve his fortune and his many gifts. To become the man his brother had always pretended he was. He only hoped it wasn't too late.

CHAPTER 14 - THE MAKER'S HALL

BLAKE OPENED HIS eyes in the gloom of the Maker’s Hall, feeling empty and alone. But also unafraid. You couldn’t fix a problem until you knew what it was, and now he did.

Blake wasn’t good enough.

He’d been living on charm and luck most of his life, unable to face his childhood and birth parents, unable to feel gratitude for the things he had, to see others as he saw himself. He supposed he always knew, deep down, and just didn’t care. For some bizarre reason now he did.

He wept in the dark and breathed, a little angry, a little intrigued. Whatever else Blake was he was a curious creature, and couldn’t help but ask himself the same question over and over amidst the emotional turmoil:

Why the sudden epiphany? Why had he been feeling so strange ever since he came to this ridiculous new world?

He supposed, in a way, the answer didn’t matter. Either he was going mad, or getting closer to knowing himself, or being influenced by some power beyond his control.

What he knew for certain was that he didn’t want to walk through that door, to ask to be judged without being ready—without first judging himself.

He pulled up his profile and stared at Mental Partition. It wasn’t perfect, of course, but he decided it was the best he could do. He would take the things he didn’t want to define him, and bury them there.

Powers went first. He took Mental Influence and Mind Control, staring long and hard before he dropped them into the partition. He could always bring them back, of course, it didn’t really stop him, but it was still something. A kind of personal sacrifice. He was a Psion and there was nothing he could do about that. But then he wasn’t sure he would if he could. It wasn’t the class that bothered him, not in itself.

Even the powers he’d moved weren’t wrong, exactly, he still believed that. He just knew he couldn’t currently handle their temptation. At least not yet.

Better to wait. To re-build himself in a direction less prone to corruption, less likely to make him take the easiest way. What that meant, exactly, he still wasn’t sure. But he was getting keen to find out.

He laughed suddenly, aware he was having some kind of emotional therapy session while his life was at risk—while he was buried two layers deep in dungeon being hunted by an orc king and supposed to be saving Ilya and himself. But he imagined such things never arrived when it was convenient.

Blake stood in the darkness and stared out at the colored lanes, recognizing the Arcane affinity symbol. The lack of choice vaguely annoyed him, but he suspected no matter what he did this thing was going to decide. All this nonsense was just decoration.

A piece of him rebelled, angry at all authority, angry at anyone who told him what to do. Who the hell was this alien thing to judge him? What did it know about his life, about what being a living thing meant, trapped on some damn murderous planet with no safety, no power, nothing but what you invented for yourself?

He stared at the path and clenched his fists, knowing it was really himself he was angry at. Angry at a life constructed around someone else. Around a lie. Angry at first at bad luck and then at good luck, feeling always out of control, always at the whim of fate whether good or bad, with no real choices of his own.

But he knew all he could do was face it. Step after step, Blake walked into the larger portion of the hall, following the blue light towards a pedestal beyond. He stepped off the ‘lane’ and into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

“You stand in the Hall of the Makers. What makes you think you are worthy?” echoed a disembodied voice. Blake shook his head, not comforted by the fact he’d been right about what lay ahead.

“Nothing,” he said, staring at the wall. “Except I’m here.”

It didn’t answer, and he was glad for that. He wasn’t sure he had the stomach to argue for himself—to debate some synthetic God about who he was and what he deserved. Instead he stared at a glowing blue orb floating above the pedestal he’d seen.

He saw something inside of it—something too small to be seen from a distance, so he stepped forward trying to understand. It looked like some kind of tiny movie, or maybe an opera so far away he needed a magnifying glass. Whatever it was, he had to see.

Before he’d stopped to think about it, or look over at the strange ball of clay on the table beside, Blake had the orb in his hand.

[Orb of Transcendence activated. Receiving unique Prestige Class based on all available data. Please do not drop the orb.]

Blake gasped as his body locked like he was being electrocuted. He clenched every muscle, hand in a frozen grip on the orb. Warmth flooded up and down his body like he was being washed. Or scanned…

[Unique Prestige Class formulated: Maker’s Apprentice. Implementing.]

[You have gained a Prestige Class! Maker’s Apprentice. +2 to all statistics.]

[Power synergy discovered! Psionic Construct upgraded to Psionic Making.]

[Unique class power gained: Dichotomy of Ambition. First, selfishness; then, greatness. Modification Power.]

[Title gained: Powerful friends. You gained a prestige class before earning a secondary class. +2 luck]

[Title gained: Pretty Prestigious: You have gained a prestige class before the vast majority of players. +1 to all statistics.]

[Affinity gained: Psionic, in addition to Arcane.]

[Congratulations! You have discovered a hidden player affinity.]

[Title gained: Doing it my way. Gain a non-standard affinity. +2 to a random statistic.]

Finally the magic paralysis ended, and Blake examined his gains, smiling. He looked at himself, feeling stronger and healthier than…well, ever. Even his mind felt more clear…more calm, and under his control.

He wasn't sure exactly what he'd wanted, but he knew what he'd been afraid of. He had expected the system to see all his mind controlling and double down—to give him greater and greater temptations to control everyone around him.

He did it to help. Or at least that's what he told himself. And there was truth in it, too. But deep down he knew it wasn't the only reason. He did it because it was easier, yes, but also because he was afraid.

Whether the old world or the new, he had always feared that without his charm, without his 'powers' of persuasion or flattery or intimidation, that people wouldn't listen to him. Wouldn't care about him. That he'd be helpless. That he'd be nothing.

And though he didn't yet understand his new powers or prestige class, he had a feeling it was giving him another path. A path to build something on his own. No one to hurt, no temptations to lead him astray. At least in theory...

But there was time to explore his new powers. First, he moved to the strange, floating clay ball on the other pedestal and walked around it examining. Maybe it was another sort of Mana Gem? But Mason gave him the impression the item both and he and Carl had gotten were substantial. Like a major, almost class defining artifact, especially in the case of Carl.

Blake supposed it wasn't worth much speculation. He knew exactly what was going to happen here, and there wasn’t much point in delaying it. He reached out and took the ball.

[You have received Primordial Clay. Hath not the potter power over the clay? To make one vessel unto honor, and another unto dishonor?]

[Do you wish to attune the Primordial Clay?]

Blake was pretty sure that item description was a bible quote. His parents had half-heartedly tried to raise him Catholic, but he wasn’t remotely religious. Still, for some reason it struck him in that moment.

He took a deep breath and accepted the attunement, and again his body froze with violent energy, the pain an almost welcome thing to distract his churning mind. When it was over he watched as the item appeared in his vision like it had always been there.

The little ball floated up before his eyes, spinning like a planet before two circles appeared on its surface. The circles deepened and reformed with a thin covering and little lines. Then the covering hardened and turned a darker color before snapping open.

The clay opened its eyes, and stared.

"Uh. Hello there," Blake said.

The orb...squeaked?

[Please select Primary Clay Form,] the system intoned in his mind. [Familiar mode. Or Protector mode.]

A visual image of both 'modes' formed in Blake's mind. The 'familiar' was basically just a floating orb, not so different than the thing looked now. But little graphs and charts seemed to indicate it could help him with spells and a variety of tasks.

The protector looked like...well, like a little person. He was pretty sure the orb would be easier to hide and carry around, and he suspected his new Psionic Making would be more combat oriented. He took the Familiar.

The orb again started to reform and change shape, until the thing had a mouth and a bit more definition, until it looked like a floating Japanese robot made for kids.

"Hello..." Blake said again. "Can you talk now?"

The little eyes blinked and looked around as if confused, then widened as the thing grinned at Blake with a tiny, round mouth.

"Oh, yes!" it said with a childish voice. "Thank you, master, for giving me life!"

"You're quite welcome." Blake smiled. "Now what can you do for me?"

"So many things!" The little orb spun in an excited circle. "I can see things, and I know things, and I can do quite a lot. Er, at least a few things. Actually, I have no idea if what I can do is a lot or a little. But I can't wait to get started!"

Blake apparently had a new 'Familiar' tab near his profile and pulled it up with a thought. His eyes widened as he saw the list. His orb could do quite a lot.

First and foremost, it had something called 'Analysis', which said it could clone both civilian and player versions of identification powers. That alone would have made Blake happy.

But it could also help with his powers—enhancing some, modifying some, even using some for him, whatever exactly that meant. It could hide and shield itself. And even if it was destroyed, could be reformed with time.

He could also transform it to its 'protector' shape whenever he wished, it just cost him mana.

"I guess you're going to need a name." Blake grinned, enjoying watching the little thing spin and bob with excitement. "How about uh…” he thought of the almost childish, giddy voice and grinned, thinking back to an old favorite videogame. “How about Navi?”

"Oh yes, wonderful name, Master! Do you need my help now? Oh I just can't wait to do something!"

"Don't worry," Blake said, walking towards the door. He thought of Ilya trapped somewhere, and all the work and testing he had to do now, and how much mana it would surely require. Not for the first time, he wished he had Seul-ki down here. "I have plenty for you to do."

* * *

Blake ignored a curious Lumiere as he walked back out into the main hall. First things were first. He checked his profile.

Blake Nimitz

Level: 9

Class: Psion

Prestige Class: Maker’s Apprentice

Strength - 6

Dexterity - 6

Vitality - 8

Intellect - 11

Will - 9

Presence - 15

Luck - 48

Titles: Alpha01, Alpha Tester, Patron, Killer, Puppet Master, Orc Whisperer, Phase Jumper, Deus ex magicka, Powerful friends, Pretty Prestigious

Powers: Mental Influence (enhanced), Telekinesis, Meditation, Mind Control, Arcane Affinity* (Adaptive Veil), Arcane Blast, Dream Walk, Psionic Shield, Mental Partition, True Making, Duality of Ambition

Things were definitely improving, which should have put Blake in a rather good mood. But his situation wasn't exactly ideal.

"What's the way out of here? Other than that corridor I came from." He gestured, and Lumiere frowned and glanced around the hall.

"There's no other entrance. Or at least there shouldn't be. But there's been some…damage in the northwest section. It's where the critters get through."

Oh. A demon hole, Blake thought. Fantastic.

"Show me."

Lumiere unhappily obeyed, shining his light forward until Blake found the 'entrance' in question. It was a circular hole about as tall as a man, and looked like a tunnel to hell covered by a sewer grate. The stink alone sent Blake back a step, the vague brown and pink colors reminding him of rotting meat. He reached for the gate before Lumiere shrieked in alarm.

"Don't touch, please. The grate isn't ours. I don't know who or what made it but touching it might...be not good."

Blake squinted, and looked at Navi’s powers. "You got your first job, little guy." He activated 'Analysis.'

[Gate. Iron. Rusty.]

Blake snorted at the description and knocked on one of the bars. He saw no lock or any way to open it, like it had been sealed and basically fused into the entrance from the other side. Telekinesis wasn't likely strong enough to rip it open. And he doubted he could 'animate' it and tell it to open like he had the last gate, since it had no mechanism to do it.

"Just nothing for it," he said with a sigh, though in truth he felt excitement. "We're going to have to experiment."

He supposed he could charge another of the statues in the armory, but he needed to test his powers anyway. Psionic Making seemed a good place to start before he worried about trying to 'modify' it with whatever the hell Duality of Ambition and his new pet did. He hoped he had the same level of control as before.

Could he make something strong enough to smash an iron gate? That seemed kind of a tall order. But maybe between it and Telekinesis they could manage. He took a deep breath, starting to realize he was delaying the inevitable.

"OK," he whispered, opening his powers, forcing himself to accept why he was concerned. "I gave up becoming some kind of Mind Controlling mastermind for this...so. Here we go...let's see if we can...pull some metal out of some rock..."

The newly 'synergized' power seemed largely the same as before. The world glowed with possibility, and he could animate anything from the gate to his clothes and a nearby broom.

Except now...he blinked...now there was an option to 'Make' instead of animate. And it didn't need any source at all. He picked that.

As before his mana took an instant hit. Then a kind of 'design' screen opened. It was like making a character in an RPG, except he could pick the shape and appearance of the thing with shockingly wide possibility. He felt momentarily overwhelmed, not at all sure where to start before he saw a few 'presets'.

The first looked more or less human. Then there was something like a walking table, which he guessed was designed to carry things. The third was tiny and had wings—maybe it was some kind of carrier pigeon? Blake couldn't help but get excited at it all, but for now it was time to just get something useful. He picked the humanoid, and the same 'slider' for duration appeared.

He slid it back and forth, then stopped and blinked when he reached the end.

Holy shit. It said permanent.

"Uh, Navi?"

"Yes Master?"

"How much do you know about my Psionic Making power?"

"Quite a lot, Master. What would you like to know?"

Blake smiled, looking at the little details of the humanoid he could modify, wondering if he should give it more arms.

"I want to know everything."

CHAPTER 15 - CEREBUS

MASON CAME FROM the darkness screaming, Claws out and ready to kill, ready to die. He had gone from a ‘cave’ and a meeting with Blake, to a rotting forest filled with monsters. For a good long minute it was like watching a horror flick on acid, then it pulled him away.

“Well, you look fun.”

Mason blinked until he saw a huge wooden totem in the center of spherical wooden room. A mutant…goat-snake lay curled around it, staring at Mason before it yawned. Apparently it was also a talking mutant goat-snake.

“Give me my wolf,” Mason snarled, looking at the snake’s body for any possible wolf-shaped bumps.

“Your wolf?” The snake body extended itself, ram’s head jutting forward to bleed green light from its eyes as it stared. “Mmm. No. I think not. What have they done to you, my beautiful, pale ape? You have been…trained. Civilized.”

Mason clenched the grips on his Claws, quickly losing patience, anger covering any feeling of fear.

“No one did anything to me. Now stop stalling and…”

The snake-ram laughed, sound drowning out Mason’s voice easily before it spoke again.

“Oh but they did. Your eyes were just hooded as they broke you to the fist. You are meant to be wild and free. And what a beautiful creature you could be, with your cunning and your strength. The greatest predator of the great forest—patient and terrifying, eating both beast and leaf, taking whatever mates you wish. You should rule that forest like a king.”

Mason felt his anger cool, thrown off by the creature’s words and manner.

“What are you?”

“Nothing,” said the creature, “if not Cerebus. If not the god of wild and dangerous things.”

Mason unsummoned his Claws and lifted his bow.

“Well, Cerebus, are you going to give me my friend? Or am I going to put an arrow in your eye?”

The goat-head smiled, revealing snake-like fangs and two rows of teeth that belonged in a dinosaur museum.

“I’m not going to give you anything.”

Mason’s Power Shot streaked straight through the goat-head’s eye, slamming into the totem behind with a loud crack. The creature laughed.

“There he is! There is the beautiful beast who does what he wishes, when he wishes! But you cannot hurt me. I am but a spirit in this holy place. You could destroy my totem, if you wished, and I would trouble you no more. I couldn’t stop you.”

Mason looked at the large, but basically wooden edifice and seriously considered it. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“You should!” Again the creature smiled. “If that is what you wish.

Mason took a long, suffering breath, knowing he was again talking to something like the crone, or the nymphs. This was all part of the game, he knew, and try as he might he knew he had to play.

“Apparently I don’t.” He put away his bow and took several calming breaths. “Why do you know me? Why are you here?”

“I know all the beasts of the wild,” said the creature, curling lazily around its totem home. “Even the domesticated descendants of the great hunting apes. I wonder, do the trees call you still? Do you feel their branches as if gripped in your smooth, pink palms?”

“Not so smooth.” Mason held up his increasingly rough, callused hands, and the creature chuckled amiably. Mason took a breath and tried to stay calm. “What have you done with my wolf?”

“Nothing.” Apparently a snake-goat could shrug. “It looked upon me, and remembered what it was.” When Mason just stared it grinned. “You’re his master. And a clever one. But you’re not his kin, clever ape.”

“His kin would have abandoned him, maybe killed him. I saved him from that.”

“Would you rather die, or live as a slave?” Cerebus snapped.

Mason frowned, taken aback. “He’s not my slave. I look after him, and he looks after me.”

“Then bond him, ranger. Until you do he is nothing but a pet.”

“I…” Mason shrugged, feeling suddenly ignorant. “I don’t know what you mean, or how…”

“Of course you don’t.” Cerebus rolled his eyes slit eyes. “Gaia did not teach you. And why would she? What does that ignorant harlot know of such things? Touch the totem, clever ape. And you will see. I will teach you.”

Mason felt strangely compelled to do exactly that. He stared at the totem and his fingers twitched, his mind imagining the feel of the wood.

“What’s going to happen if I do?”

“Who can say?” The goat-snake yawned and curled around the totem. “But wildness is your birthright. Reclaim it. Or, let Gaia fatten and tame you with honey and softness. It makes no difference to me. The choice is yours.”

Mason ground his teeth, hesitating. Whatever nonsense this thing was speaking, it wasn’t all bullshit. Mason understood. He felt the call. He heard drums and saw fire and a ring of men and beasts screaming their challenge into the night. It felt exciting. Familiar.

He felt..having no other proper word…a sense of freedom, radiating from the totem like waves of heat.

It wasn’t the first time. He’d felt it first with the gnolls in his tutorial, when he thought of nothing but survival and killing the next creature that wanted his life. Then again with Haley when he took her in the trees. When he ran through the woods with Streak at his side, away from the others with no laws or opinions or rules.

Even before the game—when he was younger the same feeling had come from violence and competition—beating those who stood against him, or hurting those he felt deserved it. In a way, it had always been a part of him, maybe the deepest part of him. The part that kept him sane.

The word ‘civilized’ kept ringing in his ears. Isn’t that what Blake and Nassau kept him? Civilized? So did Haley, and Rebecca. He understood what it was saying. Oh yes, he understood. What might he become if he was left alone? If he had nothing left to lose?

“Patron? Are you alright?

Mason blinked and looked back. He found Phuong and the others emerging from the nearby tunnel, the older man’s sharp eyes locked on his face.

Apparently Mason had walked all the way to the totem. Why hadn’t he realized? His hand was mere inches from the symbols on the wood, his fingers trembling. Phuong looked at the totem, and his hand, and the creature staring from above.

“Do you…think that’s wise?”

Mason practically laughed out loud. No he didn’t think it was wise. But nothing made sense anymore. What were you supposed to do when all the things that made men good were ripped to shreds, and only the strong survived? What the hell did a ‘wise’ man do when everything was turned to shit?

For some reason he thought about Duality of Life and what it did to him, the loss of control, the almost alien feeling that overtook him. The nymphs, too, stripped him of control. It seemed something of a theme with Gaia, and Mason wasn’t at all sure he approved. Was this another path?

Apparently there was more than one ‘god’ of nature. Mason had been given a choice before he understood, before he’d felt he had any other option. And even then, the system picked his prestige class too.

He was getting tired of being forced into things. Whatever this Cerebus was, he felt brutally, dangerously straight forward. He didn’t care and didn’t pretend otherwise. He offered a path, and you took it or not. That was the kind of god Mason could respect.

“I have to help Streak,” he said, knowing it wasn’t the full answer. But he decided if he hesitated here, if he refused to face whatever this was, he would always regret it.

Whatever this Cerebus really was, Mason needed to find out. If he did nothing he would always be frightened of his own power, of being controlled by forces beyond him, of becoming lost and resentful.

So he reached for the totem. As he touched it the snake stared with no pleasure, no surprise, no judgment in its strange, slit eyes. It just observed.

[Hidden challenge activated: Essence Test. Discover and master your inner nature to modify your affinity with a unique feature! This is a mortal test and it cannot be exited. Would you still like to proceed?]

Mason looked at his hand and found it no longer shook. He wasn’t afraid of death, only dying without being the man he wanted to be. He thought of what the challenge might offer, and found he was almost…excited.

He clicked yes, and the snake unfurled in the blink of an eye, wrapping around him without really touching him. He thought maybe he heard the others cry out in warning, then everything was green, ghostly coils.

CHAPTER 16 - EVERY LITTLE THING BLAKE DOES

TURNED OUT EVERY little thing Blake did to his creations had a cost. There was something like a 'mean' in terms of size, and if he made something...unshapely, it would either tell him it didn't work or warn him the thing would spend most of its time falling over.

Anything he made 'permanent' cost a shitload of mana, and took a lot of time. It also cost him a piece of his total mana until he re-absorbed it or it was destroyed.

But other than that, not only could he make a permanent servant, he could make as many as his mana allowed for. Finally, he could decide what 'affinity' to summon them with. Though as far as he could tell his only choices were 'Arcane' or 'Psionic'.

"What's the difference?" he asked Navi, who squinted her (its? Her, he decided on a whim) cute little eyes.

"Affinity is very important, Master! Arcane will give your creation a simple energy to use in its attacks."

Blake nodded, thinking back to the statue more or less frying that demon with its hands.

"And Psionic?"

"Great resistance to magic, Master." Navi beamed. "Immunity to most anything except physical destruction."

Blake couldn’t help but grin at his familiar, knowing how incredibly valuable it was to finally have an actual source of knowledge about the game.

"I'm extremely pleased with your work so far, Navi," he said, and the little orb practically ripped its 'face' smiling. "God I hope these constructs don't suck," he muttered to himself, finally finishing the prompts, choosing more or less a basic Arcane humanoid for now.

The moment he did, his mana bar drained from about to half to basically nothing. His body locked into a compulsive stance that gave him very little movement, his hands jut forward like he was molding clay. It didn't take much attention at first, but soon he could feel energy shifting and building between his hands.

"Holy shit," he said, laughing at the feeling of holding such power. He felt like he was watching a storm build on his command, like static electricity was growing in an orb in front of him. Pretty soon even his eyes felt locked, the world disappearing all around as the magic built and glazed his eyes like a drug.

When it finally released, he grunted and felt sweat all over his body. The energy in front of him burst, and like Arnold Schwarzenegger standing from his time travel in Terminator 2, a blue human about Blake's height stood and stared.

"Ha!" Blake clapped his hands and saw the 'profile' of his new minion near his powers. He could even command it without words, more or less—just by focusing like he could on any other power. Unfortunately, the thing didn't look very strong.

It also looked disturbingly like Blake, and he made a mental note to avoid that going forward. He noticed his mana pool had greyed out a little at the top of the 'ball', losing maybe 10% of his total. Since it had taken about half to cast, that meant he could potentially have about five of the damn things walking around permanently!

Well, he thought, cracking his knuckles and his neck. It was time for the rubber to meet the road.

"OK, Arnie," he said, looking at the gate. "Let's see if we can bust this sucker open. You pull, I'll...well, I'll pull too."

Blake prepped Telekinesis with what scraps of mana remained, ready to seize the whole grate and rip it from the stone. His blue doppleganger walked to the bars, grabbing it with what must have been the worst lifting posture Blake had ever seen.

"I hope you can't throw out your back," he said, activating his power.

A sound like hissing steam came from the iron. Blake's 'golem' pushed its hands right through the bars, just as the statue had done with the demon. In about 5 seconds flat, it melted the iron and swiped it all away like cobwebs, molten metal dripping to the floor. Then it stepped back and gestured at the open tunnel.

Blake closed his mouth, and turned off Telekinesis.

Yeah. That’d do. That’d do just fine. But it wasn't time to leave the Maker Hall yet. He was safe, and being given food and water, and for the first time had something (and maybe two things) that could answer questions about his powers, and maybe the game itself.

He thought about Ilya, closing his eyes and choosing to believe she was alive and would be fine until the system told him he had a deadline. He couldn't help anyone as he was—without being fully in command of his new powers and using them to their potential.

"Just hold on," he whispered, "I'm coming, Ilya. I promise you."

* * *

Ilya woke up in a cage. She stayed perfectly still, not wanting to alert her captors, to try and understand her situation before she moved. She remembered running from the orc king with Thrall. Er, Blake. She remembered the wooden barrier being pulled apart, then running inside and watching the human wizard disappear.

She'd run on, hearing the warriors close behind, terrified of what might lie ahead through empty corridors...and then...

She blinked. Then nothing. Something had struck her, maybe? Had she fallen down some kind of mineshaft? Finally she opened her eyes more than a slit, then wiggled her fingers and toes and moved her limbs. She felt fine. Unharmed. She couldn't see much except some light coming from somewhere in the room, despite her usually decent vision in the dark of the underground.

When she sat up she found she'd been...cleaned? Her captors had put her into some kind of robe, which disturbed her enough to look underneath and find…nightwear? She felt herself flush with heat at the embarrassment of it all, then looked angrily for her jailers.

Her 'cage' was quite spacious—filled with barrels of water and what looked like dried or salted food. There were buckets to do her business, a chair, and several furs to sleep on. Eventually she stood and walked to the bars, looking out for anyone or anything nearby. She froze as she realized.

The cage was hanging in the air. She forced herself to stand on her tiptoes and look down, only to stare at a gaping chasm that even to orc eyes looked like an endless pit of darkness.

Her heart pounded as she slowly withdrew, turning and looking for something, anything to make sense of what was happening. Had Gromsh caught her? Was she being held in some kind of prison in another tower?

Huge, red eyes greeted her on the opposite side of the cage. She screamed in surprise, and two rows of white fangs grew into a smile.

"Sleepy little orcy,” rasped a horrible voice like grating metal. “I've been wondering for hours what you did to earn my cage."

Ilya screamed again as the creature slammed itsself against the bars, pressing a horrific face as far as possible as its red veined eyes searched her, drool from its terrible maw dripping down the metal.

"Tell me, won't you? Your…misdeeds? Oh please please please. Did you seduce your own kin? No? Did you murder your children? Did you...eat them?"

Ilya backed as far away as she could, heart pounding in terror. Then she closed her fists and tried to catch her breath. Her people had long feared magic despite magic itself not being evil—not being different than any other worldly thing.

She knew they likely feared demons in the same way. It would just be a creature like any other, despite the myths and the many stories meant to frighten children. She had never seen a demon, but her mother had taught her many of their ways.

"You don't frighten me, Kazikdra." She used the Oracle's ancient slur for the dwellers of the deep earth.

"Ohhh!" The demon circled and Ilya heard the flapping of massive wings. "An orc witch. And such a young and beautiful one. I see. You haven't been naughty." The demon scraped the bars with some kind of weapon, and sent sparks cascading down into the gloom. "You're some orc hero's prize, aren't you?" The demon laughed and laughed.

Ilya's mother told her demons could wield mind magic—that to tell them anything at all might give them even more power over you. She said nothing, already regretting speaking in the first place. The demon just kept circling and smiling with those terrifying teeth.

"How unlucky. How cruel. Someone is coming, little she-orc. Does that comfort you? The earth told me to wait, and they would come. But I've never seen a flying orc."

Ilya tried to ignore it. She searched her cage, going through some of the barrels, finding nothing at all she could use and not knowing what the hell she could do anyway. She had some spells she could try, but nothing to possibly help her defeat a demon, or get her out of this cage.

Would Blake come for her? Is that what the creature was saying? Was she part of some kind of...test?

She tried to lay down on the furs and sleep, knowing the demon's eyes were on her. Her mother had told her the first Oracles were taught by the gods to serve the ancient chiefs—to help them face such deadly perils as demons and dragons, and so help their people survive. They had forgotten, she knew. For too long they had seen no trace of the ancient evils, and lost their way.

Perhaps that was why ‘King’ Gromsh had come—a curse on a people whose memories had faded, whose purpose had been lost. They were being punished by the gods. And they deserved it.

"I should have listened to you, Mother." Ilya wept into her furs. "I should have been stronger. Tried more. Tried..." she clutched the softness and covered her face, eventually drifting closer to sleep.

She pictured Thrall and sometimes the real human face of Blake with a combination of anger and hope. If Gromsh was sent by the gods, then maybe he was sent, too. It made a sick kind of sense—a human savior to humble and teach a wayward people.

To save them. To save her. She wasn’t sure if she hoped it was true or not.

* * *

Blake smiled when he found the orc girl's sleeping mind. He'd had a rather long day of testing constructs, finally laying down to rest before it occurred to him to try. Who said he could only Dreamwalk into humans? And why work with hypotheticals when the orc could potentially tell him everything he needed to know?

He entered her dreams with no trouble, sighing as he found them largely unlit and suited to the darkness dwelling creature. But then he reminded himself it was just a dream, and not remotely real, and lit nearly everything with just a thought.

"I'm getting better at this," he decided, tempted to stop and produce a fake meal. But he supposed there was plenty to do and it all took mana, and he'd best not waste any time.

He found Ilya in her family home, at a table with orcs young and old, laughing and playing and eating together. Children tussled at her feet with some kind of mole-like pets. A handsome orc stood and made some kind of speech to her family, her eyes shining with pleasure as she watched it all. Then she blinked and saw Blake, and the family vanished.

"Sorry to disturb," he said, feeling a touch awkward, but also pleased to see her. "I was hoping you could answer some questions."

"Blake?" Ilya blinked and stood. "What a strange dream...I don't usually...I'm not so aware."

"I'm quite real," he said, gesturing to two chairs before taking one. "Are you alright? Are you safe?"

"I'm..." she stared at him and he supposed she wasn't really used to his human face. "Your eyes are so...blue," she said, almost entranced.

"Ilya, I need you to focus. I can enter dreams with my magic. This is me, really here, and I need your help to find you. Can you help me?"

She blinked and shook her head. "Yes." She looked away as if thinking. "I'm trapped in a cage, hanging somewhere with a flying demon. He knows you’re coming. I don't know how I got there."

Blake nodded, pleased that it was what he'd thought—that roboGod had used Ilya in its little games. It was much better than the alternative.

"You have time, then? Food and water? You aren't being harmed?"

"No, no...I mean, yes, I have time. It's...frightening, and boring. But, I'm alright. And you?"

"Eh?" Blake nodded then met her eyes, lost in thoughts of flying constructs. "Me? Yes I'm fine." He smiled and only hoped he could get her out of this mess. "I'm sorry, Ilya, for involving you in...all this. I'm going to get you out. Then we're going to deal with Gromsh. I promise you."

Ilya smiled but it was...polite. It was clear she didn't have much hope he could do any of that. But he didn't blame her, and he didn't need her faith.

"I'll be there soon," he said, letting the dream world fade. "A few days maybe. But don't worry. I'm coming. I'm going to save you."

She was saying something like 'thank you' as he faded, but he couldn't stand the thought of it. He'd ruined what was left of her life already—making her a criminal and an outcast in her home.

If he failed now she'd be killed or worse. And who knew, maybe even if he succeeded. If that was the case, he'd try to take her to Nassau, and to hell with whatever they thought. She'd be safe there, at least as safe as anyone.

Blake returned to his senses and closed his eyes, Meditating in the last few moments before sleep. The day had been productive, but now things needed to change. He had time and needed every scrap of it.

To plan how to save Ilya, then to plan how to stop Gromsh. This dungeon, this hall, was a huge blessing and he intended to make use of it.

First sleep. Then an army of new constructs. This time with wings.

CHAPTER 17 - DO YOU NOT SEE THE DEMON?

ILYA WATCHED BLAKE fade from her dream, so desperate for him to stay she woke in a cold sweat. She blinked awake and slowly turned to look from her cage, and found the demon's red eyes staring from the closest bars. She covered the scream with her hand, heart sprinting as the demon smiled.

"Dreams within dreams, is it? Oh yes, pretty orc. I sensed the magic. Your doomed hero can't hide from me. No. Not from me."

The creature pushed away from the cage and flapped its wings, red eyes blazing as it stretched and flexed its huge, muscled body.

"I must wait," it said again and again. "Wait, wait, wait. Dream dream dream. Then eat and torture little orcs. No, no," it laughed. "Torture and eat. That's the way, torture then eat."

Ilya sat up and fought to clear her mind. If the creature was trying to terrify her, it was doing a good job. She hadn't seen any spells from Blake that convinced her he could kill this demon. Moving objects was very impressive but she could see no way to use it to destroy such a powerful thing. Drop the cage on him, maybe? Unlikely.

His mind magic wouldn’t work. Demons were said to use such spells, and his recognition of the dream magic seemed proof enough. Did he have more? Something she hadn't seen? Probably. But his plan to kill Gromsh seemed largely to use orc warriors.

No. Ilya needed to help him.

The only way she could see to do that was to speak to the spirits of the dead oracles who came before her. Her mother had said it was dangerous magic that could wake the wrong spirits, but Ilya saw no other choice. She could either sit in her cage, useless and helpless until the inevitable end. Or she could take a chance.

With a grim smile, she thought maybe the spirits would fight with the demon. Of course, if they were powerful enough to do that, then only the gods knew what they'd do to Ilya when they were finished. Spirits didn’t like the living very much.

She closed her eyes and started her spell. She had to repeat the words of the ancient orc clans in perfect order, then the names of her ancestors in an unbroken line. One of the functions of the oracles had always been to remember the history of their people, but they had learned that great power came from the restless spirits of the dead.

She spoke the words, and the names, ignoring the demon's taunts when it heard her. She blocked out the world as her mother taught her, imagining the flame of a single candle, the soft feel of the blankets with her hands.

She smiled when she got to the names of her grandparents, then her parents, and siblings. As she felt the magic swirling around her, a strange feeling of warmth seemed to fill something she'd been missing inside. It was loneliness, she realized—the magic and the spirits seemed to be filling up a missing piece of her spirit, reminding her of who she was.

She opened her eyes, and the ghostly forms of a dozen oracle crones stood staring from the far side of her cage.

"Impudent girl," whispered one hoarsely. "Where is her offering? Where are her robes of clan and kin?"

"Do you not see the demon, you old fool?" A bent, ancient orc matriarch practically hissed until the others cleared her a path to sit in a ghostly chair. She smiled at Ilya with a single tooth. "Go on, girl. You've cast your spell correctly, and thank the gods for that. Now tell us what you wish of us. Perhaps you’ll survive it."

Ilya tried not to be awed or terrified, fighting a panic that threatened to blank her mind and tongue. "A...warrior will come to face the demon,” she said. “He will need my help. Can you teach me a...spell? To hurt the creature? To do something?"

Several of the old oracles tsked and scoffed, but the old crone waved a hand at them. "You don't kill demons with magic, child. Save for the kind you touch them with. I wouldn't recommend trying that. Give me your staff, Agrita." The crone stretched out a ghostly hand, and another old orc glared until she obeyed.

"Here we are. Grip this, girl. Don't be frightened. Come, come, I'm not getting any younger."

Ilya seized it with a trembling hand, wincing at the icy cold touch.

"There we are now," said the old oracle, her eyes losing their kindly warmth. Her voice harshened and the crones chanted in unison, and Ilya couldn't seem to take her hand off the staff.

"Wait...you’re hurting me…stop..." the cold seeped down her arm, lancing through her until her chest ached and her breath frosted in the air. "Please," she whispered, feeling still and powerless and heavy, so very heavy.

"Join uss," whispered the oracles. "Join uss."

Ilya's eyes drooped and the world faded. She felt like she was dying. Her last thoughts were in apology to her family, and to Blake for coming to face the demon for no reason. But she couldn't wait to see her kin in the afterlife.

* * *

Ilya woke with a groan, and a cramp in her hand so terrible she cried out and slowly released a grip she felt she'd been holding for eternity. She was alive. She was alive! Wasn't she?

[Item gained: Staff of the Ancient Stoneblood Oracles. May it serve you as it served your forebears. Enhances all restorative and spiritual casting. Stirs cauldrons. Strikes uppity youths.]

[Class removed: Apprentice Oracle.]

[Class gained: Oracle of the towers. Please select your class powers.]

Ilya was holding a dark, wooden staff much like her mother’s, but this one held some kind of red gem clutched at its head. She ran her fingers over the whorls and lines in the wood, then finally over the smooth surface of the ruby.

"Thank you, ancestors," she whispered as she stared at the text, vision blurred by her tears. A long list of potential powers scrolled before her eyes, but she could only choose three.

The oracles said she couldn't kill the demon with magic, so the offensive options made little sense. One day, perhaps, but first she had to survive and get out of this cage.

Healing and vision magic had always been the fundamentals of the Oracle, so she felt she had little choice but to take at least one. Second Sight or Far Seeing wouldn't help her, not with this—they showed hidden objects or let her see into the distance, respectively.

So she chose Healing Wind first. It wasn't as powerful as the touch version, but she could heal Blake through the bars at range.

Now for the difficult choices. Oracles also had powerful enhancement spells, but these were largely for warriors. Like Shamans, she could also take spells to resist magic. Finally, she could summon spirits in battle, or command beasts in various ways. Both appealed to her, but again likely wouldn't do much to the demon.

With little delay, she took a single target enhance power—Fortify Body, and a single target resist—Protection. The first would channel her mana into thick layers of strength and vitality, making even the slight wizard into a warrior for a time. Protection would make him all but immune to any kind of magic that tried to harm him physically, at least until Ilya’s mana ran dry.

She clenched her jaw and then her staff with her other hand, uncertain if she'd made the best choices, but knowing it was far better than nothing. The demon was staring again, eyes squinted as it inspected the staff and sniffed around the cage.

"Why do I smell dead things?" it growled. "Dead she-orcs. Dried up wombs and dried up souls. What have you done, you sneaky little thing?"

For the first time Ilya met the creature's eyes, still afraid but brave enough now to face it. She clutched her ancestor's staff and stared through the bars, showing her fangs.

"You will soon see, Kazikdra," she said with as much courage as she could manage. "The Stonebloods remember. We killed your kind once. We will do so again."

The demon stared and stared as it flapped its huge wings. It no longer smiled. Though Ilya wasn't sure if that was less frightening, or more.

* * *

Blake leaned against the cold stone and closed his eyes, trying to find a moment of calm. His mind was getting...busy.

His fifth permanent construct joined the others in the armory, and he took a breath and inspected them. His mana was nearly gone but that didn't matter, controlling them didn't take any. What it did take was incredible focus and quick thinking, which drained his mind in other, far less system-calculated ways.

He could set the constructs on simple 'modes' that dictated behavior, basically 'defensive' or 'offensive' in video game terms that just meant bodyguards or aggressive murder-bots. But he could also program them with all kinds of greater detail, much like his Mental Partition. And he could also command them individually with far more control if he focused.

His constructs stood in a line, all thin, light humanoids to accommodate their wings. Two were Psionic Affinity, three Arcane. Blake's plan was to send in the Psionic first to distract and absorb the creature's attention, then for the arcane to attack and use their super-heated strikes. If that all failed, his plan was to bust Ilya out of her cage, and run like hell.

But first he needed a little practice. The Maker Hall had a huge, cavernous ceiling, with plenty of room to fly around. With one last deep breath, and a quick check to make sure he had enough mana for Telekinesis, Blake ordered a construct to carry him into the air.

It seized him rather roughly, then furiously beat its wings and leapt, but clearly couldn't ascend with the added weight. He brought in a second construct, and together they managed to lift him up.

He swore and grunted in pain as they damn near pulled him apart, then re-adjusted their position to keep him balanced between.

"Be careful, master!" Navi zipped up and flew beside him, the orb able to 'fly' with no discernible concern for physics.

"How do you fly, anyway?" Blake said, trying to find a slightly more comfortable position between his minions.

"Am I flying?" Navi looked down and spun several rotations before it stopped. "I guess I am!"

Blake rolled his eyes, then winced as his minions took him high enough to break his legs if he fell. "OK," he muttered. "Now don't rip me apart. Or drop me."

He commanded them to fly him back and forth, then circle around the cavern. The air rushed past him, and after a minute or two of constant panic, he had to admit, this was pretty damn fun.

"OK," he glanced at the hard stone floor. "Now set me down. Gently."

The constructs descended, their strange, almost rubbery wings slowing their movements and expanding to kind of drift them down. Blake stumbled a little as his shoes hit the ground. But all things considered, it had all gone rather well.

“Right." He re-arranged his dirty clothes and shook off the fear, again inspecting his constructs. What he needed now, he decided, was something to destroy.

He glanced at Lumiere, who watched quizzically not far off, shrinking at Blake's gaze. But obviously the little candle-bot wasn’t a useful test. And everything dangerous in the hall was dead.

Blake smiled, eventually deciding on a solution. He’d need a little more mana. Then it was time for robot wars.

CHAPTER 18 - EVERYTHING...COPACETIC?

TREES. TREES EVERYWHERE. Mason smelled smoke and the coppery tang of blood in the air, the scent familiar and welcome and…good.

He felt danger but wasn’t afraid. He stepped over tree roots and swept branches until he found the clearing he knew would be ahead.

A giant of a man with antlers sat on a vine and bramble throne atop a platform of bones. His body was a mountain of muscle covered in scars, only a long loincloth covering him from waist to knees. His green and golden eyes watched Mason, his chin resting in one hand.

“Marked by Gaia,” he grumbled with a voice deep as the sea. “A strutting peacock. A scented flower.” He held out a hand, and two nymphs huddled at his feet rose with a basin full of water. He looked inside and snorted. “Salmon? A spawning breeder. In pursuit of what? Peace? Wisdom? You bore me.”

Mason came closer so he could see inside the bowl. Images flickered across the water. He saw gnolls, himself covered in blood, then acid, killing the Devourer, killing orcs and players and wolves.

“Still,” the horned-man smiled. “There is hope for you, I think. Show me your weapons.”

Mason practically growled as he summoned his Claws. The giant laughed.

“Good. The druids have not yet corrupted you completely. Now fight. Fight for your life. For your dignity. For your soul.”

A bear twice Mason’s size emerged from the trees and roared. Branches grew from its head and body, rising up and connecting to the trees like a spider’s webs. It rose up on its hind legs and practically beat its chest with its claws.

Mason activated Aspect of the Cheetah, and charged. He could hear Cerebus or whatever the hell it was laughing with delight as he raced at the bear. But that didn’t stop him.

The creature dropped and swiped with one massive paw, but Mason sped past and rolled between its legs, slicing one with Crippling Strike and moving straight through. He turned and struck with Predator’s Strike and another slice with his smaller Claw before leaping back as the bear turned.

“Where are your loving druids?” boomed the giant. “Does their wisdom shield you? Does their precious lust for life kill your enemy?”

The bear roared and chased, bleeding now and enraged. Mason withdrew but hacked every time it extended a paw, cutting away chunks of flesh and claw.

“You must first survive to breed. To gain knowledge. Only the worthy last. Only the strong.”

Mason mostly tried to ignore the words, but he couldn’t help but agree. He hacked at the bear and kept away until it lost its patience and charged. The clearing had only so much space and he had only moments to decide—under, or around?

He went to the side, slashing at thick fur but forcing himself to get close enough to sink his blades deep. The bear turned and swiped but Mason was too fast. Then it charged again, this time recklessly with mouth open wide.

Mason leapt straight at it, and sunk his longer sword straight into its throat. The roar stopped as blood and air hissed from its neck, huge body trembling then falling as Mason sliced and finished it.

“Good!” The giant had come forward in his throne, clutching at it with enthusiasm. “The hunter does not ask why. He takes. He kills. He eats.”

The word sent a tremble through Mason’s body, and he remembered Nature’s Wrath and used it on the corpse just to see its anatomy. He could see the heart still beating slowly and dropped to his knees, cutting his way through the animal’s body until he seized it.

Somehow it was still beating. Still strong. The sound was like some ancient music only Mason could hear. He stared as he held the huge organ in his hands, watching it rise and fall. Then he leaned forward, took a bite, and chewed.

The taste…was wrong, revolting. He spit it out and tossed the thing away.

“Pah!” Cerebus growled. “Just as I expected, you’re weak. You wouldn’t eat younglings to survive, would you? Or to put your mate in heat. Or kill a rival before he could challenge you. Why should I give you power when you won’t even use it?

“My strength…” Mason spit blood. “…is to protect what’s mine. Not to take what isn’t.”

The bear’s corpse just…vanished. Growls came from everywhere around the circle, familiar enough Mason blinked and looked for Streak.

“How noble.” It was clear what the giant thought of that word. “But first you must claim something to protect.”

Wolves came snarling from every direction. They looked much like those Mason found in the great woods, if paler and larger. He lowered his weapons and stared at the first to arrive.

[Apex Predator activated.]

The wolves all stopped snarling and sat, covering their teeth with their lips. Mason smiled.

“A druid’s trick!” growled Cerebus. “But what if you find an enemy who can’t be fooled?”

Another, much larger beast leaped into the clearing, its body a fearful symmetry of stripes and muscle and claws. The huge tiger smashed the nearest wolf from its feet, sending it flying back with a whine. Mason activated Speak with Nature.

[Stay back. Attack only once I’ve engaged him.]

The wolves obeyed and circled, their low, angry growls comforting to Mason’s ears. He met the tiger’s eyes and couldn’t help but grin. Here was a worthy foe. It faced him not with fear, or pride, but as a hunter born. He felt no fear dying to such a thing. That was a worthy death.

He lifted a rock, infused it with Trapmaking, then tossed it at the tiger. The beast pulled back and snarled as shrapnel burst near its ear, then Mason was charging with Aspect of the Cheetah. He struck with Predator’s Strike before it could pull away, longer blade cutting a trench of red across the tiger’s face.

He instantly fell back, knowing the tiger would chase him in an angry frenzy, claws extended and fangs exposed as it pounced like a cat with a mouse.

The wolves leaped at his flanks. The tiger twisted to thrash and claw them away, and Mason lunged for its throat.

But the tiger was damn fast and turned again, Mason’s blade bouncing off collar bone as it caught and chomped down hard on his arm.

Its teeth failed to break the Sleeve, but it hurt. The fangs pierced skin and some muscle, though they didn’t reach bone. The tiger bit with all its might, unable to understand perhaps how such a little thing could resist it. Mason grunted with effort as he lifted his arm, then cut the creature’s throat underneath.

It fell and stared into his eyes, still biting, still unable to accept it couldn’t chew through Mason’s arm. Its blood pumped onto the ground as its eyes fluttered.

“You fought well,” Mason whispered. “Rest now.”

He felt no pleasure as the tiger died. But when he finally rose and saw the pack waiting, and felt the life still in his veins, he closed his eyes and breathed the moist air. He heard the wolves chewing but wasn’t bothered. It was just their way.

Then one stepped before him and dropped a massive heart at his feet, and Mason smiled as he recognized Streak. He knelt and took his Claw, cutting strips and chunks until he had enough for every wolf.

[We fought together. We eat together.]

They did, and this time Mason tasted only meat and life and fraternity. He looked up at the silent, horned God as he chewed.

“No lone hunter beats a strong pack,” he said. “That’s what us clever apes learned. And who are you to judge me? All your strength, all your power. What have you done with it? End this nonsense. All I want from you is my friend back.”

Cerebus smiled slowly, then laughed.

“Such arrogance! Claim your prize, young ranger. But do not forget the strength of the bear or the tiger, who care nothing for the will of others. And remember this: Gaia is life’s mistress, not its master. She is a mare to to be rut and bred, mounted like her daughters. She knows creation, not survival, for whatever creature wins is the same to her. Never forget what you are—nothing, until you’ve survived.”

Mason had no idea what to make of that. But he felt the world changing around him, vanishing and returning until he stood at the same rune-covered totem with his hand against the wood and symbols. He wasn’t even sure he’d actually moved.

[Essence test complete. Implementing. Essence of the Wolf. Gain the ability to bond a limited number of animal companions.]

[Animal companion detected. Would you like to bond {Great Taiga Wolf} now?]

Streak was suddenly right in front of him, staring with ghostly wolves on their haunches all around him. Somehow Mason knew it was the wolf’s father and forefathers going back a thousand years.

A pact, he thought, between the living and the dead. A unity between wolf and man. Mason smiled, knowing it was right. That they were just two more animals in a long line that had bonded before man was ‘civilized’. He accepted the prompt.

The wolves howled, and Mason felt his eyes roll back in pleasure. It was like the greatest music he’d ever heard, a symphony of voices singing every frequency his ears could hear, a wall of sound that pierced his soul.

He was sure he joined them but couldn’t hear his own voice. All he could see was a dark night sky and a moon that lit the world. Not in light, not in darkness, but somewhere in between. The time of the wolf.

He shuddered as the now familiar body-length shiver of system attention flooded through him from toes to scalp.

[Class modification detected. Would you like to replace prestige class: ‘Avatar of Gaia’, with: ‘Avatar of Cerebus’?]

Mason stared, expecting something like this to happen, still undecided. The truth was—despite its power—he hated his prestige class ability ‘Duality of Life’. It made him feel like he was losing himself, like it was somehow beyond his control.

But he knew his class had also modified his Ranger’s Mark and boosted his mana considerably. Would he be giving all that up? And what would he get in return?

Yet his primary class was ranger, and the druids he’d encountered had seemed to sense the same. He was still a druid, but he was a ranger first. Maybe it was all system-generated nonsense, but something about it was…true. Truer than anything in the world before. He had no idea how that was possible.

Survival had been his watchword since he was a small boy—the only way to exist in a harsh world: to be strong enough to withstand it.

He accepted the prompt, and braced himself. He knew what was coming, but that made it no less hard to take.

* * *

Mason grit his teeth as his body clenched with the system’s electrical attention. The pain seemed diminished, fortunately, which he hoped continued as something of a trend. Several messages floated before his eyes.

[Changed Prestige Class to: Avatar of Cerebus.]

[Power: Duality of Life changed to Duality of Strength. Passive. From suffering, wisdom. From failure, growth.]

[Synergy removed: Nature’s Wrath ===> Ranger’s Mark.]

[New Synergy Detected: Regeneration+ ===> Transformation. What doesn’t kill you, really should have.]

As he read the changes several thoughts hit him. First, losing nature’s wrath sucked. But he probably hadn’t used it as much as he should have anyway. Second, the lack of actual explanations for anything was really starting to piss him off. And third, what in the name of God did ‘transformation’ mean?

Of course there was nothing he could do about it anyway. And it was time to check his profile and figure out what the ‘bond’ had actually done.

Mason Nimitz

Level: 15

Primary Class: Ranger (tier 2)

Secondary Class: Druid

Prestige Class: Avatar of Cerebus

Strength: 18

Dexterity: 23

Vitality: 22

Intellect: 12

Will: 16

Presence: 10

Luck: 9

Essences: Essence of the Wolf.

Bonded Companion(s): Great Taiga Wolf

Titles: Killer, Early Lead, Soloist, Crazy like a Fox, Burnt the Boats, Patron, Progenitor, Hit the Ground Running, First Blood, Defender, The Prestige, Tiering it up, Phase Jumper, Front Runner, What Is Dead May Never Die, Poison Shmoison

Powers: Power Shot, Crippling Strike+, Transformation, Predator’s Strike, *Nature Affinity, Ranger’s Claws (T2), Endless Quiver+, Trapmaking, Aspect of the Cheetah, Blessing of Gaia, Ranger’s Mark, Duality of Strength]

Apparently there was a Bonded Companion ‘tab’. He opened it and saw Streak’s name, along with a dull green color that said ‘Bond level: low’, whatever the hell that meant. It looked like there was place holders for maybe a list of statistics and even a power list, with apparently something called…

[Shared Pain: Fight together, die together.]

Mason was actually greatly comforted by the possibility of that. But for now he blinked it all away and turned towards the totem, looking for his friend.

“Streak?” he called. “Are you alright?”

The wolf leapt down from some nearby rocks, tongue out and tail wagging as he crossed the gap. Mason grinned, then knelt and held out his arms, but slowly froze as the wolf got closer.

Its eyes were glowing green like Mason’s. And he’d…uh, grown.

Streak plowed into Mason’s face with his chest. It nearly knocked him over, then he had to stand up to actually look…just slightly down on the creature. Streak’s head was over five feet high.

He made several growling, whining sounds as he tried to leap up and lick and paw at Mason with his massive feet, and in that moment Mason decided it was a damn good thing he had roboGod superpowers.

“Happy to…see you too, buddy.” He scratched and pat with abandon until the animal finally calmed and flopped over for belly rubs. Mason laughed. At least his personality hadn’t changed.

Phuong cleared his throat, and it occurred to Mason that the players had all been witnessing…whatever the hell they’d just witnessed. Mason smiled a little sheepishly as he scratched Streak, not entirely sure what to say.

“So is, um. Everything…copacetic?” Seamus said from nearby, his voice slightly raised in pitch.

“Yeah.” Mason let the anxiety for his friend roll off his shoulders, knowing at least some of it had really been for Blake. “I’m good. Now let’s go kill a shitload of goblins.”

CHAPTER 19 - PERFECTLY APPROPRIATE

IT TOOK BASICALLY all of Blake's remaining half mana pool to 'animate' one of the Maker constructs. Yet another 'presence' entered his mind, though this one was far less intrusive. He grinned and looked at his constructs, still debating how many to use and exactly what to say.

He didn't want all his constructs destroyed. On the other hand, he didn't want to pull his punches in practice only to fail at the real thing. So he sighed, and stepped well out of the room before he activated the prompts.

Then he selected all his permanent constructs with one piece of his attention, and the Maker construct with another. He had them target each other, and gave them all the same thought: destroy.

The Maker statue was larger and more solid—more like a four legged animal that could stand on two legs and fight like a kangaroo. And it wasn't built light enough to fly. It moved forward and started humming with some arcane sound, hands opening as it moved straight towards Blake's constructs.

His own creations—affectionately labeled a, b, c, d and e—leapt into action. They all charged precisely the same way, soon unable to actually reach their target at the same time and sort of jostling into a semi-circle. But they at least struck first.

The Psionic constructs slammed their fists into the Maker, cracking its skin just before it reached out and seized one by the throat. The thing's hand was clearly boiling with heat just as the first Blake had taken to fight the demon. Steam or smoke rose from his construct as all the others started bashing and burning the Maker from every direction.

Bits and pieces of construct crashed or hissed as they struck the ground. The Maker eventually tore off 'e's head and turned for another before its arm sloughed off.

It swung the other but wobbled first and fell as a leg gave out. Blake's minions followed it, bashing and burning until it finally went still. Then they walked back into a line and stopped.

Blake whistled at the swift destruction. Lumiere came zipping inside, frown etched as he stared at the broken construct.

"You're as bad as the critter!" it announced with a sputter. "I must ask you not to destroy the Curator's property!"

"Apologies," Blake said, still smiling. His minions were effective but not at all coordinated and seemed to lack any self-preservation instinct. He looked at his Mental Partition and decided he needed a great deal of if/then commands to trigger to get them working properly. He supposed he could have one fight the rest to preserve any more statues.

But he had a lot of work ahead of him.

He took another two full days of testing and battling with his minions to feel ready. He checked in once with Ilya just to make sure she was OK. Fortunately nothing had changed, and though she seemed a little frustrated and impatient, he felt comfortable with the delay.

Having destroyed his two Psionic minions in his test, Blake re-made them with a few modifications. Firstly, they didn't really need to be humanoid. This time he made something more like Lumiere—a big orb with wings, little legs, and claws. One day he hoped he could make them fly without the wings, but for now that knowledge was beyond him.

The Arcanes were working well enough and he didn't want to destroy them just to streamline a little. So on the third day he'd regained his mana, had programmed countless commands into his Partition, and felt ready to go.

"Well, Lumiere," he said, "it's been real. You want to come along with us? I'm sure I could find use for a floating flashlight."

The construct went through a range of exaggerated emotions before returning to the frowny base.

"Why do you keep calling me ‘Lumiere’? In any case, I am unable to leave the Maker's Hall. Good luck with your endeavors. Thank you again, Pest Controller."

"Don't mention it," Blake said absently as he looked down the demonic...hole. He sent the constructs in first, following at a comfortable distance.

On the other end he found a room about as disgusting as expected—the same vaguely oozing walls, the same God awful stink. There seemed no discernible reason for this to be a room at all, in fact, as it seemed just to lead to another corridor beyond.

Something about that made Blake stop and inspect.

"Navi, can you look around this room? Do you see anything unusual?"

"No, master." The orb robot seemed to scan, or at least its eyes wobbled around as it spun in a circle.

"So there's nothing in here at all?" Blake said with surprise.

"Oh. No, Master, there's an inert demonic portal leading to one of the hell planes. Right on the wall there."

Blake blinked and stared at his familiar.

"You wouldn't consider that unusual?"

Navi frowned. "No, Master. It's a demon tunnel. It seemed perfectly appropriate."

"There are demonic planes in this world?" Blake pinched his nose.

"No, Master. Not in this world. But attached to it. There are many planes of existence, but I'm afraid I'm no expert, and couldn't name them all."

Blake mostly just stared, no idea what to do with that. He certainly intended to hear a great deal more about it, but for now he had more pressing issues to deal with. He led his constructs forward, soon hearing a kind of dull roar coming from the area ahead. He stopped to listen, trying and failing to make out the sound. Was it a river? Some kind of gusting wind?

When he finally emerged on the other side, his constructs were already waiting in their usual line, seemingly not yet feeling in danger. Blake walked beside them and stopped, eyes practically bulging when he saw what was causing the sound.

It was a waterfall. Of blood.

From some platform up above, the liquid poured over the edge in a steady but slow current. Steam rose from it as if it might be boiling, or at least very hot, and the whole cavernous area reeked of copper.

Blake clenched his teeth and looked down to where it was flowing, an open circular portal about the size of a swimming pool. Through it, Blake could see a river trailing out into what seemed an open...plains.

"Is that...hell?" Blake whispered, and his familiar glanced and nodded happily.

"Yes, master, one of the hells, certainly. That is a two way portal. And quite active."

A two way portal…to hell. Sorry, a hell. Great. Just super.

Blake decided it was time to get out of there, and since it seemed the only way, he ordered his constructs to lift him and get up wherever that blood was coming from. This they did, and in short order, plucking him up with reasonable finesse, floating him over the waterfall and onto a wide platform with several doors, along with a kind of trench that carried the steaming blood.

Blake looked at the doors, not sure which to pick, before he heard a hissing growl from somewhere below. He glanced over the side, alarmed but not terribly surprised to find a red-skinned, demonic…spider-cat crawling up towards him from...well, hell.

"Kill it," Blake said out loud even before he mentally sent the order. "Kill it very dead." He stepped back and fought a shiver as his constructs leapt over the edge, and took to the air.

CHAPTER 20 - I'M OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS

MASON LED THE others back to the main cavern. They met a few wandering goblins on the way, but hacked them down in a few seconds and without a word exchanged. Then they were again looking out at the strange, crystal covered hollow center of the great tree, deciding the best way up.

"Should we take the lifts?" Mai whispered, and frankly Mason didn't see a better option. The whole way up there was just a series of platforms on the outer edges of the tree, with no kind of spiraling ramp like they'd had before.

"Maybe we should explore the whole bottom floor first," Phuong suggested, which wasn't a bad idea either. Except they'd likely have to fight a whole shitload of goblins. On the other hand, that seemed basically inevitable.

"We should just go in heavy and clear the bottom," Mason said. "If we're going to be stuck on those lifts, I'd rather not have a bunch of goblins shooting us. You ready for an obscene level of violence?"

The players all looked grim, but at least not frightened. Mason half expected the creatures to run away when things got started, but better for everyone to prepare for the worst. He dropped a couple deadly traps around the entrance, then lifted his bow.

"OK," he said. "A little different this time because there's so much space. Phuong, Streak, and Mai—head out and kill as you please. I'll cover you with Alex and Seamus. If things get rough, fall back to this corridor. I'll try and tell you when, but if you feel overwhelmed, you just run. OK?"

They all nodded, even Streak, which caused Seamus to startle and stare around the group like ‘did anyone else see that?’ Mason just grinned.

"Oh,” he added. “And don't forget to have fun. Ready when you are, Phuong."

The swordsman drew his blue blade and went forward hunched, the now massive Streak and still tiny Mai covering his flanks. Mason followed, eyes moving over everything, picking out the workers on the platforms and small tunnels, looking for ranged weapons but not seeing much they could use.

When they'd moved out of the tunnel and onto the bottom proper, Mason could also see there was tunnels dug into the floor.

"Careful," he whispered. "There's holes in the ground. Don't fall in."

A goblin shrieked in alarm just above them, pointing at Streak before seeing the players and getting ready to call out to the others. Mason put an arrow through his neck.

He gurgled and clomped along the metal railing before falling off, and soon enough more goblins were looking over and calling out and pointing.

"Here we go," Mason said, no longer worrying about being spotted. Instead he just looked for anything that showed itself, and started shooting.

Panicked goblin voices soon overtook the constant drum of the swinging picks or cutting saws. Engineers at the bottom were spreading out or running away, shoving workers or the lightly armed guards towards the players.

Phuong just hacked them down. None of the goblins would get anywhere near Streak, who for his part seemed content to just growl and look scary.

A few things started clanging off the floor, and Mason realized goblins up top were throwing tools and crystals at them. He gestured, but Alex was already watching, easily shielding them from the raining objects as Mason answered with arrow after arrow, dropping workers out of the air like he was hunting an endless flock of birds.

All in all, things were going rather well, which already gave Mason a vague feeling of concern in his gut.

Right on cue, a hissing, clanking buzz sounded somewhere ahead. And then another. Some kind of light shone from the gloom ahead, followed by grinding, screeching, and thumping sounds. Mason squinted until he saw what looked like...tanks?

A lot of the goblins were cheering now. Three...vehicles...came rumbling out of the dark on treads. They had spinning blades at the front with massive lights shining above. And as Mason was about to tell everyone to spread out, he realized they had some kind of...guns on their sides.

"Are those..."

The first one made a clicking sound, followed by a goblin's mad cackle. And the gloom of the tree filled with light, as the ‘tanks’ all started spraying flame.

* * *

"Fall back!" Mason ignored his own advice, running straight through a gout of fire as he turned left and ran to the flank.

[Apex Predator activated: Affinity changed to elemental]

As usual, it hurt. He also couldn't see, and managed to bounce off the support of one of the platforms until he got out from the fire and kept moving.

One of the tanks had clearly spotted him, and with a series of clanks turned to face its spinning blades his direction as it followed spewing fire.

It was kind of pissing him off now, to be honest. And while fire might be painful, it didn't seem at all likely to kill him. With a growl of angry intent, he activated Aspect of the Cheetah, and raced straight through.

The tank couldn’t turn fast enough. Mason growled in pain, but soon escaped the flame thrower's angle and emerged to the side of the vehicle. He summoned his Claws and crossed the distance, leaping onto the back of the tank as he looked for weak spots or a way in.

Nothing was obvious. It was little more than a steel box with the blades and flamethrowers. But at least those were obviously vulnerable.

He kicked and smashed the tubes until they bent, which the engineers clearly were smart enough to stop using once they realized. Then he felt like an idiot and activated Ranger's Mark.

His initial assessment was correct. There was no obvious way in...except at the bottom. But then he didn't have to get in, he just had to break the flamethrowers, and stop the damn things from moving.

He leapt back down and hacked at the treads, which were more WWI style than WWII. After several slashes with his claws, he'd done enough damage to slow the thing to a half broken crawl. Then he ran for the next.

He stopped and stared when he found Seamus literally dancing in the fire. The crazy son of a bitch was leaking flames out of his eyes, his arms folded and his legs kicking as he laughed and seemed to be enjoying himself. Then he held out his arms and started shooting more fiery projectiles, burning what appeared to be a hole in the tank. It soon stopped, and filled with the horrible screams of burning goblins.

"These things are the best!" he shouted, glancing over at Mason with those vaguely wild and terrifying eyes.

"Yeah." Mason cleared his throat. "The best."

The engineers in the third tank had seen the writing on the wall. They popped open the tank, aimed it at the players, then leapt out and scampered away with a series of shrieks.

"Shall we take a look inside?" Seamus said with a grin. "Might be deadly to see how the little buggers make such a thing work, like."

Mason shrugged, not much caring. He called to Phuong and the others to keep moving and clearing the floor, picking up his bow and murdering his way through the lower ramps. The workers and guards had nowhere to go, and very little to fight back with. By the time he'd killed at least twenty and maybe more, the cavern had gone mostly silent.

[Encounter defeated: Goblin Lower Mining Operation. Group experience earned.]

It seemed even those on the upper levels had fled, or at least stopped working, and no doubt were running off to tell their masters trouble had arrived.

"Well done," Mason said when he found the others had made a small pile of bodies. "I guess there's nothing much to do now but climb."

"Man!" Seamus popped out of the tank. "We need to get this out of here somehow! I bloody want one!"

"Yeah," Mason said wryly. "It worked great for the goblins. Now I don't see any obvious pattern, so I guess we just try the lifts and hope they get us up. I can climb and drop a rope if we need to."

He tried to see the different levels and figure out how they connected, but frankly it looked like the place had been designed by some kind of madman. He was about to try the first 'lift' when another sort of alarm blared, and text scrawled across his eyes.

[Greenblood Bounty Event initiated: 'Dueling Duos'. Please split into pairs to face this mortal dungeon event. You have two minutes to decide, or you can be removed from the dungeon if you wish to decline. Good luck!]

"Well shit." Mason looked at the others when it was finished. "If you want to run out, now's the time. Otherwise we need pairs, apparently. I'm open to suggestions."

CHAPTER 21 - WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG

BLAKE HID UNTIL he heard the spider-cat demon’s blood curdling shriek. Then he stepped to the edge of the platform and watched as his constructs dove at the thing like sparrows fighting a house cat.

The spider was out of 'hell' now, climbing the edge of the stone trough that carried the boiling blood, feline head staring up as it snarled. Blake watched his Mental Partition flaring with commands, and tried to keep up and make sure they were working. His Psionic Constructs went first, just as intended.

They had slightly more control over their flight and steadied themselves near the demon, raking with their claws from just overhead. The creature turned and waved two arms before spitting maybe poison or acid from its spider mandibles. The green goo struck the constructs and dripped off with nothing more than a little steam.

Then the Arcanes swept by and smashed the demon with fly-by strikes, their rock-like fists making satisfying crunching sounds as they connected with carapace. The third one knocked the demon sideways, and it sort of curled its legs just like a regular spider might as it fell. Except this one fell into boiling blood.

Again it shrieked and clawed, trying to grasp something to pull itself out of the 'river'. But it soon stopped, and dipped beneath the surface.

[Planar Entity: Lesser Devil Spider slain. Experience awarded.]

"Well done!" Blake fist pumped, very encouraged by the display. He tried not to think about the title of ‘lesser’ spider for that thing, and imagining what a ‘greater’ might look like.

Anyway, nothing had gone wrong, so that was something. Of course it meant the spider hadn't tested half or so of his prepared commands, but at least the theory of attack was proved. The trick of course was that the main source of damage he had was sustained attack from the Arcane constructs—a kind of melting touch that needed a little time to do its work, not a quick smash.

If whatever this demon was wouldn't stay still long enough and always fought in the air, it may very well be his constructs couldn't use it. But he had a plan for that—a command to tell them to 'stick' and hang on until they or their target was destroyed. He supposed he'd just have to wait and see if it worked.

"This way," he said, mostly to himself, looking down the flow of blood into another corridor that looked more like a sewer. "Deeper and deeper into the demonic fortress," he said with less enthusiasm. "What could possibly go wrong."

On the other hand, he was still him. Just a harder working, keen-eyed, upgraded him! Blake expected that would make him even more unstoppable.

* * *

Ilya was getting very tired of dried vole, mushrooms, and peanuts. She chewed mechanically from her barrel lid, then washed herself with some of the water. The demon usually watched her do this and smiled his demented smile, but after gaining her Oracle class he had been blissfully absent. Wherever he’d gone, on the other hand, was somewhat concerning.

If he went to fight Blake somewhere else, there wasn't a damn thing Ilya could do about it. Would she even know if he'd been killed? The thought was sobering, and she expected whatever the power of this place that had put her in her cage may very well stop protecting her if Blake died. This was a test for him more than her, but she would suffer the consequences just the same.

He'd told her it may take awhile, but the days passed slow and painfully. She tried to practice her spells, only ever using a little mana at a time in fear it may be just the moment Blake arrived. But he never did.

Hours and days drifted as she remembered her childhood, especially the few times she'd left the towers and seen the bright sun and the outside world. She'd remembered it was so cold and bright and loud she'd practically run back down into the earth screaming. But her brother had dared her, so she'd stayed out all afternoon and watched the clouds, her eyes eventually adjusting.

Then the demon would sweep by with violent flaps of his huge wings, only growling at Ilya as he passed and sending her leaping from her rest. But he was always alone, no sign of Blake, no sign of anything. Then she'd sit and stare at the dark cavern, or chew her dried food, or sip her water like it was sour brew.

"He's coming," she mumbled to herself, often not sure if she even believed he could defeat the demon. "He can," she reprimanded herself. "He's a wizard, sent by the gods. Who cares if he's human. He's been Chosen. He has a plan. He has great and terrible magical powers, enough to destroy this demon, and then Gromsh. He'll come."

True or not, it always made her feel a little better to say it out loud.

* * *

Blake was lost again, and pretty sure he was going to die of dehydration.

First of all, the boiling river of blood made things upsettingly hot. Secondly, after the open hell portal and the obvious corridors, things had opened up into a confusing labyrinth that Blake wasn't entirely convinced cared about physics.

"I swear I've passed this fucking hall three times," he said, not seeing any of the marks he'd made. He smacked his dry mouth and failed to wet his dried lips. "Navi, can you do something here? Is there some kind of magic trap I'm not seeing?"

His familiar blinked and stared. "Beginning analysis, Master. Please direct me as you walk."

Blake cursed, knowing he should have done something different sooner. He'd just figured it was a big maze and if he followed it long enough he'd get out. But little demons that looked like pit bulls kept leaping out at him—to get instantly crushed by his minions—and yet he'd never stumbled on their corpses again.

So either things were disappearing and reappearing, the maze was basically endless, or there was some tomfuckery going on.

"Mirrored gate trap detected, Master," said Navi, and Blake practically sagged with relief, then frowned.

"Excellent. Now what the hell does that mean, and what do I do about it? Also why aren’t you just detecting such things all the time?"

"I don’t have infinite mana, Master. And it means you are being led down the same corridors over and over without knowing it. And I think they are resetting. You must find a way to disable the trap."

"Such as?"

Navi seemed to try to shrug with his face, and Blake sighed. No doubt there was something clever he was supposed to do. But he was getting tired and very thirsty and frankly he wasn't in a very good mood. He assigned the walls, floor and ceiling to different minions.

"Start smashing," he said as he formed the command. "Every step, hit the damn thing. Proceed."

The hall soon filled with the sounds of construction as his minions began clawing, punching and stomping their way through the maze. For a moment Blake just appreciated that his constructs asked no questions, leaping to obey whatever command he had, no matter how ridiculous. It may not have achieved anything, but it did make Blake feel a little better.

He followed his wrecking crew for quite awhile, getting slightly sleepy at the eventual monotonous sounds of magic stone hitting regular stone. Until he heard a crack.

"Stop."

The constructs instantly halted, and Blake inspected them before finding a stone tile on the roof had cracked down the middle.

"Keep hitting that right there."

'A' obeyed and smashed the thing to pieces, the tile falling and throwing up dust on the floor. Above it there was a symbol etched in the rock, and Blake smiled.

"The symbol for a Mirrored Gate trap, Maste...”

"Yes I gathered," Blake interrupted. "Smash it please," he waved a hand and his constructs eventually managed to reach the thing and bash it to bits. "God that felt good." Blake sighed, kicking some of the rubble. Then he blinked and looked down the corridor, seeing a door at the end.

"Thank Jesus," he exhaled. "Now off you go. Open the door."

He followed his constructs down the hallway, letting a humanoid open the door. A gust of wind struck him, and as he walked through he squinted into a dark cavern to realize he was standing at the edge of a huge drop.

Excitement shot through his gut. It matched Ilya's description of where she was held, and he expected he was close.

"Now how to actually explore and find her..." he mumbled, wishing again Lumiere had become a servant. He was about to ask Navi if he had some kind of ability to shine a light when he heard a feminine voice scream.

"Blake! Look out! He's coming!"

Then there was only the flapping of monstrous wings.

CHAPTER 22 - DUELING DUOS

MAI LOOKED PANICKED, but Seamus just grinned. "Easy on our end. Mai and me got this in the bag, don't we darling?"

She nodded but the movement was too fast, her skin a little pale.

"We'll be alright," Mason said, trying to calm her. He winced, not sure if he should offer to break them up, maybe putting Phuong with Mai and Seamus with him. But then he might get both Streak and Alex killed...

They didn't know what the 'event' really was, of course, but in his experience these things rarely proved easy. He knew time was ticking and almost suggested the pair turn and run. But that wasn't his call. They weren't his responsibility, and they were players just like him.

"You two good?" he said to Phuong and Alex, and the men glanced at each other with a determined nod.

"Alright then. I don't know what's about to happen, but protect yourselves first. Then if there's some way to help each other, try. Get yourselves ready. And good luck."

He put a hand to Streak's head and used the last minute to go over his profile, especially the new 'Companion' tab.

Looking at 'Shared Pain' gave him a great deal of comfort, however exactly it worked. He just wished he could use the power on other people and not just his wolf. He wondered if maybe there was something similar he could take in the future…

[Players, please prepare. Thirty seconds until event: Dueling Duos. Player duo selections detected. Thank you, good luck.]

The son of a bitch system counted it down, which made it a very long thirty seconds.

"You've got this," Mason said quietly to Mai, then give her a smile. "And I'll help you guys as soon as I can." She smiled back and looked at least a little more confident. Then the timer reached zero, and the cavern went pitch black, like someone had cut the lights on a movie set.

They flickered and came back to the dull blue glow, and Mason looked around to see an almost translucent silhouette of the other players.

"Can you hear me?" he shouted, but they looked at him strangely, and their blurry mouths moved in silence. They looked like ghosts, and when he stepped forward he was able to put his hand straight through Phuong as if he wasn't there.

"Great," he muttered, looking around the cavern for any threat. "Just great."

A spherical patch of darkness grew out of the floor ahead. It expanded and expanded, then popped with an arcane hiss.

Two dark cloaked figures stood in the center, one kneeling, the other standing with its hand raised. The stander pulled back its hood to reveal a taller goblin, face covered in tattoos and piercings. It looked around the cavern.

"You've interfered with Guild business, human." He looked at Streak and frowned. "Who we'd kill is usually random. But since one of you can't go tell anyone what happens when you mess with us, I guess it's the wolf. Maybe I'll make a pelt out of it." The creature smiled with sharp, yellow teeth.

Whatever Mason was feeling before got replaced by murderous rage.

"I would have just killed you," he said, slinging his bow and summoning his Claws. "But now I think I'll let Streak eat you alive."

The goblin snorted and raised his hand, cunning eyes narrowing.

"We'll see," he said without an ounce of concern. Then both figures vanished.

* * *

Mason knew they weren't gone. He could smell them.

"With me," he called, then turned and ran, touching the floor to camouflage before racing towards one of the many supports that held up the huge goblin apparatus above. He sat Streak with his back to the pillar, then dropped traps all around him before climbing up a pillar and re-readying his bow.

He kept still and camouflaged, senses tuned for the slightest change in sound or smell, eyes moving back and forth for any sign of movement.

The air shimmered near the center of the room, and Mason loosed a Power Shot.

Purple magic sizzled as the missile struck and fell. The goblin hissed in surprise, still blurry as he swiped his hands and shot back a horizontal line of knives.

Mason didn't bother dodging. With his increasingly super human reflexes he just swat down the two knives that might have struck him, loosing arrow after arrow back at the goblin wizard.

But the creature vanished again, probably warping away this time as a trace of the purple seemed to follow in the air.

Mason followed tiny traces in the magic and kept loosing at any possible sign, not concerned with arrows or exhaustion in the slightest. Then he heard Streak whine in pain. He dropped off the platform to find the other hooded figure had walked up and thrown a knife straight into the wolf's shoulder.

"Attack!" Mason growled, activating Shared Pain for the first time and feeling fire stab into his arm as he loosed two arrows at the knife-thrower. It seemed he wasn't the only one with superhuman reflexes.

The goblin dodged and deflected Mason's arrows before vanishing like the wizard, just as Streak leapt and slid through where he'd been standing, looking very confused.

"Shit." Mason activated Speak with Nature to be sure he was clear.

[Keep moving, and never stop. Run around the cavern until you see one of them, then attack.]

Streak growled and ran off to obey, and Mason ran in the opposite direction. His shoulder was already feeling better, so apparently his newly upgraded 'Transformation' power was no joke.

Sharp pain lanced through his thigh and back, but he knew instantly it wasn't him. They were still attacking Streak.

He turned and followed the wolf with bow at the ready, loosing two arrows at the goblins before they simply warped away and vanished again.

Fucking sneaky bastards, he thought, enraged that he couldn't seem to defend the wolf. Streak looked perfectly fine, however, and kept on running laps around the cavern, once or twice growling and leaping before a goblin vanished just in time.

"How long can you keep that up?" Mason shouted, feeling his wounds already healing. "Because we can go all day."

The answer seemed to be—awhile longer.

Again and again the goblins threw their knives with spell or a flick of the wrist, ignoring Mason entirely as they hunted Streak. Soon the wolf's fur was a blotchy patchwork of blood, but Mason checked on him and found his wounds were closing, too, as Mason absorbed the damage.

Mason may have said he could do it all day, but the blood loss was taking its toll. He felt drained, and pain flared from multiple wounds all over his body. And there didn't seem to be a damn thing he could do about it.

He activated Speak with Nature again, and told Streak to get in one corner of the cavern. Then he stood in front, and waited.

"Come on, then," he called, throwing traps out randomly. "Finish the job."

Eventually both goblins appeared, and Mason loosed a Power Shot before another cluster of knives came whirling towards him, forcing him to summon a Claw and activate his Shield gem.

His shot hit, and this time he watched the wizard's purple shield flicker and diminish before the creature growled and hid behind a pillar. So it was definitely costing him.

He dropped his own shield, deflecting one, two, then three of the rogue's throws with his Sleeves. Then he summoned his other Claw and stepped forward.

"Let's see how fast you really are."

The creature's crooked grin flashed inside its hood. Then it drew two long blades and spun them as it came forward.

Mason activated Speak with Nature again.

[Pretend to be frightened. Wait. Even if you're hurt. Do nothing until I turn on the wizard. Then kill this knife-thrower.]

He Ranger Marked his enemy, seeing familiar human anatomy without much to interest him. It would be a battle of speed and skill, certainly, because if Mason connected this creature wouldn't last long. He and the goblin circled each other, then struck.

Claw and dagger flashed and sparked as they connected with feint and lunge. The goblin glared in annoyance, and Mason realized in their exchange the ridiculously fast creature had sliced his forearm, but did nothing to his Sleeve.

It hadn't hurt him, but it had also been so quick and well executed Mason had hardly even perceived it. So that was bad.

Again they circled, and struck.

This time the goblin threw his dagger as he pulled away, the blade slicing across Mason's cheek as he withdrew.

[Title activated: Poison Schmoison.]

[Poison resisted: Nature affinity.]

[Power activated: Duality of Strength.]

The goblin grinned and ran a hand across his own cheek. Mason glanced at the text but didn’t have the time or attention to spare to give it thought. He just waited until he felt the wound closing, then matched the goblin’s grin and charged again.

He tried moving side to side, using his longer reach to jab with his long blade. But the goblin parried easily and withdrew, seemingly in no hurry.

Mason felt the attack above him without seeing it, throwing himself to the side as a piece of the goblin platform fell and crashed loudly into the ground, the wizard cackling above.

Before Mason had recovered the rogue was on him, slashing and jabbing as Mason scrambled to recover his feet. He was stabbed shallowly twice before he got his smaller blade inside the rogue's reach, then pulled back and cut off at least one of the goblin's fingers.

[Title activated: Poison Schmoison.]

[Poison resisted: Nature affinity.]

Mason grinned, then held up and wiggled his five fingers as the goblin backed away, staring with pure malevolence. Streak was whining in the corner, which sounded like fear but Mason knew was really incredible impatience and desire to attack. But he did what he'd been told.

"Enough playing with him," hissed the rogue. "Use all your magic. We kill both of these ones."

The wizard made a tut tutting sound. "You know the rules," he chastised from above. "Only one. But don’t worry, I shall save you."

Mason saw the wizard's hands sticking out from his cover above as he began drawing energy like Blake. He was ‘channeling’.

"Now!" Mason called, then unsummoned his Claws and activated Aspect of the Cheetah as he ran for the support pillar. With all his might he leapt as high as he could, then scrambled up towards the wizard at full speed.

A knife sunk into his back but he didn't care. The rogue called out to the wizard in warning. Then Streak growled and leapt on him.

Mason knew he only had a second or two before whatever that spell was got off. It was enough.

He hurled himself up to the wizard's platform, grinning at the utter shock on the creature's face, its hands still glowing and held out with growing power.

Mason re-summoned his Claws, activated Predator's Strike, and severed the confused face of the wizard in a single blow.

More pain lanced into his side and shoulder, and he practically fell off the platform. He knew he could turn off Shared Pain, but this thing was too fast and too dangerous and better him than the wolf. He had to get to Streak.

He slid down the pillar like a fireman's pole, another jab of pain seeming to bounce off his skull. Then he was on the ground, about to yell to Streak he was almost there when he heard the goblin scream.

The sound of cracking bone and chewed flesh cut them off, and Mason found Streak pinning the goblin face first to the floor with his massive paws, chewing chunks of flesh off his back.

"Don’t say I didn’t warn you," Mason said, coming forward and waiting a good few seconds.

He wasn't sure if it was mercy or just distaste, but he soon used his sword to finish the poor bastard off. Streak gave him a quizzical look, then went right back to chewing.

"I'm fine by the way," Mason said, slumping to the ground with a groan. "Maybe next time, try and dodge a couple?"

CHAPTER 23 - IS THAT ALL YOU CAN DO?

BLAKE STILL COULDN'T exactly see the demon, and his attack command was tied to sight. A mistake, no doubt, but there wasn’t a terrible amount he could do about it now. First things were first. He mentally commanded all his constructs to leap off the platform and start flying.

They obeyed without reserve, and soon Blake saw red eyes glowing in the dark. He ordered them to attack just as a gout of flame erupted from the creature, and flew straight at Blake.

Psionic Shield activated but he honestly had no idea if it would protect him. There was nowhere to hide on the platform, and Blake mostly just put his arms in front of himself and stood there as the fire arrived. A greenish shield flared and he wasn't even sure what the hell was happening.

For a moment, at least, the whole cavern was nice and visible. And the fire didn't hurt at all. He looked around the cavern and realized there was a small ledge surrounding the entire thing. If he wished, he could follow the wall in either direction. But at the moment he saw little reason to move.

Instead he activated his long neglected Arcane Blast as his constructs struck. As hoped, the Psionic affinity went straight on, raking at the demon with their claws. Except the sheer size of Blake's enemy was now coming into view.

The demon's wingspan must have been at least thirty feet. Its body was plucked right out of myth—like a Balrog from Lord of the Rings, or a Pit fiend from D&D. The only things it was missing were a whip or a flail. But the long, dark claws on either hand seemed deadly enough. It swiped back at Blake's constructs, sparks flaring as it raked one's spherical body and knocked it flying.

Blake kept his Arcane Blast short and sweet, wanting to see the result. With the minimum of mana he swiped a line across the demon's face, watching the energy crackle uselessly against the thing's skin. He frowned, cursing himself for not bringing something to throw with Telekinesis. All he had was a small knife in his pocket, which seemed not at all adequate to kill a giant demon.

But beggars couldn't be choosers. As the constructs swarmed in their deadly, demonic dogfight, Blake lifted his blade into the air, moving it closer before channeling as much kinetic force as he could into the launch.

It struck and rammed straight into the demon's flesh, but the creature hardly seemed to notice. It swiped with its claws but seemed to struggle to actually connect, not particularly graceful in the air. Its huge fangs were showing in an angry snarl, and again its eyes turned to Blake.

It ignored the statues, and came forward.

I'm going to eat your brain, mind mage, a voice whispered in Blake's ear. I'm going to feed you to your pretty little prize before I break her mind, and then her body.

Apparently demons were pretty much what you'd expect. Blake put the vaguely overwhelming animal terror of having his mind infiltrated away as best he could, and focused.

[Psionic Affinity: Mind Bend resisted.]

Blake backed away as the demon landed on the platform, just barely able to stand to its full height under the cavern roof. His wings folded back like Goliath from that Gargoyles cartoon, and Blake's constructs came flying in behind. The Arcanes tried somewhat unsuccessfully to grab the demon as the Psionic kept on raking shallow wounds into its apparently very thick hide.

"Die."

Flames erupted from everywhere, the whole platform whooshing in a fiery explosion that swallowed Blake's world. He covered his face, but again he saw a translucent green shield covering his body, and felt almost nothing.

As the fire cleared the demon growled and came forward, but was forced to turn and swipe at the constructs raking and grabbing at its back and sides. Blake had no idea what to do except turn and run. He tried pulling the knife from the demon's chest and ramming it in again and again with Telekinesis, then gave up and just used it to push the demon.

It staggered back a step or two but otherwise came on snarling, grasping and throwing one of the Psionic constructs into the wall so hard it shattered.

"Insects," the demon growled. "A fool and some wasps against me?"

The air itself seemed to solidify around Blake's head, crushing him like a vice. He screamed.

[Psionic Affinity: Mental Break partially resisted.]

It was like an earthquake in Blake's mind. Like a fissure opened and began swallowing his thoughts and perception. He couldn't seem to focus, to breathe and stand at the same time. In panic, he tried to take that open chasm and move it to his Partition.

Instantly his mind returned at full force, and again he activated Telekinesis to push the demon back. It roared in outrage, fighting the spell as it slid him back a few more steps. Blake's mana was maybe 25% and dropping fast, and he didn't seem to be actually hurting the damn thing much.

The wings, he thought, looking at the more vulnerable looking bits of connecting flesh. Maybe we can at least damage those.

"Is that all you can do?" The demon growled as it tried to come forward, again thrashing at the constructs attacking it from behind and sides. "Delay? You came to kill me with parlor tricks?"

Blake's Partition commands were in total disarray from the demon's spell. He focused on his Arcane constructs and directed them actively. They had to get a grip on those wings, and use their touch power. But they needed help.

Blake activated Psionic Making and blitzed through the options at full speed, dropping the duration down to almost nothing. He only needed a distraction. And it was time to find out what Duality of Ambition did.

He chose a larger humanoid construct with an armored front and started casting, using every drop of remaining mana and activating his prestige power. He'd still have his gem.

As he started casting, the demon seized the other Psionic construct and slammed it into the wall, again smashing it to pieces. It half spun as if to deal with the Arcanes, clearly deciding Blake was no threat.

Then his spell finished, Duality of Ambition glowing and making a new, audible crackle as the air before him shimmered, and something appeared from nothing. It was twice the size of his other constructs.

Blake had no time to inspect or celebrate, and directed his new construct to attack instantly. The ground shook as it charged.

The demon's red eyes narrowed in surprise. It spun to face the new threat and they seized each other's arms and twisted, the construct unbelievably holding his ground. Blake stopped watching and commanded the Arcanes, which leapt on the demon's back and grasped at its shoulders.

Blake's spell only had seconds. The demon growled, muscles bulging with power as it slowly overtook the construct and forced it to its knees. It roared in triumph, pressing in and grasping the construct's head, ripping it from its body in a moment of insane power and violence. Dust and debris exploded around it. Then it screamed.

Blake's Arcanes sunk their hands into the demon's flesh, pulling at the base of its wings. It reached up and grabbed at them, pulling chunks and pieces from their bodies but unable to reach them well. One of its wings sagged as the flesh almost came apart, and Blake seized his gem, activating Telekinesis.

He pushed the demon back. Step by step the thing stumbled and went snarling towards the edge of the platform, soon realizing its peril.

[Psionic Affinity: Mind Rend resisted.]

[Psionic Affinity: Mind Bend resisted.]

The demon focused all its attention on Blake—eyes flaring with magic as it bared its teeth. More fire erupted around the room, again sizzling against Blake's mystery shield, though this time getting a little warm.

Blake's gem drained to nothing as he pushed with desperate strength, getting the demon to the edge of the platform just as he went completely dry. His head instantly pounded like he’d gone a couple days replacing water with vodka.

His enemy grasped one of his constructs and threw it off before stabilizing itself, wings now sagging uselessly. It looked up at Blake with pure hatred, the air between them seething with mental and arcane energy.

Blake's mind was throbbing with effort, his Partition mostly crumbled and useless, his mana pool gone. He didn't have enough left to push the giant creature. And though it seemed vaguely insane, he saw no other choice. He charged.

The demon readied its claws. But as foot followed foot forward, Blake felt stronger and faster than he'd imagined possible. Was it just adrenaline? It was like he was growing with every step, like he'd triggered some hidden spell he didn't know he had.

The demon seemed to recognize it, too. Its eyes widened and it tried to move forward rather than just catch Blake with its claws. It moved too late.

Blake slammed into its massive chest as it raked into him, his mana too low to activate Psionic Shield. His thigh sprayed blood and ripped open to the bone, the other claw slicing down his head and shoulder as he pushed.

The demon grunted in surprise, staggered back as it tried to find another step and found only open air. Then with a slight wave of its bloody claws, it fell back, and tumbled into the pit.

Blake slumped to the edge of the platform, and watched his blood leaking down and pooling on the stone tiles. He tried to command whatever constructs were still able to go break Ilya's cage and fly her out, but his vision was going dark fast.

He'd never been particularly good with blood, especially his own. It was his last thought before darkness.

CHAPTER 24 - BOMB BAIT

[EVENT COMPLETE: DUELING Duos. Experience gained. Please wait for the other duels to be completed.]

After a few seconds of wallowing in the pain and feeling sorry for himself, Mason groaned to a sit and checked his wounds. Not only were they closing, with a confused squint Mason saw the wounds were growing some kind of...giant scabs?

He touched them and startled when he found skin so hard it might have been bone. Was this something to do with his 'transformation' power? Duality of Strength? What the hell exactly did they do? And were they ever going to go away?

He was feeling much better already, and whatever his new powers did, his physical regeneration was getting incredible. It made him realize that he might have to change his thinking—that short, brutal fights were not really to his advantage. As long as he could take his time and heal, it seemed almost impossible to lose.

But he rarely had the luxury of time. He looked to see if he could find the others in their own duels, and certainly hoped they were easier. Everything around him was kind of blurry and unreal, like he was in some temporary, otherworldly version of it. But even so he found Phuong and Alex battling what looked like a giant goblin.

Apparently the duels weren't even the same, which he hoped meant the others had it easier due to level or something. He couldn't see very clearly, but it looked like Phuong had cut the big goblin about a hundred times already, and was practically fighting in a red pool of the thing's blood. That was probably a good sign.

Eventually he found Mai and Seamus. The fire mage was basically surrounded in flames, launching all kinds of projectiles without very much concern at targets Mason couldn't quite make out. Mai seemed alright as well, holding her ground against a hooded goblin much like Mason's, swinging her glowing pan like a club.

"I think they're alright," he muttered to Streak, and probably himself. Then in only a few seconds the big goblin dropped, and Phuong and Alex sat down in obvious exhaustion. "One more," Mason said, squinting and trying to make out exactly what Seamus was shooting at...

Then Mai dropped her pan. The hooded figure stepped out from behind her with a hand covered in red, and Mason saw Seamus's mouth open with a scream.

[Dueling Duo's event completed. Congratulations on your ongoing survival.]

The 'ghostly' players returned to the cavern floor as if nothing had happened. Including a prone and bloody Mai.

"Alex!" Mason shouted as he ran to the small woman's side. "What happened?" he said to Seamus, who was still staring from nearby, making no move to check her.

"I was...I mean she...I couldn’t hit it…the thing was so fast..."

Alex dropped to Mai's side and turned her over, and the second Mason saw her face he knew she was dead.

Her pretty brown eyes stared up at the ceiling, a peaceful expression on her face. The Belarusian touched her chest and his eyes pulsed with light, then he looked at Mason and shook his head.

"God damnit." Mason clenched his teeth and leaned against a pillar. He wanted to yell at Seamus about the teams, but he was just as to blame, and what the hell good did it do anyone. He walked to the Irishman's side and put a hand on his shoulder. "There was nothing else you could have done. Now let's finish this."

The caster blinked away the last remnants of his fire magic, then his face twisted with anger before it cleared.

"This fecking place. This whole fecking thing," he said, regaining himself as he met Mason's eyes. "We can't even take her out, can we? This fecking tree has to be her tomb."

He walked off into the cavern without waiting for an answer, and Mason let him go.

He was probably right. They couldn't take her out, couldn't bury her. What happened to a corpse in a dungeon? He had no idea.

With a terrible thought, he realized it was likely the same thing that happened to everyone the system deemed 'too old to play'. He fought a shiver, and with Phuong and Alex beside him, followed Seamus towards the apparatus.

* * *

The upper platforms were as chaotic and unreliable as they looked. Ropes and ladders dangled over everything, as the workers clearly didn't bother using the lifts except to take down carts full of crystals.

The players climbed and lifted their way up, tossing the occasional arrow-struck corpse out of their way. Mason decided he'd have to leave a growling Streak at the bottom.

"I'll come back for you once we know where we're going," he promised. "I can probably get you up with these lifts..."

But the wolf kept whining and growling and eventually Mason took out his damn rope and tied a harness around the animal's torso, then to himself.

"You can't be serious," Seamus stared as he worked. "There's no way...I mean, he's huge, mate. You can't possibly."

Mason didn't bother answering, checking his work then using the lifts until he couldn't. Finally he started to climb, lifting Streak off the metal platform as he pulled them both up the poles and beams. He heard Seamus whistle from below.

"Jesus Mary and Joseph, man. That's unbelievable."

He supposed it sort of was. Honestly it wasn't even that heavy anymore, and he wondered just how strong this system was going to let people get.

At some point you'd have to think physics was going to interfere. Bone density. Tensile strength. Something. But then he was living in a world with fantasy creatures and magic spells, so he supposed physics wasn't really a problem for old roboGod.

"Christ, we're getting pretty high, and there's not much light. How did you even see this one to shoot it?" Seamus said as they passed another dead goblin. Mason shrugged.

"I can see well enough."

He glanced at the apparatus structure and tried not to be worried the whole damn thing would collapse. But he supposed these creatures had been using it for quite some time, and the carts were surely heavier than a few men and a wolf on a rope.

"Where'd they all go?" Phuong whispered as they kept climbing. "I see no tunnels. No where to run except up."

As if summoned, the mystery solved itself not long after. The huge cavern split horizontally with metallic corridors dug straight into the tree. Mason saw the openings and climbed up as quickly as safety allowed, intending to get Streak up before they found any trouble.

He was almost at the opening of the wide corridor when several goblin heads poked over the drop wearing goggles. Their clawed hands held...metallic devices that looked conspicuously like...

"Grenades!" he yelled to the others. "They've got some kind of fucking grenades!"

The goblins dropped them with wide grins.

* * *

God damnit where is Blake when I need him!

Mason imagined how easy this might be as Telekinesis simply threw the explosives right back at their users.

Instead he leapt from his metal pole to another nearby, jerking as Streak's weight shifted and swung. Somehow he had to get his bow off his damn shoulder and shoot while also holding himself up, and keep Streak from falling to his death...

Explosions rocked the cavern.

Someone yelled "jump!" from below, and Mason just hoped they could somehow manage to save themselves. He was damn near useless until he could get his feet on solid ground, or get to the tunnel.

The goblins were shrieking and arguing above, yelling at their assistants something about needing more bombs.

Great, just fucking great.

"Alex?" Mason shouted. "How are your shields doing with the bombs?"

"OK," shouted their support class, which with his wry humor and deadpan might have meant anything.

"I'd fry them but I can't bloody see them!" Seamus shouted, apparently fiddling with a platform rather than try and climb up himself. At least no one as yet had been exploded.

Mason stopped thinking and made for the tunnel. He went hand over hand with brute strength at full speed, closing the gap just as another round of goblin heads and hands poked over the chasm.

"Shiiiit..."

One of the bombs bounced off right off his face, and fell.

It hurt, no question, but it didn't explode. He shared a brief look with an equally alarmed goblin engineer, than powered his way up and threw himself onto the metal floor of the tunnel.

There was nothing to hold, and with Streak's weight dragging him back he pulled and slapped at the slippery floor in vain trying to get himself up.

The goblins were getting more bombs, and finally Mason just pushed himself straight up at the edge, got a foot up, then pushed up until he could touch the roof. Using the top and bottom he stabilized and walked forward, pulling the rope and praying it didn't snap before he got Streak to the edge.

The goblins threw their bombs, and there wasn’t a damn thing Mason could do about it. He closed his eyes and prayed Apex Predator saved him.

The world filled with fire and explosions. Mason's body jerked but he could still feel the metal roof and floor, and didn't stop moving forward dragging Streak. When the smoke cleared and he could vaguely hear again, he saw the goblin engineers fleeing for their lives down the tunnel.

Mason found a couple pieces of shrapnel stuck in his clothes and body, but at this point that was practically a love tap. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd been so lucky, but turned to get Streak up so he could chase the little bastards.

Alex was half up into the tunnel, sweating and puffing as he held himself up and grinned.

"You see? Shield works not bad. Maybe we call you bomb bait."

Mason let out a long, tension filled breath.

CHAPTER 25 - BRICK INTO MARBLE

ILYA WATCHED THE demon fall with wide eyes. It roared in fury and scratched at the stone, beating its mangled wings uselessly until a huge crash made Ilya jump. Then nothing.

[Hidden Objective completed: Assist Blake Nimitz to destroy your captor. Reward: The line of Vori becomes a Highborn bloodline.]

[Title gained: Tower Highborn. +2 to all statistics. Improved resistance and power potence against all demons. This is a lineage title.]

Ilya dropped to her knees and stared at the Gods' message, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. To be considered Highborn amongst her people was to be a part of the ruling caste. It meant living in the high towers with the elite. It meant prestige and comfort and all the best her people had to offer.

The tower lords themselves would seek her as a mate for no other reason. That she was now an Oracle as well...she would be the matriarch of a great clan. The tower lords would cast aside their first mates just to claim her. Or, she thought with some horror, King Gromsh would take her himself.

But she blinked this away and focused her eyes on Blake, who had fallen and collapsed completely on the stone. Shielding him with Protection and using Fortify Body had taken much of her mana, but she had enough for Healing Wind.

She closed her eyes and focused, unable to see his injuries and so letting the spell wash over his whole body. Just as she finished, the cage clanged and shook and despite the message from the gods Ilya seized the bars in terror, thinking the demon had somehow risen.

Instead she found two of Blake's...living statues...ripping apart the iron bars. They tore a hole, then marched into the cage and seized Ilya roughly. She only managed a small shriek of protest before they pulled her out and leapt into the air.

* * *

Blake licked dry lips as he woke on something soft.

"Drink this." Ilya was apparently holding him in her lap. She held a small flask to his lips, and he grabbed it and yanked before holding himself back and taking sips.

"Your stupid...servants, won't go get more water from my cage, so this is all I have."

Blake looked at his now only slightly mangled leg and sighed with a smile. He patted Ilya's knee.

"Nice to see you, too."

The orc girl smiled and wiped at a tear, then put a hand to Blake's face. "How did you...I mean, thank you for saving me."

"My pleasure. Well not really, it was kind of terrible. There's a river of boiling blood just back there, and an open portal to literal hell."

Ilya shook with a little laugh.

"Are you alright, Master? This Orc cast Healing Wind on you. She also Cast Fortify Body and Protection during your fight with the demon. I believe she is an ally."

Ilya startled and stared at the floating orb. It occurred to him he could have turned the thing into a ‘combat mode’ and winced at the stupidity.

"Don't worry, she's with me, and quite harmless. For now anyway.” Blake sagged into Ilya’s lap. “Thank you, Navi. And apparently thank you, Ilya, for the well timed magic. I'd guessed it was something." He groaned as he tried to sit up, then decided he was rather happy to rest where he was. "When did you start casting spells powerful enough to fight demons, anyway?"

"During my year or so of imprisonment in that cage," Ilya teased with still slightly wet eyes.

"Oh I'm sorry," Blake laughed. "I was busy killing a different demon and building a small magical army to save you. Did it take longer than expected?"

Blake eventually sent his constructs back to gather Ilya's things from the cage, then closed his eyes and examined the damage. His Partition was still pretty fucked up. 'Closing' it didn't seem possible, so he hoped it would just heal or that he could fix it with Meditation or something. Then he finally glanced at his notifications...

[Planar Entity: Lesser Cavaszu killed. Experience (moderate) gained.]

[Objective complete. Rescue Ilya Vori from the ancient orc mine. Reward: Forgotten Fifth Oracle Stone.]

[You have earned enough experience to reach Level 10. Please select a secondary class.]

[Title gained: Cavaszu you, too. You have slain a lesser lieutenant of hell. +1 to all mental statistics. Increased Planar Entity Killer aura.]

Well. Blake stared. Holy shit.

Warmth flooded his body, and he groaned in pleasure before opening his eyes to see Ilya illuminated with a dull green silhouette. He sighed and decided in that moment she looked like a green angel.

"The touch version is more efficient, but this will have to do," she said, focusing as she put her hand next to Blake's leg. Then she did the same with his head and shoulder, and the unpleasant waves of pain finally went down to a dull ache.

"That's the second time you've saved me," he said, looking into her amber eyes.

"I'm not sure who saved who this time," she said, hand still on his cheek. He took it and kissed her knuckles, and grinned when her skin went slightly yellow.

"Let's not bother keeping score," he said, wiggling to get more comfortable on Ilya's lap, and closing his eyes again. "I always win in the end."

* * *

After a small rest, and making sure his ‘Oracle Stone’ was for now secure in his pocket, Blake decided to search the demonic cavern. He had plenty of questions about the stone for Navi before he revealed it to Ilya, not sure exactly what it all meant.

With the help of his flying constructs, he floated down to the bottom and tried to see into the gloom. Ilya waited on the platform, and he lowered slowly to make sure there wasn’t any more demons waiting to pounce.

Fortunately, there weren’t. Or at least none were obvious, and the ‘Cavaszu’s’ body was twisted and crushed enough to have lost its threat. He had his constructs rip out some claws as a souvenir, then noticed the demon wore some kind of amulet that had been too buried in its hide and fur to be seen.

"Navi?" he gestured, and the little orb flared with dull light as it stared.

"Planar Mind Amulet. Enhances Presence. Also has a Mind Rend power gem. Currently drained."

"Well well well." Blake picked it up and almost had it over his head before Navi chirped.

"I should probably add, demonic items are often considered cursed. There's no arcane evidence I can see to suggest that's true, but many races...frown upon that sort of thing."

Blake paused to consider that, then put the damn thing on anyway. Power was power, and he didn't much care what anyone thought about it. He lowered his voice to a whisper and took the stone from his pocket.

“Identify this, too, but keep your voice low.”

“Yes, Master,” Navi said in a hilarious attempt at deepening its child-like voice.

“No I mean...” Blake rolled his eyes. “Just tell me what it does.”

The little construct grinned as its eyes widened. “This is an Orc Oracle Stone, Master! A powerful artifact made for settlement use. I can’t tell you the particulars, but if used to enhance a settlement, it will have powerful effects.”

Blake cringed at the wave of greed that rippled through him, not at all sure how he felt about that. Mason had told him about the natural ‘theme’ he’d added to Nassau. Would this create some kind of orc ‘theme’? Would it help bring the two people together? Or maybe it had more to do with being anti-demon.

He wasn’t sure, but decided the thought could wait. He put the stone back in his pocket, especially as he realized he had a rather short timer now to make his class selection since he was no longer a patron.

Looked like three hours, a little less. How unfair and unnecessary. But rules were rules, so he scrolled down the list of new classes.

It was considerably shorter than first level, which he suspected was because of his Affinity and more specialized class changes. But there was also obviously new options.

Before he even looked and got distracted by new shiny, he decided the best route was to consider his strengths and weaknesses.

His list of weaknesses was obviously...long. He had very little physical ability to speak of, couldn't travel quickly, could hardly defend himself, and frankly didn't have much offensive ability either, at least personally.

Yes, he had Arcane Blast, but it was slow as hell and didn’t always work. Telekinesis was proving incredibly versatile, and he could likely make better use of it with some better preparation. So that was certainly a path to consider.

He was clearly a 'specialist' with his mind powers, though his constructs had vastly increased his capabilities. But he decided what he truly needed was raw power—the ability to destroy his enemies, and to protect himself, when he was alone or the chips were down.

Mason was annoyingly right about this world so far. Allies were useful, and Blake still believed that would be the difference in the end. But for now the ‘game’ was too full of strange and unexpected dangers, empty of large groups, and you just couldn't always have your friends there to help.

There would likely be multiple ways to increase his blunt power, or possibly something that synergized with his 'Making'. But he knew now he was going to have to kill this 'Gromsh' with only minimal support from orcs. The reality was—he couldn't truly trust his Mind Control powers. It had been a Hail Mary when he took it, and though it still might work, it was better to be sure.

He took a deep breath, and scanned the list. Many were original classes he’d rejected at first level and rejected now for the same reasons. But there were some obvious new stand outs…

Psionic Knight, for example, sounded…kind of awesome, if not very well suited to Blake personally. He didn't want to be in the thick of the fighting. He didn't really want to fight at all. Killing he didn't mind. But fighting something that hit back? No.

Kineticist caught his attention. The flexibility and power of Telekinesis was not to be underestimated, and this class seemed to lean in to the ‘physical’ manifestations of psionic power. Tempting. Very tempting.

Mastermind made him stare and clench his teeth with an unpleasant desire. It was obviously a further specialization of his mind controlling powers, and he could hardly imagine what going beyond Mind Control looked like…

But he fought the impulse. At least for now. He was about to look at another promising class called ‘Artificer’ when he realized his new familiar might actually be useful with things like picking classes and powers…

“Navi…what can you tell me about classes? Like the Kineticist."

The little robot blinked. "Quite a lot, master. The Kineticist is a Psionic/Arcane caster class that focuses on Intellect and Vitality. It is capable of considerable mental protection and destruction of the physical world. But can be very mana intensive and vulnerable to magic."

Blake smiled, increasingly pleased with his little familiar. Picking a class was a huge decision and every scrap of information helped. 'Mana intensive' sounded like a problem. Because of Blake's lower mana pool due to his constructs, he knew he needed to be as efficient as possible.

"And the Artificer?"

"Another Psionic/Arcane caster class, Master, which requires Intellect, Presence, and Will. It can produce and modify an almost unlimited number of magical objects. Very powerful in theory, but requires the correct recipes, preparation, and resources."

Blake let out a long breath, not really needing a more detailed description of Psionic Knight or Mastermind. There were other options, of course, all of which he'd seen at level one. But the real choices were really Psionic Knight, Artificer, or Kineticist.

All had pros and cons, but Blake remained confident that specialty was the right choice in a game like this. What synergies might he find? What enhancements might an item based class give him to modify his constructs?

It may not be the sexiest choice, but his gut told him Artificer, and he usually listened to his gut—even before he knew his luck stat was technically enormous. He chose, and watched the text scroll.

[Gained Class: Artificer. Synergy discovered: Psionic Making ===> True Making.]

[Gained Power: True Making: The art of turning brick into marble. Can you outshine the Makers of old?]

The power glowed in his vision, and he considered opening it right there to see how it had changed.

“Blake?” Ilya called from above, sounding concerned. He supposed he’d been gone awhile without calling to her.

“I’m alright,” he shouted, “just exploring the bottom.”

He left the power alone for now. There’d be time to test his suddenly double-upgraded creation abilities later. Instead he walked the filthy walls of the demon’s pit, finally coming to a simple altar covered in runes.

He blinked at the symbols, for a moment no idea what they meant before they almost glowed and burned into his sight like he was staring at the sun. Then just like that, he understood them.

[Hidden Class Feature Discovered: Runic Identification.]

He saw the text and decided it wasn’t terribly ‘hidden’, but supposed circumstances were just right. Turned out the altar had an Arcane enchantment of Teleportation, and would take him to the entrance of the dungeon. He knew it as plainly as he knew the alphabet or decimals, just as he knew how to activate it.

As he made the realization, a pleasant voice intoned in his mind.

[Please leave the dungeon in twenty four hours or less, or you will be transported.]

He ignored it as the excitement of discovery still raced through him, feeling as if he’d gained a new sense that would tell him how reality truly was—like Leeuwenhoek discovering microorganisms, and a whole world beyond human eyes.

But if faded quickly, replaced by a sobering reminder of his own ignorance. And of his powerlessness in this insane new world.

It’s just a game, he told himself, clenching a fist. A game with rules that are getting clearer to me by the second.

There were no ‘Makers’, no world history, because it was all invented a couple months before. He wasn’t sure anymore what his goal was. Before it had been so clear—to form some kind of kingdom and ‘win’.

But win what? And how? ‘Biological imperatives’, the machine had said. ‘Survival and procreation’. But those goals were so basic as to be almost laughable. Just being ‘alive’ wasn’t adequate. And procreation wasn’t difficult for a man like Blake, even before he had mind powers. So what exactly to do?

It was still a game, yes, and he still wanted to win. But he wasn’t sure anymore what the teams were. Who the enemy was. Mason thought anyone that wasn’t him or Blake or maybe their lovers were the enemy. But Blake no longer agreed. He looked up at Ilya, thinking of all the orc minds he’d touched, then of the horror of the demon lying not far away.

Whatever the enemy was—it wasn’t orcs, not when things like that demon existed. He clenched the stone in his pocket, then gestured for his constructs to go get Ilya and bring her down.

Killing Gromsh was still his plan because the system had taken away his choice in that. Likely first he had to understand his powers and do what he could to master them with the time he had left. But after that…after that, he just wasn’t sure.

CHAPTER 26 - DISCOVERY

"SO," ILYA TRIED and failed to push Blake's construct away at the bottom and straightened her...robe. "We're both in a pit." She looked at the corpse of the dead demon and shivered. "What do we do now?"

"Now, my dear, we go back to the orc tower." He pointed to the altar. "That little rock there will take us. But I thought we'd better talk first. Do you think we can go back to your house safely?"

“I don't know.” Ilya frowned in thought. "The king knew my name. He called for me when we ran. I'm sure he learned where I lived."

Blake nodded, thinking the same. Though it didn't mean they kept guards there watching, and the secret little alcove by the river had served them well before. He looked at Ilya fidgeting with her hands and raised a brow.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” she looked away before meeting his eyes. “After the demon, I was given a…bloodline, by my Gods. It changes things.”

“How so?”

She gained a little tinge of yellow, and Blake was struck by the rather inappropriate thought of what exactly was under that robe.

“There are very few orcs left with such things," Ilya explained. "It doesn’t always pass from parent to child, it’s just...a possibility. From the ancient days, the children of the great heroes who slew the demon that ruled us carried a bloodmark, or title, the gods called Highborn. Now I have it.”

Blake raised a curious eyebrow to spur her on.

“It means…” Ilya went even more yellow. “It means I'm now part of that legacy. It makes me something like a princess of the towers.” She turned and swore, the color fading. “If only I was male. I would be owed allegiance of all the Stoneblood. As it is the most I can do is claim the tower lord as a mate.”

“Forgive me, but I’m rather pleased you’re not a male.” Blake grinned, but turned more serious. “I don’t think it changes anything, Ilya. King Gromsh doesn’t care about tower lords or clans or probably bloodlines. As we’ve seen, he’s happy to kill leaders who disagree. We can’t rely on anyone helping us.”

Ilya nodded sadly. "You're probably right. Do we...go back to your previous plan? Preparing orc warriors to fight him?"

Blake had been giving that considerable thought and shook his head.

"No," he said, staring at nothing as he considered. "I can't trust it to work. And I'm afraid he'll slaughter them. There's no reason to throw away your people's lives. We need to find out his routine, ambush him when he's alone. Kill him together."

He looked up to see Ilya's eyes were glistening.

"All my life I was taught humans hated us. That they thought of us as animals and vermin." Blake said nothing and Ilya lowered her gaze. "What will you do? When he's dead?"

Good question, he thought, still not sure himself.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said. "I'm not ready to face him. I need time and privacy and this place is going to kick us out in twenty-four hours." He stopped and considered the Maker's Hall...Lumiere and his new Artificer 'sense'. "Start thinking of somewhere we can go. We need to make one little stop before we leave."

He stepped towards his remaining constructs and Ilya sagged.

"We have to fly again, don't we?"

Blake grinned as he rose into the air.

* * *

"Lumiere!” Blake called as he entered the Maker’s Hall. “I'm delighted to see you again."

The floating torch looked entirely less enthusiastic. Ilya stepped in behind him with wide eyes, grinning like a girl as she ran and stared at the incredibly high ceiling and metallic walls.

"This is amazing!" she shouted, obviously delighted with the echo.

"Pest controller...welcome...welcome back." Lumiere zipped towards them with an even more fake than usual smile. "Would you and your...guest, like a tour of the Maker's Hall?"

"We would absolutely love one." Blake grinned. Then he 'activated' his new runic Artificer sense and inspected the little construct, smile widening as enchantments flared over the creature as obvious as the words in a book.

Though Blake wasn't sure exactly what he was seeing. He understood the alphabet, even the 'language', but not the meaning of all the words.

"Navi, can you identify everything I'm looking at? The enchantments I mean? Can you see them?"

"Yes, Master." Blake and his familiar both stared intently at Lumiere until the creature's fake smile dropped and his eyes flickered back and forth.

"If you would not like a tour now, I really must insist you..."

"True Making Construct,” Navi intoned. “Practical Object. Bound with a Maker's Mark and enchanted with Perpetual Light."

True Making? Ha! That meant Blake could create something just as sophisticated as the floating tour guide!

"What's a Maker's Mark?"

"An option of True Making, Master. It binds the construct permanently to whatever the creator's purpose, but comes with certain limitations."

Blake frowned. "Can it be broken?"

"Apologies, Master, that is beyond my knowledge."

Blake expected it was also beyond his knowledge. But he was getting more eager to test his power properly by the second. It likely meant he couldn't take the construct out as he'd planned, but it was worth coming and worth taking a look at the other constructs as well. Who knew what he might learn if he just...

"You can, however, always deconstruct it, Master,” Navi suddenly chirped. Blake blinked.

"I can what?"

"A special function of your True Making is 'Unmaking', Master. There will be a variety of conflicting impediments, but you need only focus on the construct and..."

Blake instantly activated his power and focused on Lumiere.

"Wait...what? Stop! What are you? I am the special property of the Curator, and he will..."

Lumiere stopped as if frozen in time, and Blake's vision swirled with options and messages. A thrill shot through his body as he realized what it was saying.

It appeared Blake could pull apart literally any object he wanted, not just magical ones. Size and substance mattered, of course. When it came to constructs specifically it seemed the 'type', and the creator's attention also mattered.

Unfortunately for Lumiere, being a 'Practical Object' apparently put him at the lowest tier, as did a complete absence of his creator's attention. The only thing that helped him was his 'Maker's Mark', but that looked like it added a per cent cost. And the base cost was too low to matter. Blake triggered the effect, and watched his mana drop by less than 5%.

Lumiere shimmered, than shattered, his pieces vanishing before they struck the ground.

[True Making Discovery! Enchantment: Perpetual Minor Effect.]

[True Making Discovery! Maker's Mark.]

Blake smiled as he watched the text scroll, very pleased he'd thought to return. Apparently he had a great deal of learning to do, and almost simultaneously as he considered this more text appeared before his eyes.

[Objective: Discover another Maker's Hall and learn its secrets. Reward: a random Major Enchantment.]

"Damn you, roboGod," he muttered, feeling unbelievably compelled to do exactly that. He wasn't very pleased about dancing to an alien's tune, but he wasn't sure what choice he had, either. He also reminded himself to guard his thoughts. Always.

"Did you see these pictures?" Ilya shouted from somewhere ahead in the hall. "This is amazing! It looks just like people! Do all humans make things like this?"

Blake smiled, enjoying her enthusiasm, thinking this wasn’t made by humans.

Then he walked towards the armory, whistling with his hands behind his back. He had twenty-three hours left in this place, and he intended to make use of every single one of them.

* * *

[True Making Discovery! New Form Type: Defender]

[True Making Discovery! New Enchantment: Auto-Renewal]

Blake first pulled apart every statue left in the armory, annoyed that he’d wasted two in combat and testing. He tried de-constructing the broken parts but this proved a waste of time.

"Wonderful find, Master! Your constructs have different archetypes, each with strengths and weaknesses. Currently you are limited to a 'standard' arrangement. But this new body type will give you new options. You'll have to discover the details through trial and error."

Blake nodded, very pleased with the find and explanation. As he'd tried to design the constructs it had seemed like he had infinite possibilities in terms of shape, and yet most of his 'models' came back with errors. He was guessing these new types would give him more real flexibility.

When he was finished with the armory, he took Navi over every square inch of the Maker Hall, scanning and looking for hidden doors or secrets. But he found nothing useful. They still had twenty hours, though, so he told Ilya he was going to practice some new magic.

"We should leave here completely ready, though. So I'm thinking about twelve hours of practice, then we make a plan, sleep and leave."

Ilya nodded, clearly a bit taken aback. "Do you need so much time? To practice I mean?"

Blake smiled politely and withheld the laugh. He suspected he could use twelve weeks without getting bored, such was the complexity of the construction magic.

"I'm afraid so." Blake finally opened True Making to build something new, and on something of a whim, decided the first thing he'd make would be to entertain Ilya.

As before he could select the ‘form’, the duration, and affinity. But there was an entirely new category—‘Practical Object’, like Lumiere, vs ‘Combat’ as seemed to be the standard option from before.

He chose Practical Object, which apparently gave him an empty canvass to imagine literally anything he wanted. For a moment he blanked in astonishment, then imagined a chair. It took blurry form until he forced his imagination to get clearer with the details, which were instantly represented with the power.

“My God,” he mumbled, then cycled through a dozen objects as quick as thought. Most were unclear and misshapen until he forced his brain to get more detailed, but the flexibility was astonishing. And he suspected he’d get better.

For now he tried to imagine a little robotic house cat, and was instantly prompted with which ‘stats’ to add—Mental, or just Physical? Well, that was new. He chose both, and instantly received yet another complex list of personality and features. Fortunately there were some ‘templates’, and he picked ‘Friendly Animal’, then slid the duration to twelve hours.

Just like that, his power locked his body into a brief channeling power, the energy shaping and focusing until the thing he’d imagined looked up at him from the floor. And meowed.

“Ha!” Blake grinned as Ilya covered her mouth.

"What is it? It looks like...a tiny plains cat!"

"That's what it is,” Blake said. “We humans have cats as pets sometimes." He could control it directly if he wished, and mentally gestured for it to wander. "Off you go." He waved. When the little creature found Ilya it ran straight for her, purring and rubbing like a real cat.

"It's so cute!" Ilya laughed, looking almost frightened to try and touch it, but eventually kneeling and letting the thing leap into her arms.

Blake smiled, then turned back to his profile. The power to amuse women and probably children—check. Definitely worth giving up super enhanced mind-bending Professor X potential, right?

He joked, but he knew the potential of these constructs was incredible. Though the actual use of the class was incredibly complicated.

He started again, this time with a Combat model and to try this new 'Defender'. His options were quite a bit different than before as well. He could give the Combat constructs personality just as he could with the Practicals. Hopefully this meant far less detailed instructions and micro-managing, with something more like 'Commander's Intent' like the army.

Or, he supposed with a grin, Constructor's Intent.

He went with the basic template of ‘Obedient Bodyguard’, arcane affinity. Then he flinched as the prototype model appeared before his eyes.

Holy hell. He blinked in surprise. Defenders could be huge!

Without worrying too much about the detail, Blake made something that resembled a giant ape to last about ten minutes, and for his own amusement, created it pretty close to Ilya.

This time his mana dropped a good 15%, which actually was pretty damn fantastic. However, he realized he was also able to control the speed of the cast, and making it faster seemed to double or even triple the cost. But since he was in no hurry, he set it to the minimum and remained basically frozen for damn near two minutes.

Then from nothing at all, a swirl of blue particles formed next to Ilya and her cat, spinning and growing until the seven foot blue ape was a couple steps from the unsuspecting orc girl.

She looked up and shrieked in panic. Blake couldn't help but laugh.

CHAPTER 27 - THEY'VE GOT A CAVE TROLL

IT TOOK LESS than a minute to get Streak and the rest of the players up and into the metallic tunnel. But that was plenty of time for the bomb-throwing engineers to make a clean get-away, and Mason didn't bother trying to chase.

"What the hell is there exactly to be smiling about?" Seamus said with a bit of tone, and Mason cleared his throat and reminded himself the man had just lost someone.

"We survived," he said, "that's enough."

In truth it wasn't the successful climb or Alex's shield saving him from a face full of fire and shrapnel that made him smile. It was the fact that these goblins had tanks and bombs. Which meant they might actually have some damn guns.

"Let's go," he said, a bit more careful with his expression, keeping his bow held firmly in hand and ready.

There was plenty of noise up ahead. The goblins seemed mostly to communicate with high pitched shrieking sounds, or at least that's how it sounded when they yelled. Mason could hear all kinds of clanks and hisses, clicks and thuds. God only knew what the goblins were preparing to loose at them next. But he didn't see much choice except to find out.

The tunnel opened up into a larger hall, equally constructed of maybe concrete and something like bronze. How they'd managed to dig all this and get such heavy material up high enough, Mason had no idea, but he supposed they hadn't. Everything was just popped into existence by roboGod.

But they had bigger concerns.

Several engineers ran frantically around the hall. In the center was what looked like a green giant half covered in metal armor and gadgetry, propped up asleep or dead against a vertical tray. It was maybe a huge goblin, or some other kind of green, fantasy creature Mason was sure there was a word for, and it was surrounded by little piles of multi-colored crystals.

"It's a troll," Seamus said beside him. "A 'Corrupted Troll' to be exact."

Mason glanced at the Irishman and really wished he had an identify power. But he supposed a rose by any other name...

"Let's kill everything and ask questions later," he said, drawing his bow back to take the first shot.

He didn't bother waiting for the others to give their two cents. His first arrow took an engineer in the shoulder, his second the creature's throat. The goblins got a little more animated after that.

Little green bastards in goggles ran in every direction, some poking and prodding the troll with seemingly no affect. Mason avoided the creature as he murdered, hoping maybe it just wouldn't wake up at all. Then a goblin crawling on its shoulder seemed to stick some kind of connector into its ear and leap off with a shriek.

“That looks bad,” he shouted and tried to point. “Kill things. Break things.”

Another goblin behind pulled a crank, and the whole chamber practically hummed with arcane or maybe electrical surge. Mason ran sideways looking for a shot, trying to put an arrow in the goblin at the back.

"Seamus!" he yelled. "Start melting things!"

"What in particular?" the fire wizard shouted back, eyes lighting with flame.

"The…machinery! I don’t know! Just burn it all!"

It seemed the kind of task the man preferred. He was at least smiling a little as he started launching projectiles and shouting various curses and promises of death.

Streak and Phuong were already running forward, but Mason ignored them all now as he kept hunting his target. The little bugger was quick and kept dropping behind his metal desk, so Mason just activated Aspect of the Cheetah and ran straight for him.

A few steps from the desk, another surge of energy coursed through the room, centered on the troll and the desk and strong enough it blasted Mason from his feet.

He sat up and shook the blur from his vision before he heard the roar.

The giant, armored troll held up its arms, which were apparently severed and replaced with a buzz saw and possibly something like a tank flamer. It stared at itself in rage, or maybe horror, then pulled and ripped the straps that had been holding it in place.

With a few quick motions, it splattered the closest goblin engineer, then roared in triumph as it kicked and hacked others with the devices they'd made.

The rest of the goblins ran towards more tunnels leading out of the cavern, and the troll eventually turned and looked straight at Mason. It roared again with equal and very unfairly misplaced outrage, then lifted its constructed arms.

* * *

"Why do things always have to be difficult," Mason muttered as he outran the first spray of orange flame. "Seamus, you're pretty much immune to fire, right?” he shouted. “Can you make yourself obvious?"

The wizard walked out into the open in answer, holding up his arms until the troll turned its weapon on him and kept on roasting.

It gave Mason a second to breathe, at least. He activated Ranger's Mark and gave a quick inspection.

The power didn't seem to have anything to say about the 'modifications' the goblin made. However the various metallic parts worked it had no idea. But at least it showed the basic anatomy and therefore gave an idea of the troll's weaknesses.

Unfortunately...there really weren’t any. Apparently it regenerated like Mason did, had about as much bone around its organs as an orc, and could…survive without its brain…for a few minutes?

“I hate this place,” Mason muttered. “I really fucking hate it.”

Apparently a troll was like a giant, green, angry chicken. With a flamethrower.

He gestured at Phuong to go in and do...something, and for the moment just tried redecorating the thing with arrows. His first, somewhat lucky shot actually hit the thing right in the eye, and he stopped for a second just to watch the result.

The troll blinked in confusion, the shaft bouncing up and down in its blood-oozing eye. Then it shook its head and just kept shooting flame with a growl, apparently not needing to see, or not really caring what it shot.

Mason tried a Power Shot and at least sunk the shaft into the creature's side, followed by a Crippling Strike which for once didn't come back with an error.

Phuong was at the thing's...well, upper thigh, and started slicing away flesh with his glowing blue sword. The troll finally seemed to notice its targets hadn't actually burned, and literally shook its flamethrower like it might be broken.

With something like an annoyed roar it spun and swiped at Phuong with the gun, its eye opening and spitting out the arrow, apparently already healed.

Mason dropped his bow and accepted reality.

He was going to have to hack this thing down to size, hard and fast and enough to get it on the ground so they could all chop it to pieces.

As Phuong danced and dodged away from the creature's swinging gun and buzzsaw, Mason whistled for Streak and circled to its back. He summoned his Claws and watched the creature move, looking for weak spots on its legs.

The knees, he decided, were about as good as anything.

[We need it on the ground] he said to Streak with Speak with Nature, then charged at the giant’s left tree-trunk of a leg and led with a Predator's Strike, followed by a series of cuts at the only partly exposed flesh.

Again the troll seemed largely oblivious to its own damage. It just kept on chasing Phuong as Mason sloughed off meat and green blood as he worked his way to bone. Seamus launched a few projectiles at the thing's face, searing off one of its cheeks to reveal an almost skeletal jaw of fangs.

Streak made his move, chomping onto the troll's other leg between metal plates, growling and pulling away from Mason's other wounded leg. The creature wobbled and finally looked at its legs, briefly trying to jab its saw at Mason before seeming to realize its own body was in the way.

It turned, stumbled, and fell to the floor with a huge crash.

Mason wasted no time. He ran to the thing's head and started slicing for the neck, but soon found the damn thing had a metal gorget. He worked at the edges, blades bouncing off metal and bone as he sought for the soft fleshy connecting tissues.

The troll wasn't quite sure what to do. It tried rolling over. When that didn't work it started spraying more fire and waving its blade around, which Mason and Phuong had to dodge but didn't stop them from attacking.

It was still regenerating, but not fast enough, and Mason had a very strange, probably paranoid thought that this was entirely too easy.

He forced himself to glance around to make sure there wasn't any more coming, or some giant army of goblins building in the tunnel beside. But he didn't see anything. In fact all he saw was a single goblin still hiding in the corner, with what looked like a metal wire running all the way to his desk...

Mason met the creature's goggled eyes. There was sweat leaking from the edges, a kind of resolved madness on the thing's lips. Mason followed its eyes to the pile of crystals sitting all around the troll, mere feet from all the players.

"Run!" he shouted to the others. "Get back! Get to the caver..."

An arcane hum grew so loud and so fast it drowned out Mason's words. Everything went blue, then white, as the crystals became too blinding to look at. Mason closed his eyes and leapt for the metal support beam at the edge of the hall. Then everything exploded.

CHAPTER 28 - GOOD DAY

BLAKE LEARNED A considerable amount over the next twelve hours. First, he'd made his old constructs…very stupidly.

His 'defender' form had taught him just as much from what it couldn't do as what it could. At first it had seemed just vastly superior in every way—it was much bigger and stronger, basically, thicker and obviously more durable.

But it explicitly couldn't have stabbing or slashing parts. It was limited to some form of big brute, smashing or grabbing with whatever version of limb or head it had.

This taught him his other constructs could be made with slashing or piercing parts, and not just wimpy little claws. He could give them sword arms, spears as long as a man, spiked maces, picks…

No wonder they hadn't been able to hurt the damn demon. He hadn't given them any weapons! If it hadn't been for the innate power of the Arcanes, and the height of the pit that eventually killed the thing, Blake would have died in that room. And it would have been his own damn fault.

When his twelve hours were up he was completely mana drained and exhausted, still Meditating and just wishing he had more time. More or less he'd been playing battle bots with himself, sending temporary construct against temporary construct over and over before Meditating and doing it again.

But he hadn't tried team fights, flying, more 'animal' constructs, and a thousand other combinations. Ilya mostly just watched from the wall, sometimes wandering, sometimes playing with 'Bibi'.

"You know it's going to disappear," he told her after she gave it a name. She stared like he was about to...well, kill her kitten. "I could make a permanent one. I just...didn't. He's not alive."

"How do you know," she said, but obviously wasn't too upset. She gave the 'cat' another good pat on its smooth skin, then seemed like she was about to come up with some elaborate goodbye when the thing fell apart and vanished into dust. "Guess that means it's time to sleep," she said with a sigh. "Oh, can you make a bed? Er." She went slightly yellow. "Beds?"

Blake looked at the hard, cold floor and supposed that should have occurred to him. With eight hours he had plenty of time to regain, though, so he drew a little mana from his gem and created a fairly simple, large mattress.

"Yes, yes I can." He grinned, testing to find it at least reasonably soft. But the brain pain of being manaless was real, and he more or less just slumped onto it and closed his eyes. "You don't have to worry," he said. "I won't...bother you. Let's get some sleep."

Ilya sat on the far side of the other mattress, bouncing on it and smiling as she finally settled in. Her robe rode up one shapely leg to reveal there wasn't much underneath. But new Blake was a man of his word. A respectable man of…honor. Or something. So far at least.

He closed his eyes and did his best not to think about kissing and touching her back in her friend's tent, closing a hand around the magic orc stone in his pocket.

"I think we should try to get to my house," she said after a few minutes. "I doubt they're guarding it. And we could hide in the secret alcove, and at least I know some routes to escape there. I...don't know where else to go. I don't think we can trust any of the chiefs."

Blake heard the fear in the girl's voice and turned to face her. "OK. That's what we'll do." He smiled until she met his eyes. "We're going to be alright, Ilya. I promise."

She smiled back, and it wasn't just politeness in her exotic, beautiful eyes, he decided. He hadn't used Mental Influence or tried to trick her, because he truly believed they would survive, that they'd win. All he'd had to do was show her that belief, and she believed too. Because she trusted him. It was a strange feeling.

"Get some rest," he said, fighting his attraction and laying down. First he opened his still damaged but repairing Mental Partition and pulled back his Influence and Control powers, knowing he may need them in the tower. He wouldn't use them on his friends or allies anymore, that much he'd decided. But he'd sure as hell use them on his enemies.

He also realized this wasn't just about him. RoboGod could say whatever it wanted—could give him whatever objectives it wanted. He didn't care about Gromsh and never really had.

No doubt he was just some orc as screwed up and overwhelmed by the power of the system as Blake and the others. But killing him both meant escaping this trap, and now saving Ilya. So King Gromsh was going to die.

Blake closed his eyes, Meditating and focusing on his Partition. In the days ahead, he was going to need every tool in his arsenal, including Duality of Ambition, which had seemed to just boost his constructs overall with no downside.

But Blake knew that wasn’t how these things worked. Mason had warned him of a price for his mental powers and he’d been right. Mason had suffered when he used his own ‘Duality’. And Blake no longer had any illusions that he’d escape his own. He just didn’t yet know how, or when…

* * *

"Ready?" Blake said, standing at the demon's altar with Ilya, Navi, and two new Arcane constructs as the last few minutes ticked down.

"Ready," she said, holding onto his arm.

It had occurred to him that she wasn't able to 'teleport' in, and that maybe she couldn't teleport out. But he also figured the dungeon just sort of 'ejected' them when the timer ran out, so he figured he'd try the altar and see. Then if it didn't work he'd be out just ahead of her.

That it might not send her out at all he refused to contemplate.

Finally he touched the altar and looked at the prompt, which seemed to indicate it knew he had a ‘group’. That was promising, at least. He accepted the exit, and the world vanished as Ilya squeezed his arm.

Then he was standing at the front of the 'ancient orc mine', and Ilya was still holding his hand.

"That was amazing!" she whispered, looking around the cavern.

His constructs had come too, which was somewhat expected but also a relief. Why Ilya should suddenly get to interact with the dungeon like a player now he didn't know, but guessed it might be because she hadn't had a proper 'class' before and now did. But then with roboGod you just couldn't know. Maybe today the 'subsystem' in charge just felt like it.

"I expected guards," he said quietly, a bit shocked, and still ready to make liberal use of Mind Control. The wooden boards he'd broken to get inside were back up, suspiciously identical to the way they'd been before. He was starting to think the dungeon had sort of 'reset' itself, and that the orcs had no idea they'd actually come in here.

He turned around and tried to get back inside. But there was no prompt now. Just a blocked mineshaft covered in rubble.

"Damn," he muttered, looking out from the few gaps in the wooden boards.

"Could we just hide here?" Ilya said, and Blake tapped his chin.

He decided on a resounding ‘maybe’. There were too many holes in the boards, and the wood was too thin. He could maybe plug them with magic, but the damn orc city was just outside, and they could hear the creatures moving constantly. There was also absolutely nowhere to run if they were found.

"Let's go to your house," he said, focusing on his constructs until they collapsed and vanished.

"I'm not getting used to that," Ilya said, then gestured at her robe and threw up her hands. "I need something...less conspicuous. Could you go first and find me something? There's cloth sellers. Fur. If you can..."

Blake grinned and focused as he created a pre-planned outfit with True Making, hoping it wouldn't be the last.

"Enjoy. But they vanish at midnight," he said, holding out some plain clothes much like she'd worn when they first met. "You’re just like Cinderella."

Ilya shook her head then gestured for Blake to turn around, which he did only slowly and with a wink. Apparently he was getting horny enough just the sounds of her clothes hitting the floor was enough to get him going, and he let out as much thirst as he could with a deep sigh.

"And what's a Cinderella?" Ilya said, stepping up beside him as she tied back her hair.

"Human princess," Blake said, inspecting his handiwork with pride.

"And she wore common rags like these?" Ilya stared, obviously far less impressed.

"No, not the...nevermind. Are you ready? Remember—if we're challenged, don't run, don't make a scene, just stop and do what they..."

"And you'll control their minds, I know." She sighed. "Sometimes I can't believe I'm allied with a human mind mage. My father would turn in his grave."

Her tone was light at first, but darkened as she spoke of her dead father. Blake took her arm and have it a squeeze, pulling up his hood.

"Let's go end the monster that put him there."

Ilya nodded, then Blake opened just enough of the boards with Telekinesis for them to stroll on through, like they were just out for a pleasant walk.

A homeless orc sat right outside, staring as Blake hovered the boards in the air as he and Ilya passed. The orc gaped with an open mouth, broken tusks hanging as his eyes went back and forth between Blake and Ilya.

"Good day," Blake said, taking Ilya forward without hurry. Then he put all the boards back where they'd been, floating them Fantasia style as he walked off without another word.

CHAPTER 29 - SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT

[APEX PREDATOR ACTIVATED: Arcane Affinity]

Mason blinked and wiped his hands across his face, but still couldn't see.

"Streak?" he called, hearing only a muffled version of his own voice. The pain was relatively minor, as far as Mason getting blown up and nearly killed went.

He could feel a few sharp pulsing wounds that were probably shrapnel. Most of his skin felt raw and slightly burned, particularly his face. But that wasn't so bad. As long as his eyes started healing.

Streak and Phuong had been just as close to the blast as him, though...and maybe closer…

Mason focused on his still dulled hearing, trying to make out friend or foe and hoping to God that troll was either dead or down. Mostly all he could hear was his own pulse.

After the fiftieth blink or so, it actually worked. Light appeared in the darkness, blurry and blue and without much shape, but light. He instantly pulled up his profile to find Streak in the companion tab. He was still there. That was a start.

Mason used Speak with Nature.

[Where are you? I can't see you.]

The wolf whimpered from not far away, and Mason didn't bother trying to find him and see the damage, he just activated Shared Pain.

Then he collapsed.

The sound of his own bones snapping pierced his dulled ears. Whatever mild burns he'd been suffering from became an overwhelming agony that swept the front of his body. He lay there gasping, mind blanked and thinking of nothing except the next breath, the next moment with a tiny break from the pain.

[Power activated: Duality of Strength]

"Oh shite Mason is done." He heard Seamus coming closer. "How the feck are we supposed to finish this without him?"

"Mason?" Phuong's voice. "Can you hear me?"

"I'll heal," Mason managed through bleeding lips. "Alex?"

“Jesus Christ.” He practically heard Seamus cross himself. But Phuong’s voice wasn’t phased.

"Alex is fine. He was too far away."

Mason nodded and closed his eyes, probably passing out awhile before he blinked again and managed to sit up.

"Jeeeezus." Seamus was sitting nearby and looked at Mason like he'd seen a ghost. "You were fecking sausage, mate. You both were. I could see your skull."

Mason was about to ask for Streak when the wolf came padding over and slumped down. He grinned and found a spot on the wolf that didn't look burned, and gave him a scratch.

"Sorry about that, buddy," he said. "Should have thought about the crystals exploding." Then he looked over at Phuong, who seemed damn near unscathed. "How the hell aren't you in about five pieces?"

"Alex," he said, his face still grave. Then he gestured with his eyes and Mason turned to see what he was looking at. Mason's compound bow was lying on the floor, broken into at least three pieces.

"Ah hell." He didn't currently have the heart to go see exactly how destroyed it was. Instead he rose up and moved closer to the still body of the troll. Well, the main piece, anyway.

The creature's various parts had obviously been fueled by the crystals, which apparently also exploded. Mason looked it over with Ranger's Mark, and saw its organs were very, very dead.

"Well that's something, I guess," he sighed, then looked down one of the tunnels. "You guys take a peek while I was out?"

Phuong shook his head. "I'm more hurt than I look. The blast knocked me flying."

Mason frowned and swapped his ranger's mark to Phuong.

"Don't freak out if you get some kind of power warning," he said, inspecting the man with his x-ray-like view. "You look OK. No internal bleeding. Organs good. But I think you cracked a rib."

The older man winced and touched his side. "Sounds right." He looked around like someone might be listening. "Today I'm feeling too old for this nonsense. But don't tell Miss Rebecca or Aila."

Mason grinned, just glad the man was OK.

"Not a word."

Phuong still looked troubled and opened his mouth once wordlessly before seeming to figure out what to say.

"Patron, I don't know how else to say this, but, you've...grown scales."

Mason blinked and put a hand to his face, finding skin that felt extremely hard and slightly cool to the touch.

"And some kind of film over yer eyes," Seamus added as if he didn't much care anymore. "And your bones are still showing, mate."

Mason continued the self-inspection to find a kind of...carapace where his legs had been most hurt. He blinked and kept touching hard patches of skin and tissue before thinking it had to be either his 'transformation' power, or Duality of Strength. Or both.

Did that mean the more punishment he took, the more he'd react with...adaptation, or something similar? Was it permanent?

The thought was vaguely disturbing, but he didn't see a damn thing he could currently do about it. He’d gone from being not in control of his mind to being not in control of his body. But he supposed if he had to pick, he’d still pick this.

He took a few breaths and walked around the room, finding nothing but splattered troll and goblin and smashed apart machinery. He finally built up the will and walked to his bow to find it just as destroyed as he expected.

The riser, or central body of the bow, was totally broken. There was no way in hell he could salvage it. Maybe they had some kind of civilian in town who could do such a thing, but he sincerely doubted it. With a sigh, he dropped the pieces to the floor and summoned his Claws.

Whatever the hell was going on with his powers and body would just have to play out without his worrying, because he didn't have the time or energy. He had a damn tree to save, and at least he didn't have to think about what to do in combat anymore.

No more running around being cute. Now it was just charge, and cut.

"Two more minutes to rest," he said, mostly to himself. "Then we go finish this thing."

* * *

The tunnels all seemed to lead to the same place. All were now empty of goblins, but covered in an assortment of crystals, contraptions, mining and lumber equipment, all of which were scattered and abandoned along the walls.

Mason's senses had returned to normal, and he could hear the creatures all shrieking and scampering around somewhere ahead. The metal corridors were disappearing now, giving way to cut wood that smelled of rot and the acidic scent of the infused crystals.

Whatever mercy was left in Mason's heart at the start of all this was entirely gone.

He didn't rightly care if the engineers were armed, or if at some point they surrendered. For what they'd done to Mai, and for what they were doing to this tree, he intended to make them all pay.

The smell of rot got worse and worse, until even the others noticed and complained. Then finally the tunnel ended in another small cavern, with a glowing green orb in its center.

No, Mason realized, not an orb. It was a heart made of plant flesh.

Another tunnel that looked like a garbage chute was at the back of the cavern, with a few goblins still leaping down clutching what looked like green crystals. Some glanced at Mason and yelped to hurry, only a few staying and holding their crystals like grenades.

"Back!" one screamed. "Or we destroy tree!"

"No." Mason said, swinging his Claws in a little circle and as he stared at the goblin. "I think you're greedy little cowards, and you'd rather live. Run, for all I care. But if you destroy the tree, I'm going to kill you all, and nothing on this earth is going to stop me."

It was hard to read the goblins due to their goggles. But after a second or two of a very weird staring contest, the little creature turned and ran for the chute.

"Should I kill them? Seamus said, eyes starting to kindle with flame.

"Don't bother," Mason said, moving closer to the heart. As he did he felt a kind of nausea and danger, like he was nearing a wounded animal that yet may strike.

[I'm going to try and cleanse you] he said with Speak with Nature and his hand on the wall. [I have Gaia's Blessing. It may not work, but there's a chance.]

The heart beat and pulsed with light, and Mason walked forward to touch it with his hand.

"Sorry mate," he heard from behind him. "Quest says burn the heart. Can't have Mai die for nothing. It's nothing personal."

Mason blinked, gut dropping as he turned to call out to Phuong or activate Aspect of the Cheetah or do something. Seamus' fiery bolts streaked over his shoulder, straight into the heart.

CHAPTER 30 - JUST LIKE CINDERELLA

BLAKE AND ILYA walked along the wall of the orc city like countless others. They seemed far less empty than before, and Blake wondered if the tower orcs were starting to get tired of their permanent state of martial law.

If the ‘economy’ of the place was anything like human cities, he expected they simply couldn’t do it. You couldn't just keep an entire society of healthy men and women from going about their lives without expecting derangement, rebellion, and probably starvation. But whatever the reason, it was very good news for Blake and Ilya.

They blended easily into the crowd, wandering with the throng without a second glance from anyone. There was still the occasional warrior patrolling or looking half-heartedly around the crowd, but Blake doubted they’d even be able to pick his face from any other.

He still didn’t know exactly how Adaptive Veil worked. He got the impression his features didn’t ‘change’, though, because he always seemed to look the same to Ilya. Nor did he see any way to change them intentionally. Though that would surely be good to figure out if it was so.

They stood outside Ilya’s house for several minutes pretending to shop at the nearby merchants. It had clearly been ransacked, the outer door torn off its hinges, an empty room visible inside.

Not only was there no obvious guards, it looked like there was squatters inside.

"Well," Blake frowned as he watched the few orcs move about. "We can't clear them out without getting unwanted attention. We could join them, but I can't exactly practice making constructs with an audience. Is there more to that secret stream? Can we explore it?"

Ilya nodded. "When I was younger I crept through it a ways. There's many passages.” Her tone darkened. “But we shouldn't let any of those filthy degenerates in there see us enter it."

Apparently Ilya wasn’t much pleased about her childhood home being looted and occupied.

Blake took her hand and walked through the broken door, paying no attention to the dozen miserable orcs lying down in different rooms. They went to the secret tunnel and found it was still hidden behind the family tabard, which didn't seem likely to last forever either.

A single big orc sat in the room, one armed and with broken tusks, he looked up at Blake and Ilya with a scowl.

"Room's taken. Get out," he said gruffly, and Blake sighed. He couldn't allow this orc to talk or arouse suspicion. A corpse wasn't ideal, either, which left his choices pretty clear. He knelt and looked the orc in the eye, activating Mental Influence and Mind Control in quick succession.

“The King is coming back here,” he said, voice sounding strange to his own ears with arcane enhancement, “and he'll kill anyone he finds in the traitor's house. You need to get far, far away, as quickly as you can.”

The orc's eyes widened with fear and anger, but he groaned to his feet and pushed passed Blake in silence, bumping their shoulders roughly as he went. As soon as he was gone, Blake found a ripped curtain and hung it in the doorway.

"There we are," he said with a smile, holding back the tabard to reveal the tunnel. "Ladies first."

Ilya gave him a slightly concerned look, and he was reminded about Mason's warning and people's feelings about mind control. No doubt she couldn't help but wonder if he used such things on her.

He wasn't sure how to reassure her. Either way, she walked on and ducked under the tabard, disappearing into the tunnel.

* * *

Exploring the secret tunnels behind Ilya's home was dark, cramped, and altogether unpleasant. Blake finally stopped and made himself a lantern with True Making, dulling it slightly when Ilya complained.

The stream wound and vanished through holes and crevasses far too small to be followed, but other narrow passages usually took them back to find it again. By the time Blake was getting so claustrophobic he was ready to give up and return to the larger area right outside Ilya's home, a tunnel expanded.

Then it expanded again, and again. Blake and Ilya found themselves standing in a small cavern with several more passages leading out. It even looked like there was a large patch of mushrooms growing near the stream that ran through a corner.

Ilya clapped her hands excitedly and half hugged Blake before she got self-conscious and calmed down.

"This will do, yes?"

"It's perfect." Blake smiled. "I like mushrooms as much as the next guy, but…we still have a food problem. I guess we can make our way back and bring in as much as we can carry. Can I...put you in charge of that? So I can focus?"

Ilya nodded. "I'll look around some more. But if I have to go back the way we came and get food, that's what I'll do."

Blake wanted to bring up the mind control and say she didn't have to worry—to thank her for everything she did for him. To tell her how glad he was to have her company. Instead he just smiled and met her eyes.

"Let's get to work."

The world disappeared as Blake focused on his powers. Every now and then he heard Ilya enter or exit their new little home, but he paid no attention. All his focus went towards fixing the last bits of damage to his Partition, and designing new constructs.

He couldn't know the exact nature of his enemy, but monstrous strength was a clear enough bet. His basic 'plan' was a single Psionic defender to keep the king busy, then several Arcane damage dealers covered in weapons to rip him apart. He summoned several variations of the damage dealers and forced them to fight in the limited space, hiding himself in the tunnel.

The clear winners used something like a pick-axe—but then breaking constructs wasn't the same as breaking an orc king. Still, it seemed a good bet against something tough or armored, and he focused more on piercing weapons than slashing. It would also be easier to stab in a confined space against the same target, so he gave them one spear arm, and one pick arm, with a third smaller arm on the front to grab and arcane burn if it came to it.

When he finally looked up from his final design, Ilya was sitting by a small fire surrounded by food and cooking utensils. He blinked as he stared.

"How did you?..."

"Could you make us some blankets or furs or something? I didn't much like the mattress. Oh! And we need some bowls. I couldn’t find any."

Blake grinned and set to work, able to set the duration of Practical Objects for several days without much mana. Then they were sitting by the fire eating some kind of typical orc stew, and Blake groaned at the warmth and the salt and the quiet, peaceful dark.

"A day to test some tactics," he said, "then I'll be ready enough. But I need to figure out this king's routine. They'll know your face, but very few will know mine. I'll go out snooping."

Ilya nodded, then scrunched her pretty face. "Can't you...I mean you're a human who looks like an orc. Can't you change it? Your face I mean?"

Blake shrugged. "Not sure, to be honest. I guess I could...turn off my disguise, and wait a day. Maybe tomorrow try it again, see if that matters. It won't...bother you, to see me as a human?"

Ilya shook her head, and Blake dropped his Adaptive Veil.

"Boo," he said with a wink, trying not to feel too uncomfortable as Ilya stared.

"Your eyes are so...blue. Can I..." she shifted herself towards him. "Can I touch your skin? I just want to...feel what it's like."

"If you like.” Blake wasn’t sure what else to say, especially since he was pretty happy for her to touch him. Ilya kept sliding towards him, then reached out like he was some kind of rattlesnake. "I don't bite," he said, grinning as she went a little yellow.

Her hands were very feminine looking just like the rest of her, but her skin was rough. She ran her fingers along his cheeks and chin, giggling when she played with his ears and eyebrows.

"You're so smooth," she said. "Like a baby's skin."

"I have no idea if that's flattering," Blake said, making Ilya giggle. Then he noticed a flashing timer in the corner of his eye and grinned.

"What?" she said, still obviously a little embarrassed but not enough to stop touching him.

"You'll see, Cinderella."

She narrowed her exotic amber eyes, then looked down as her clothes started to crumble, then collapse entirely in a heap, leaving her topless and in nothing but a loincloth.

She froze in panic as Blake inspected her with no attempt at subtlety.

"Can I touch your skin?" he said, running a finger over her hand.

"If you…like," she sort of squeaked back, still blushing as she bit her lip.

Blake was no stranger to the curious and amorous looks of women. And frankly, as gentlemanly as he wished to be, he had run entirely out of reasons to ignore it.

He trailed his fingers down her arms and sides, then leaned forward and kissed her.

CHAPTER 31 - HUMAN MAGIC

ILYA’S LIPS WERE thick and soft. She made a slight moaning sound and didn’t move as Blake came forward until her breasts squished against his chest. She pulled back for air with closed eyes, and Blake trailed kisses down her face to her neck as he ran his hands up her back.

She moaned just at that, and Blake was getting harder by the second. He soon cupped her ass and moved his lips lower, making a path down her collarbone and shoulder to her full breasts.

She gripped his open shirt with both hands, and held her breath when he finally found her nipple. She shivered as he licked and sucked, so engrossed she clearly didn’t notice that he was pulling down her underwear.

He glanced down to see she was hairless, her sex the same as a human woman’s and swollen already. He ran his hand eagerly between her legs as he kept working her nipples, unable to help himself.

“Blake…” Her eyes were still closed as she covered his hand with hers, chest heaving with breaths. “I don’t know how humans…is it…the same?”

“Not sure. Don’t care,” Blake said, moving up to kiss her again. “I say we just…do whatever feels right.”

She opened her eyes and nodded, spreading her legs and pushing on his hand. “I want to. To be with you. To please you. Very much.”

Blake shivered with lust. He buried a finger inside her as he watched her eyes, then put a thumb to her lips. She opened her mouth and sucked as he fingered her, wetness soon coating his fingers.

“I’m pretty sure you’re about to,” he breathed hoarsely, exploring her and finding exactly what he’d expect from a human woman, if slightly larger. But then his size was often an issue. She might be perfect.

"I'm...I'm ready for you now," she said, turning in his arms and going down to her hands and knees, lowering herself and sticking her ass up. For a moment Blake just stared in shock.

The view, of course, was amazing. But it had been so sudden and jarring he was pretty sure he'd just encountered a cultural sexual disconnect. It occurred to him that orcs might not exactly be the tender loving type.

Were she just another conquest, Blake might have been thrilled. But she wasn't. And he was pretty sure she was a virgin, or else had very limited experience. He moved behind her as if to do what she expected, but instead trailed kisses up her ass and back.

She shivered, and he again reached between her legs, this time to play with what he hoped was her clit. She made little noises that told him he was on the right track, so he kept himself pressed against her as he worked, moving up to kiss her face as he stroked.

"What..." she said breathlessly, obviously confused, but also enjoying herself. He pulled her up just to her knees, turning her head to kiss her lips as he kept going.

"Just go where I move you," he said, and she nodded as she gripped his thighs. He worked her slowly and gently, loving her sounds and increasing breaths as she closed her eyes and squirmed against his hand.

"I feel...I think...something's happening." She was writhing against him now and he loved every second of it. Her opening was soaked and making little sucking sounds as he fingered and rubbed, rubbed and fingered. Then she literally screamed, the sound echoing through their little cavern as she bucked him back.

Blake couldn't help but chuckle as she came down shaking, eyes fluttering as her body flushed and she sagged in his arms. After several long, very intimate seconds with his hand still inside her, her body wiggling against him, she licked her lips and opened her eyes.

"Was that...human magic?" she asked, so innocently he smiled.

"Maybe.” He slowly lay her down on her back. She was still flushed, amazing breasts and body on display, legs spreading as he pulled them apart. She looked at his cock and bit her lip as he lined it up.

"I've never seen...I didn't know it could be done…this way."

Blake grinned and took his time. He used his hard length to play and tease her opening, soon causing her to put her hands on her face as she trembled. Finally he pushed inside, and she took every inch of his very large member, feeling like a perfect fit around him. He lay on top of her and kissed her slowly, intimately as he kept still.

"This is what you deserve," he said, pushing some of her dark hair away from her face. She stared up at him, looking between his eyes as she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

"Please," she whispered, "take me. Mate with me.”

Blake didn't exactly need encouragement. Ilya felt amazing—the contrast of her strength and sometimes rough skin, to the warm, wet softness inside her, her lips and breasts and curves. He thrust slow and deep, watching the pleasure and need on her face as she watched him back. She wasn't just saying words. She wanted him, to please him, desperately.

He wasn't sure any woman had ever looked at him like that, even Seul-ki. There was no guile, no ulterior motive, no social climbing or advantage or convenience. She had made the choice to be his, and was loving every moment of the reality.

He kissed her and touched every part he could as he kept a steady rhythm of pounding her into the furs. She was gripping his cock with an almost inhuman strength, squeezing so tight and hot he was struggling for the first time in years to not physically lose control. Or maybe he just wanted to.

Ilya was staring into his eyes, as if not wanting to miss a moment of his pleasure. He wasn’t sure if that was orc women in general or just Ilya, but it didn’t make much difference, it was hot as hell.

She ran her hands through his hair, gripped his ass, touching him as much as he touched her. He twitched inside her as he started to get close, and she felt it.

"Please," she kissed him fiercely, panting. "I want to feel your warmth in me."

Blake stopped fighting and sped up, letting his body open and flow. The tension and pressure squeezed up his balls, his desire and lust for Ilya so natural his mind had stopped working. She was sucking and squeezing it out of him, pulling him deeper as she kissed his neck.

He buried his hands in her dark hair as he came. Without a shred of reservation or self-consciousness, he just pounded into her wet, eager body, spraying into her again and again, his balls draining every drop deep into Ilya.

When he was finally done he collapsed on top of her, her hands still roaming his body like she couldn't get enough.

"You're so soft," she breathed, clutching him. "I can't stop touching you."

"I'm hard in a few places," he muttered into her neck, and she giggled.

"Mmm, yes you are."

She squeezed him with her arms and legs, as if to trap him inside, wrapping herself around him. He closed his eyes, no intention of moving, and after a very long day, slept in moments.

* * *

A wild animal attacked them in the night. It growled and leapt through the dark with a terrible howl. Then Blake's constructs caught and splattered it against the wall.

"Jesus Christ." He woke up with a fast beating heart and stared at what looked like a badger from hell. Ilya was equally disturbed, and looked a little sheepish.

"I…should have thought of that. There are some dangers down here." Then she frowned. "What's a Jesus Christ?"

Her furs had slipped down around her waist, and she looked so cute and sex-ruffled Blake felt the tension drain as he laughed. He pushed her back down and started trailing kisses down her body, and the orc girl looked utterly shocked.

"You needn't, um, pleasure me until you're ready again in a few days!"

"A few days?" Blake looked at her, then took her hand and curled it around his hardening shaft. "At my age, and your hotness, darling, we're talking minutes."

She fondled him as if she'd forgotten what they were talking about, then shook her head. "That’s…impossible. Human men must have countless wives."

Blake grimaced at that. He had no idea what the future might hold, and he knew he might be about to ruin things, but didn't want to lie to Ilya even for a moment.

"I...do have a woman, back in my human town. I should have told you about her. It’s…complicated."

Ilya squinted, and if anything, stroked him faster.

"Good," she said, as if it turned her on. Or maybe made her competitive. "My mate is desirable. I'm not surprised."

"Your mate, huh?" he said, the small concern he had vanishing and replaced with lust.

"Yes," she said, a little shyly, looking up at him. "I don't know if orcs and humans can..." she flushed. "But I would like to try. I’m the last of my family."

"Then we'd better try the orc way, too," Blake said. "For science."

"For what?" Ilya squinted as Blake activated Telekinesis and spun Ilya around with a shriek. She adjusted quickly, arching her back like a damn gymnast, giving him a perfect view of her tight little ass and incredible pussy, and he played with both with his tip. As before, Ilya clearly loved to be teased, opening for him instantly.

He took a handful of her hair and slapped her ass several times, hoping to give her the full orc experience. She was wet and wiggling by the time he pushed inside, this time moving up to jackhammer speed as soon as she was ready.

Then her ass was smacking and bouncing against him, her whole green body pushing back to take him deeper and harder, and he felt like he was in some kind of high fantasy porn.

But he was in total control now after his first orgasm, so he just kept fucking her, lost in the moment and not wanting it to end. She started making little moans every thrust, panting and pushing against him with her arms stretched forward, sweat beading on her skin.

She cried out with abandon again, quivering on his cock and clamping down harder than any woman in his life.

He’d intended to wait, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to fill her in that moment, and let the pressure go. Then he was yanking on her hair as he exploded in her from behind, gripping her ass and pulling her back to cum deep inside.

When they finally lay down to their sides, Blake was still inside her, groping her tits as she pressed into his arms.

"I feel so...alive," Ilya said, putting her hands over his. "I can't believe...any of this. My life since I met you. I don't want it to end."

"Neither do I," Blake said, and meant.

She slipped him out with a sigh so she could turn in his arms. "I'm your mate, now. You can have me whenever you wish, however you wish. We can't know how...if our plan will work. I don’t want to waste a moment."

Blake held the beautiful orc girl, knowing then she didn't expect to survive their encounter with Gromsh.

He didn't blame her. Normal people judged risk based on evidence, and everything in this tower was stacked against them. He'd had some setbacks, of course, but Blake's faith in himself, in his fortune and destiny, remained.

He wished he could tell her, wished he could explain. He was going to win because he had things to do, because his ambitions were far grander than this tower. And though he knew that same grand destiny for him didn't protect her, he could keep her out of it, keep her safe until the end.

Blake wasn’t much for promises, but he made this one to himself, mentally glaring to try and mean it. He stroked her cheek until she met his eyes, hoping she could see his unshakable belief, and find comfort.

"We have plenty of time," he said, and kissed her. "But don't worry. We'll 'mate' like we don't."

Ilya grinned, and squeezed him hard. He sighed and closed his eyes. A little more sleep, perhaps, before another round…

CHAPTER 32 - THAT FELT GOOD

MASON FROZE AS he watched the flaming missiles strike the tree's heart. It was like seeing someone drop a glass, or slip on some ice. You knew where things were likely headed, but still hoped it was otherwise.

It didn't explode, at least. A chunk of the beautiful green flesh darkened, and a noise like a strong wind through a woods rattled in the air. The heart 'closed' like a flower, covering itself in a thick layer of dark flesh almost like a walnut.

It all happened very fast. Seamus just stood there as if wondering what would happen next. He didn’t have to wonder long.

The room shook. A deep groan again like a ship creaking in the waves followed, then something emerged from the wooden wall. That something had a face. An angry face, followed by limbs and a body the size of a large truck.

It ripped and squeezed from the cavern like a thing being born, eyes locked squarely on Seamus.

The fire wizard didn't waste time. He fired another series of fiery blasts at the creature, which seemed largely to shrug the magic off. It was slick with moisture, flesh green and far too new to burn properly.

"Shite."

Seamus kept shooting as he started to run around the room, and for the moment Mason and the others just stood watching. Phuong and Alex crossed their arms as they waited for instruction.

The green giant chased across the room, lumbering after Seamus, occasionally shooting some kind of thorn that burned up on the wizard's shield.

"Come on, mate, you've gotta help me!"

"I don't have to do a God damn thing," Mason snapped, pretty pissed and clearly not the target of the creature's wrath. "You're lucky I don't help it kill you."

"Aw come on!" Seamus loosed another series of blasts, almost waiting too long as the walking tree nearly swiped his head off. But it missed, and the Irishman ran on.

Mason shook his head, not sure what he wanted to do.

Nassau was desperately in need of casters. The man had tricked him but he understood why. System quests weren't the kind of thing most people could just ignore. Which made him wonder what the hell the game had in store for him in the future in terms of player betrayal and cross purposes.

"You'll agree to serve me and my settlement," he said after it got obvious Seamus was screwed. “With no conditions.”

"What?" Seamus ducked another murderous swing and fled. "Are you bloody blackmailing me?"

"Yeah. And you'd better stop wasting time. You'll sign a contract, whatever the fuck I say. For one year. And after I save you, if you try and burn the tree, I'll kill you. Or," he shrugged, "you can stop this thing on your own."

Seamus loosed yet another fire blast with as much result as the rest. He tried shooting the 'walnut', which did exactly nothing. He was pale and sweating now, already tired, obviously no idea what to do.

"Fuck's sake, man!" he shouted. "My friend is dead. I'm a person and this is just a fucking game! You've gotta help me!"

"One year,” Mason said again. “Agree and we'll sort out the details later. I'll take you at your word. Better hurry."

Mason could see Phuong grinning now and supposed it was a little funny. The Irishman clearly didn't have the greatest physical stats, and by his wheezing breaths he’d probably been smoking most of his life.

"Christ Jesus!" The man tripped and nearly got stomped to death before leaping and scrambling away. "OK! Whatever you say! Shit. Just help me God damnit!"

Mason put a hand to the wall and closed his eyes, activating Speak with Nature.

[I won't let him hurt you again. Call off the guard, and I'll still cleanse you as I promised.]

The same burning warmth touched his hand, full of regret and maybe...apology? With the same overarching feel of helplessness.

Mason understood. It couldn't call off the guard. It was too weak to control such things anymore. They just happened. Mason was going to have to stop it himself.

He shook his head, angry again. He knew the thing was alive, probably little different than the 'defender' he'd made with the nymphs. He tried to tell himself this was all just a nonsense invented by some god-like AI. It wasn’t ‘real’. But he found he couldn't quite believe that anymore.

"Alright." He summoned his Claws and looked to Alex and Phuong. "We have to put it down."

* * *

Mason dropped three snaring traps, walked behind the thing, then started with a Crippling Strike. It roared in outrage, spinning instantly to clobber Mason before he hopped away.

"Oh thank Jesus." Seamus collapsed a ways away, and as if sensing vulnerability the tree-man turned and lurched towards him. He shrieked like a little girl and rolled to his feet to run, but Mason's Crippling Strike had done its work, and the creature could barely move.

Phuong and Streak took two new angles—the swordsman slashing at the defender's arms as the wolf chomped at its 'knee' and pulled. Mason held his ground and kept slicing with Predator's Strike on cooldown, trying to hold its attention.

Instead, the creature drew into itself and seemed to stop fighting. Mason felt the danger in his bones.

"Watch out!" he shouted, activating his Shield gem.

The thing erupted in thorns. Mason activated Shared Pain just in case, and felt a couple spikes dig as phantom wounds into his side. He heard Alex's shields sizzling and assumed the others were safe.

Then he charged back in and started slashing. Phuong did the same. Streak threw his increasingly heavy weight into the tree and damn near knocked it over on his own.

Huge, trunk-like arms waved back and forth at them angrily, but they were too fast and too many. Bits and pieces of branch and plant flesh dropped to the floor as the thing got smaller and smaller. But it also seemed to get faster.

It finally managed to grab Mason with a brutally strong grip, face twisting in an expression of betrayal as it squeezed.

[Duality of strength activated.]

Mason hacked at its arm but it was still too thick to cut. Then he unsummoned his swords and grabbed its 'hand'.

The hard wood was trying to crush his whole neck, but the harder the thing squeezed, the less afraid Mason felt. It was like lightning coursed through his body, focusing on his neck and pushing his muscles out like an inflated balloon.

He pried the creature's fingers apart, a hand on each side pushing the fingers off his waist. The tree-man's face blanked in obvious confusion, then anger, as it brought in its other arm, ignoring the damage caused by the others to its back.

It put both hands to Mason, and crushed. And failed.

He growled and pushed it back, finding every moment it squeezed the resistance got easier. And easier.

When holding the thing's hands away became almost simple, he forced them back, then leapt forward and re-summoned his Claws.

With a brutal stroke, he slashed a Predator's Strike at the tree-man's neck, smashing as much as cutting the blade all the way to the hilt. He used it to climb onto the creature's shoulder, grabbed its head, and started pulling.

Like roots ripping from the soil, he yanked the thing's head inch by inch from its neck, getting underneath and pushing with his body until he had it six feet in the air. Then he pulled his sword, and sliced the last few tendrils holding it together. The treeman collapsed.

[Killed Great Tree Guardian. Group experience awarded.]

Mason stood and dusted himself off. He walked to the creature's separated head and closed its 'eyes' with a sigh. He knew he would dream of that look of betrayal etched across the treeman’s face, and it would not be a pleasant dream.

He looked at Seamus, whose gaze went back and forth between Mason and the treeman's head like he couldn't quite understand what he was looking at.

"That innocent creature’s death is on you," Mason said. "It was just trying to protect life. Protect this great tree that does nothing but spread life."

"It's not...real," Seamus said. "It's just a game, mate."

Mason was on him in a blink. He lifted the scrawny Irishman with one hand on his throat, working hard not to squeeze.

"Shut the fuck up and listen. If this..." he gestured at the walls. "If nothing means anything, if this is all just some sick twisted world, then the only thing that matters, the only thing we can control, is what we do.” He set the man down and took a breath. “Don't let it turn you into a puppet. Or a monster. Don't burn something good because it says so. Because that's on you."

"Alright, mate, Jesus," Seamus rubbed his neck and stepped away. "Whatever you say."

Mason shook his head and walked to the 'walnut', putting his hands on the hardened flesh. "It's alright," he said, activating Speak with Nature. "Open. No one will hurt you now."

The protective coating slowly receded, and Mason put his hands gently on the green heart and turned on Blessing of Gaia.

He gasped as the corruption struck him. It was like being back in the red pool in the first great tree, but far, far worse. Something sucked at his mana, at his strength, his energy, his life.

He heard himself moan and soon fell to his knees, repeating again and again in his mind that he could take it, he could last.

"Mason..." Phuong was saying behind him, obviously concerned though Mason had no idea what he was seeing.

"I'm alright," he said, not sure that was true. "Just a little more. Then I’ll…"

Through the link in the tree he could feel the despair. The concern. The hopelessness.

"Stop that," Mason whispered. "You'll make it. We both will. We go together. Keep drawing more."

The draining pressure increased and Mason gasped as something cold spread through his limbs.

"Streak," he whispered. "I need you."

The wolf came to Mason's side, and he stared into his friend's eyes. He activated Shared Pain, and Streak growled and whimpered as it buried its face in Mason's chest.

A little warmth came back, spreading like water from Streak's nose down his body. He shivered and reminded himself he needed to live for Blake, for Nassau, for the girls.

Then it was done. The connection with the heart was gone, and he lifted his hands and sat beside it taking long, deep breaths.

[Objective complete. Cleanse the Great Plains tree. Experience awarded.]

[System Message: There is one more tree to cleanse to complete {Objective: Cleanse the holy trees of the Great Forest. Earn reward: Wyrdwalking.}]

[Dungeon completed. Experience awarded. You have earned enough experience to level to sixteen!]

[Please select a new power to enhance. As a patron, you have twenty-four hours.]

"Oh shite it finished my quest. Ha! Guess I just had to 'cleanse' it, not necessarily 'burn' it."

The Irishman grinned like they were all good friends again, the trouble he'd caused no big deal. Mason found he couldn't do anything but stare at the man.

Then he heard a sizzle as Phuong waved his sword in a figure eight, and the Irishman's eyes rolled back as he dropped, very stunned, unceremoniously to the floor.

"That felt good," said the older man, sheathing his blade and rolling Seamus roughly with his foot. "I leveled too. Thank you for bringing us to the dungeon, Patron. That was very…interesting."

Mason lay back with Streak and grinned.

CHAPTER 33 - LEVEL SIXTEEN

LEVEL SIXTEEN. MASON had sure as hell come a long ways from a panicked level one in the tutorial, barely able to kill a goblin.

On the other hand, back then at least he’d had a bow. But complaining didn't help anything. He pulled up his profile.

Mason Nimitz

Level: 16

Primary Class: Ranger (tier 2)

Secondary Class: Druid

Prestige Class: Avatar of Cerebus

Strength: 19

Dexterity: 24

Vitality: 23

Intellect: 12

Will: 16

Presence: 10

Luck: 9

Essences: Essence of the Wolf.

Titles: Killer, Early Lead, Soloist, Crazy like a Fox, Burnt the Boats, Patron, Progenitor, Hit the Ground Running, First Blood, Defender, The Prestige, Tiering it up, Phase Jumper, Front Runner, What Is Dead May Never Die, Poison Shmoison

Powers: Power Shot, Crippling Strike+, Transformation, Predator’s Strike, *Nature Affinity, Ranger’s Claws (T2), Endless Quiver+, Trapmaking, Aspect of the Cheetah, Blessing of Gaia, Ranger’s Mark, Duality of Strength

Another power enhance. Extra time was pleasant, and God knew he couldn't get enough of those. Now the question was what.

He looked at what he'd enhanced and what he hadn't, and it occurred to him he wasn't sure how the 'synergy upgraded' powers worked with enhancement. It hadn't come up before, but he'd enhanced regeneration before it turned into 'Transformation'. Was that just...wiped out? Or was the enhancement part of the upgrade?

He guessed it was the latter, since the former seemed supremely unfair. Of course with this game unfair wasn't exactly unheard of. But still, he believed it carried over. Which meant he could upgrade the power again…

But best to consider all his options. Aspect of the Cheetah was a staple, but frankly it already worked pretty well. If he moved much faster and he might fly out of control in combat. Trapmaking would be an excellent choice, especially now that he didn't have a bow and realized he could 'charge' thrown objects.

On the other hand, it was situational. A power like Transformation was (almost) always in use and vital. He also had his new 'prestige' power, Duality of Strength, which was still a little vague but proved itself incredible against the treeman. What the hell might enhancing it do?

Out of curiosity, he clicked his companion tab and saw Shared Pain and realized yes, he could enhance that too. Was there a chance he might be able to use it on someone other than Streak if he enhanced it? The thought practically made him pick it instantly, but he just couldn't know unless he tried. It might just slightly improve the thing, which he didn't seem to need.

Indecision was getting real. The stakes were just so damn high, the challenges getting intense. But Mason knew his 'build' was made for something like adaptation. If things were stronger than him, he got stronger. If he got hurt, he started to change to deal with it.

Regeneration had saved his life over and over, and it seemed 'Transformation' was now potentially the key aspect of his style, especially until he found a new bow. He didn't have any direct evidence yet, but he knew in his gut the 'transformation' wasn't permanent, that it could come and go and wouldn't consume his body and life. And maybe he could even learn to control it.

He stopped thinking and chose.

[Transformation enhanced: Increase the speed and control of both the regenerative and adaptive aspects of the power.]

Another enhance without a choice, but when he saw improved control he couldn’t help but smile. ‘Improved’ implied he already had some control, and he determined himself to try and focus the next time it was working. The thought gave him considerable ease, and he knew he'd made the right choice.

Mason finally stood, Streak hopping up beside him, apparently no worse for wear despite the painful cleansing. Mason looked at the healthy looking heart of the tree and smiled, then remembered back to the first great tree.

They'd cut that heart in two, hadn't they? And then the damn thing had collapsed all around them. On the other hand, it hadn't been green and healthy looking like this one. Did that matter somehow? Mason had no idea how to ask.

He tried activating Speak with Nature and putting his hand on the heart.

Feelings of intense joy and gratitude flooded him, this time with no burning pain between the connection. Something tickled Mason's mind, insistent but not painful.

[Apex Predator Activated: Entity 'Great Plains Tree' has attempted to use a Mental Power on you. Do you wish to resist it?]

Mason frowned, but felt no malice from the creature, and could likely change his mind once the power was effecting him. For now he let it through.

His vision blurred and swam, until he was looking at himself in a valley he recognized as just outside on the rocky terrain. The great tree loomed before him, no longer rotting and half barren. It had a face, like a kindly old man with mischievous eyes and a bulbous nose. It grinned at him, and all around them little saplings were sprouting from the earth.

Mason smiled and knelt to touch some, looking up at the bright sun and the smiling tree.

"Good," he said. "I wouldn't want anywhere not completely covered in trees in this world."

The great tree's face raised a curious eyebrow, and Mason laughed.

"Nevermind. Thank you for this vision." He clenched his jaw, not sure how to ask except to ask. "I cleansed another great tree before. Except, it had a pool of water, and a heart more like a man, or a beast, and I...destroyed it, to stop the corruption. What will happen to the tree?"

The old face smiled, then its eyes turned and Mason heard women laughing in the valley. What looked like nymphs ran through the woods and waved, green magic surrounding them as they leapt into the great tree and disappeared.

"I think I understand," Mason said. "The nymphs will keep it alive."

Tree-face smiled.

"One more question," he said. "I'm looking for a druid, taken prisoner by a giant. I need to find him to free him. Can you help me?"

The ancient tree stopped smiling, shifting its face and back and forth as if to shake its head. The expression was hard to read, but Mason thought it looked less empathetic than he might have expected. But whatever the issue, he decided to drop it.

"Then we'll leave now. I'm glad we could help you. I'll cleanse the other tree, if I can. I promise you."

The old face smiled again, a little moisture building in its 'eyes'. Then the vision faded and Mason was back with the heart, blinking as his eyes adjusted. As before with the heart's defender, the walls shook and cracked and groaned, and three much smaller tree-men emerged carrying bundles of leaves.

"Patron?" Phuong summoned his sword and stepped into a fighting stance, Alex moving behind him.

"It's alright," Mason said, feeling no threat from the creatures. They came forward and placed their bundles rather purposefully at each player’s feet, then stepped back until they vanished again into the walls. "Gifts," Mason said. "They're thanking us."

He lifted his own, unraveling the leaves until he found a single...acorn? And a small pouch full of the green crystals he'd seen the goblins take. The acorn felt warm to the touch, and he had no doubt it held some magic power, as did the crystals. But he had no idea what.

Phuong lifted his, which was considerably larger, and practically gasped when he found a thin 'vest' that looked like bark, with vines and leaves engraved in some kind of cross between art and forest camouflage. "It's so beautiful," he said, then frowned. "It can't be to wear? It looks so...brittle."

Mason very much doubted that. He helped the man put it on, being as careful as possible but it soon became clear it was the perfect fit. "Well," he said with a grin. "You look a hell of a lot…fancier. Even if it doesn't do anything."

Phuong grinned, inspecting himself and seeming rather pleased.

Alex picked out a necklace that looked like flower petals. The stoic Belarusian put it around his neck and looked at the others, his heavy face turned down in his resting scowl. Mason and Phuong burst out laughing.

"What?" Alex glanced at himself. "Does it break already?"

"No." Mason wiped his eyes. "It's…it’s perfect. Whatever the hell it does."

"Feels nice." Alex poked at it but seemed to like it around his neck. "Like warm towel."

Mason couldn't help but notice the trees hadn't left a gift for Seamus. He lifted the still half-unconscious, slightly mumbling Irishman up to his shoulder and somehow knew the exit to the tree was a touch away.

"Time to go," he said, closing his eyes and touching the far end of the room, a final glance at the heart. He thought of Blake and his girls and the druid dreams and the other trees and the giant he didn't know how to find, ending the thought with a sigh. "We've got a lot to do. And probably not much time to do it."

Then he accepted the prompt to exit the dungeon, and vanished with a blink.

CHAPTER 34 - NEKOSH

SEAMUS WOKE UP about a minute after they left the tree. He shook and twitched and started cursing until Mason set him down.

"What bloody happened, eh?" He turned and glared at Phuong. "Don't you think I'm not onto you, you slanty eyed bastard. It told me I was bloody stunned. I should..."

"Shut up before he kills you," said Mason non-chalantly, Phuong yawning behind him. "Your life is mine for a year, after that you're free to be careless. Now where's that friend of yours?"

"I'm here." The big man stepped out from behind the great tree. "What's the damned idjit done now?" His dark eyes inspected the players, then narrowed. "Where's Mai?"

Seamus was slowly backing away now, as if to get behind Mason for protection.

"Sorry," Mason shook his head. "She didn't make it."

The big man's eyes widened, moved to Seamus, and without another word, he charged. "You stupid God damn fool, I'll kill you, I'll kill you!"

Mason caught the tree-trunk arms, and found himself yet again stopping someone from killing the Irishman. He was beginning to wonder if it was worth the trouble.

"It's not his fault," he said, holding the man's wrists fast. "He fucked up in there, but it had nothing to do with Mai. We all did our best for her, but the dungeon...it just..." he shrugged. "There wasn't anything we could do."

After a few long seconds of struggle, the taller man relaxed, and Mason let him go.

"She saved my life," he said, slumping to the ground. "And I never repaid the favor. Now I never will."

"That's horseshit, Mac," said Seamus. "We'd neither of us be here without you. She wasn't some flower, she was a warrior like you and me. And she went down fighting. I just couldn’t…"

Mac glared at the man but didn't have anything to say to that, looking at the dirt with sullen eyes.

"Was it worth it?" he said finally. "You're stupid quest, and this stupid tree?"

"Aye," Seamus grinned, holding out his hands. A kind of metal staff appeared out of nothing with a burst of flame, growing out of Seamus' fingers. He tried to twirl it. And dropped it.

"Shite. But yeah, I finished my quest, got this beaut of a thing. I think it enhances pretty much every..."

Mac was on his feet again, spitting mad and swearing at the Irishman about Mai being dead and 'all for your stupid fucking stick?' and similar sentiment as Mason held him back.

"Gentlemen, I really don't have time for this," he interrupted. "Mac, is it? We have a settlement to the west. Lots of players, civilians, houses and walls. You're welcome to join us. You never have to talk to Seamus again, if you don't want. But we need to leave."

The big Scotsman stopped fighting and took a deep breath.

"Sorry, nothing personal. And it's John. McGregor. But he's a prick Irishman and I'm big so he calls me..."

"I get it. John it is. Well we're going to..." Mason stopped and turned, looking back in the direction of the orc fortress and Sanctuary beyond. He exchanged a look with Phuong, who grinned, and Alex, who...well, as usual made no expression at all. But at least now he had some pretty flowers around his neck.

"If you're all up for it. We're going to go take over that town."

* * *

The men, as it turned out, were up for it. Seamus more or less bounced around the group, incompetently swinging and spinning his staff, asking what amazing rewards they'd get for taking a settlement.

"Probably nothing," Mason said honestly. "But I'd feel a lot better killing any orc inside every time we passed by."

"Aye, we've tangled with orcs before," said Mac, er John. "Tough fellows. Especially in numbers."

Mason nodded, but Seamus rolled his eyes.

"Ain't nothin’, boyos. Just watch as old Seamus starts shooting flames, the cowardly bastards run like their Momma's callin’."

That was likely true enough, and a large part of why Mason wanted the annoying man alive. If it helped him save Blake somehow, he could tolerate a great deal.

They went to the fortress first, Mason checking the gates again just to be sure.

[Error. Please try again in 24 hours.]

He took a moment to hold back his frustration and anger, appreciating Phuong's hand on his shoulder.

"It means he's still alive, Patron. He's clever, he'll find a way out."

Mason nodded, knowing it was true. But it didn’t make him any less angry.

"Christ Jesus look at this place," Seamus whistled inspecting the towers. "Should we try another dungeon? We're here, right? Just imagine what kind of rewards must be in a place like this. We've got the muscle, a crack team, no problem! Just leave that wolf to do whatever, and we'll bring in Mac here."

It wasn't great timing. Mason grabbed the Irishman by his collar and slammed him hard enough against the wall to knock out some breath.

"I'm starting to dislike you. Your friend just died, so why don't you at least pretend to give a shit for another minute. And the wolf is Streak, the man is John. I'm also starting to think you don't realize I own you."

He put a hand to the man's neck and squeezed just hard enough Seamus' eyes showed actual fear.

"If we're going to go into a dungeon, I'll tell you. If we're going to go for a nice picnic lunch, I'll tell you. Until then, you're going to treat everyone with respect. Then maybe you get to be a person with dignity, and not just my whipping boy. Clear?"

Seamus made a sound that seemed close enough, and Mason dropped him to cough and sputter on the ground. It was pretty clear John enjoyed the experience, though Mason winced at going a bit too far. Still, after the tree, he couldn't say he felt too bad about it.

There was no obvious sign the orcs had come out since the attack outside the tower, but Mason took a few minutes to look around. In fact it seemed they'd cleaned the whole place up, removing all their dead and fallen equipment just as any human military would. He looked back at the dungeon, feeling vaguely desperate to know exactly what the hell was happening in there.

Sooner or later, Blake would dreamwalk and tell him. But he needed to actually sleep for that to happen.

"OK," he thought, looking at Sanctuary. "Let's go clear it. Then we go home."

* * *

Nekosh, newly made Chief of the Blacktusk clan, finished a second helping of his mid-day meal, and took a minute to appreciate his good fortune.

"Should I bring more from storage, husband?" asked his new, young bride, eyes lowered in respect and fear.

It was close to gluttony at this point, but Nekosh pat his growing belly with a shrug. "Why not. Then ready yourself. If I don't sleep, I'll want you today."

"Y-yes, husband." The little Stoneblood female went off to fetch his food, and Nekosh let out a long, satisfied smile. "Thank you, Graak," he said, looking out the window of the chief's hall. When he'd agreed to join the raid on the human settlement, never in his wildest imagination had he imagined gaining a chiefdom outside the towers.

But the unfortunate raid leader had died in battle, leaving Nekosh in command. The grey tower had locked down in some kind of fresh civil war—or so Nekosh assumed. And none of the lords, it seemed, had the attention or interest to appoint anyone else, or to fight over the settlement.

So the very common born son of a grunt, with no ambition beyond raiding, had kept his position by default.

In the past week he'd accepted the fealty of dozens of new warriors, taken two brides, and begun to modify the settlement to suit him. He'd seen not a single sign of the cowardly humans, nor any other creature that could hope to dislodge him.

So now he ate what he wished, and rutted when he wished, and soon his new tribe would be fat and healthy and full of his brood.

Life, in other words, was very good.

Nekosh choked on his own spit as an alarm blared in his mind. The settlement warned of danger at the walls on at least two sides. He smashed the table as he rose up, grunting and striding through the door as he yelled.

"We're under attack! Get to the walls! We're under..."

At least two humans stood at the top of the east wall. One was tossing a tower guard in two pieces, a green sword in one hand, glaring down at the settlement with predatory eyes.

Nekosh growled and used his patron power to send an alert to every warrior in the settlement. Then he lifted his axe leaning against the hall, and charged out to meet his enemy.

The east gate, it seemed, was being opened. Nekosh growled and shouted at the defenders there, but realized they were already dead. The gate cracked open, and the biggest wolf he had ever seen came running through.

"Chief!" His captain and the bulk of his warriors ran out from the mess hall, armed but not in armor.

"About time," Nekosh barked, gesturing at the enemy. "There's only two of them. And the wolf. Where's Videk and his scouts?"

"Here, Chief." The dangerous archer stepped from gods knew where and raised his bow. "Who is my target?"

"The wolf, obviously!" Nekosh hissed, and his scout drew and loosed.

The arrow struck just as the wolf had leapt on a hapless, shouting guard at the wall. It stuck into the creature's flank, drawing out a low growl as the creature looked up and glared.

"You missed the heart. Keep shooting it!" Nekosh commanded. "And the rest of you, form a line and start moving."

Three more humans came through the gate. Videk's arrows started bouncing off some magical defence, then one of the human's literally lit on fire and started shooting flames.

Nekosh's bowels sloshed with ice. They had a wizard. A real, fire-spewing wizard from some human hell. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there and stared.

The gate guards were all slaughtered, his line of warriors still standing beside him, clearly too afraid to attack. The big human and the green-eyed swordsman were coming forward as if without a care in the world, the huge wolf behind them.

"You can all surrender. Except that one." The swordsman gestured at Videk. "Go ahead, Streak."

The wolf growled and charged, leaping on the scout and easily throwing him to the ground before chewing and thrashing him with monstrous strength.

“Oh! But don’t break his…” The man started until they all heard the sound of the scout’s bow snap beneath the wolf. The human sighed. "Is this all of you?" he said over the sounds of the chewing, looking around the settlement with almost glowing green eyes.

Nekosh found himself lost for words. His warriors had clearly decided it was hopeless, standing frozen with only the barest pretense of being ready to fight. Then they dropped their weapons, and even the illusion was gone.

"Yes." Nekosh said miserably, feeling himself deflate. How quickly fortunes could change.

To the orcs of the towers, surrender meant slavery. There was no other purpose to spare his life. He would be taken to some god-forsaken human settlement and worked and starved until his death, mocked and whipped like a pig. He lifted his axe, and felt warmth move through his body as the decision was made.

"But unlike these cowards," he spit. "I am not afraid to die."

He roared and charged at his enemy, axe held high for a brutal swing as he raced for the swordsman.

The big man beside him stepped forwards first, huge fist crackling with a strange sound as it struck him without touching him.

Nekosh blinked as the world shifted, and he found himself looking up at the sky. As his vision darkened, all he could think was: what just happened?

CHAPTER 35 - BARON

"THAT WAS PRETTY cool," Mason said. "What do you call that power?"

"Shocking Fist." John grinned. "I went with a kind of weaponless, tanky class because I figured I couldn't rely on finding weapons. Anyway, it projects out a wee bit and surprises ‘em, so the name makes me laugh. He'll live. Probably."

Mason nodded, pretty damn happy he'd found someone else who seemed made to soak or prevent damage up close. He'd have to talk some more about the man's class, and try and get him some levels quickly if he was still really low.

With the leader dealt with, Mason made the orcs sit in a circle as he gathered up the rest of the town. Most were male and looked like warriors, but there were a few laborers and females. They all stared at the ground despondently, clearing expecting to be butchered or God knew what.

"Alright," Mason said, gesturing at the gate. "Go back home. And tell your people we didn’t want a war, but we’ll sure as hell finish it. Go."

The creatures stared as if dumbfounded. The laborers looked to the warriors with open mouths, some daring to raise themselves up a little and inch away. Mason decided to ignore them.

He opened his profile and looked at the messages from the system bombarding him.

[Settlement 'Sanctuary' is now without a patron. Do you wish to claim it?]

"Hey, uh, what's this about me claiming a settlement?" said Seamus, his tone considerably subdued after the tower incident. "I'm guessin' I...shouldn't do that?"

Apparently it was just up for grabs for anyone. How interesting.

"Well, you could." Mason smiled. "But I expect the system is going to make anyone who accepts that prompt fight to the death to settle it. This is me accepting."

He clicked the option by thinking about it, and the system seemed to wait to find out if anyone else was also interested. They were not.

[Title gained: Baron. You have gained patronage over a second settlement. +3 presence.]

[Current settlement detected. What would you like to do with settlement 'Sanctuary'? Maintain, or Deconstruct?]

Uh, what the hell did ‘Deconstruct’ mean?

Mason clenched his jaw and really wished he had Haley or maybe a bunch of civilians to possibly explain with their 'extra' knowledge. He looked around the settlement, finally settling his gaze on the still mostly unconscious orc leader.

"Alex, heal him for me. I need to ask him something."

Everyone looked surprised except the Belarusian, who maybe couldn’t. He knelt beside the orc and put a hand on his chest, and in moments the creature sputtered and blinked his eyes open as he stared.

"You're the patron here?" Mason said. "Or you were a few minutes ago?"

The orc looked at most of his people slowly limping out from the gates. "Yes," he said in a subdued voice. "I am Chief Nekosh of the Blacktusk clan. Or I was."

"Great. How the hell does patronage work? What does 'maintaining' or 'deconstructing' a settlement mean if you're already chief of a settlement?"

‘Nekosh’ stared with an open mouth, clearly baffled by his situation. Mason snapped his fingers.

"Answer my questions and you walk away free and clear. How does it work?"

"I...it's..." The orc shrugged. "You decide to rule two settlements, or to take one and..." he shrugged. "Move it. Add its value to another. I've not seen it, but the gods waste nothing. It cannot be 'destroyed'."

Mason nodded, rather pleased with the answer. He clicked 'deconstruct', and some kind of error message blared in his mind.

[Settlement must be clear of players and civilians. Please remove them and try again.]

"Right." Mason waved at the gate. "Everyone out. We're going to Nassau." He yelled towards the orcs. "Hurry it up, or I'm going to use terrible magic. Get moving."

Every orc in earshot bolted except the chief, who stood slowly and stared at Mason with a strange expression.

"Why do you let us live? Why free us?"

Mason snorted, then stepped to meet the creature's eyes.

"Because I don't care if you live or die. Leave us humans in peace, and we won't hurt you. Oh, and if for some strange reason you ever meet a human named Blake, tell him to hurry up and come home. Alright? Now get out of my settlement."

The orc blinked in utter confusion, but turned and walked towards the gate where it looked like two females were waiting. With a final lingering stare at Mason, the big orc turned and walked away.

"Alright, roboGod," Mason said as he got the players out and turned back to the walls. "Show me another magic trick."

He clicked 'Deconstruct' again, then even he cringed as a sound like thunder blasted from ahead. In about five seconds, with shaking earth and a swirl of dust, 'Sanctuary' and its giant walls and many buildings pulled into the ground and vanished, covering over with dirt, and a few patches of fresh new grass.

Alex whistled behind him.

"Jeeezus," Seamus said. "What the hell happened to it? Seriously?"

"Probably what happens to anything roboGod doesn't need anymore," Mason said without pleasure or enthusiasm. "Now I hope you guys have been doing your cardio. Nassau is two days away at a fast march. And I intend to do it in one. So follow me, and get running."

With that he whistled for Streak, and headed for home.

* * *

The boredom let him examine his settlement options, at least. Turned out the orc leader was right—he could 'place' Sanctuary again, though it seemed it couldn't be just 'anywhere' and had to meet a bunch of criteria.

Alternatively, he could 'add it' to another settlement, giving him a whole shitload of patron points and some new options. This seemed an entirely better choice, as he had no idea where he'd put a new settlement, and why he'd do it anyway. The only thing that gave him pause at all was awareness of his own ignorance. But maybe the civilians would know more.

After half a day of the slowest, smoker's jog known to man, and a great deal of whining, Mason lost his patience.

"Phuong, can you lead them to Nassau while I run ahead? You can take all the time you want, but I've got a lot of things to do."

The older man grinned, and Mason practically begged him with his eyes until he nodded.

"Go on, young master. I'll make sure these two get back safely. But don't wear yourself too thin."

"Thank you," Mason felt himself sag with relief. "Keep Streak." The wolf whine-growled but Mason gave him a stern look. "Watch out for them. I'll see you at home." He pointed as he started running. "Stay with them!"

Then he was stretching his legs and finally exerting himself, letting frustrated muscles fill with blood and carry him like wind across the open ground. He touched the odd rock or long grass as he went, camouflaging himself with his Sleeves.

He tried not to think about his broken bow, or the disfigurations that still hadn't entirely disappeared. Or about Blake or his dreams or being in charge of hundreds of people in a post-apocalyptic fantasy world…

Even before everything changed, life was just easier when Mason was running.

He breathed for what felt like the first time in ages when he got to the trees. The sounds of the forest made him close his eyes and just listen, and even at full speed he found he could navigate through without his vision. Like he just knew where to go.

Sometimes it was like he'd been born here. Like he'd grown up in every patch of woods in the great forest, and knew every fallen branch and cluster of roots.

He ran all day and through half the night, until the vine-covered walls of his newly themed settlement came into view. There were still lights and voices inside so he thought maybe it wasn't too late. There was life and laughter and happy people doing more now than just surviving.

Mason stepped to the east gate, and it opened instantly. It seemed he had no time limit to decide what to do with Sanctuary, so he could speak with the civilians and maybe just hold off for awhile.

He went in still camouflaged, not wanting to be seen or bothered until he found Haley and Rebecca. He could see they were both in the hall with Wayfinder, and snuck around to the side entrance.

He crept inside, managing to avoid detection all the way to his 'wing' of the chief's hall, then slipped in and closed the door.

The girls were on the couch, cuddled under a blanket and laughing at whatever movie they were watching on the screen. For awhile Mason just looked at them and smiled.

Rebecca wore the standard white system pajamas, her hair in a plain ponytail, pure authentic joy in her voice and face as she laughed. Haley just had one of Mason's shirts, long blonde hair loose and around her shoulders, leaning on Rebecca and playing with her hair.

Then she sat up and screamed, putting a hand to her chest as her eyes rolled back and she put her head against the couch.

"Oh my God, Mason! You scared me half to death!"

Apparently his camouflage had worn off. Rebecca was off the couch in seconds, running straight at him before leaping full speed into his arms, wrapping her legs around him. He laughed as she kissed his face again and again.

"You're home," she grinned, and squeezed. “But what’s wrong with your face?”

He looked over her shoulder at a smiling Haley and squeezed back.

"I'm home," he agreed, ignoring the comment as he whispered in Rebecca's ear. "And I need a shower. So start taking off your clothes."

CHAPTER 36 - IT'S A LONG STORY

BECKY WAS NAKED before she reached the bathroom, tossing her clothes back at Mason with little grins and an adorable attempt to seem like a stripper.

"There's not enough room for three," Haley announced from the couch. "It's always too cramped in there. I'm going to cook."

As with all things Haley, Mason knew it would be some kind of stratagem, which meant Becky probably needed some alone time. He accepted it with a grunt and followed the Arkansas girl towards the shower, shedding his own clothes en route.

She stopped and turned, putting her arms around his neck as she bit her lip and flushed pink.

"I missed you."

"I missed you, too." Mason sunk into her arms, her warm lips and soft breasts pressing against him and instantly turning him hard. "Shower," he said, a little hoarsely, then pushed Becky in as he turned on the water. She shrieked when it came out cold, but he just laughed and held her there until it warmed up.

“Your skin…” She looked at his body with some warring combination of lust and concern, but Mason growled it away.

“I’m fine. It’s temporary.”

She started washing him off, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent as the Blessing of Gaia really kicked in.

"Oh God I can't wait," she said, cleaning a particular area of his body with increased attention. He let her keep stroking him, painfully hard now but very happily still in control.

He put a hand between her legs, not surprised to find her wetter than the shower. "I haven't been gone that long," he said, chuckling as Becky squirmed against his hand.

"Please?" she said, gripping his shaft. "Don't make me wait another minute."

Mason growled and turned her around, running his hands over her amazing ass as she thrust it out and arched her back.

"Spread your legs," he ordered, and she did, whimpering as he ran his hands down and touched every inch of her from back to front. As much as Mason was enjoying teasing her, he couldn't wait either.

He lined up his cock and pushed in the tip, still enough discipline to keep Becky from ramming him to the hilt.

"More," she begged. "I want it all. Please."

He slid in slow, hands gripping her breasts, then running up and down her body, all exposed and slick with water—and all his. Then he was buried completely inside her, so warm and wet and eager. He just stayed there, still and lost in the moment, lost in her. But she was still squirming, still desperate with need, and he gave her what she wanted.

Wet flesh slapped as Mason rammed into Becky, her ass bouncing against him. He gathered up her long brown hair, arching her back even further as he slammed into her harder and faster.

"Oh God," she moaned, eyes rolled back. "I'm so wet for you. All the time."

He knew it was true. That she wasn't just saying it. What little control he'd started with slipped from every thrust into Becky's wet pussy, every moan and look of ecstasy on her face.

Her hands splayed on the shower and she held her breath as he pumped. Her walls crushed around him and she cried out with abandon as an orgasm shook her body.

Mason was full of lust and saw no reason at all to hold back. Lost in the moans and eager pushing against him, he let the tension loose to build and squeeze through his gut and balls and blast inside his cowgirl. When she realized he was cumming she pushed back even faster, eager to milk him and take every drop deep.

He let the waves of pleasure and warmth roll over him, until all he felt was Becky's wet flesh and the water, his lips against her ear. She sighed, and giggled, still pushing back against his cock inside her.

"Um, also, I wanted you too bad to say anythin’, but, and I'm just wonderin'. Do you have a giant...callus on yer chest?"

Mason glanced at the few 'additions' he still had from Transformation, and chuckled.

"It's a long story."

* * *

By the time Mason and Becky left the shower in their towels, Haley had finished cooking as promised. She received them with nothing but a long t-shirt, a plate in each hand, and a smile.

"It's an experiment. You're to be brutally honest."

"OK," Mason said, eyes moving mostly over Haley's legs. "I don't care about the food. I want to bend you over the couch."

"About the food," Haley said, not reacting at all as she held the plates forward. "Now try it or you will have offended me."

"Well. We can't have that." Mason tried both, groaning at the salty, creamy combination. But he suddenly had other things he'd rather taste. "Now bedroom," he said, and Haley frowned as Rebecca tried the food.

"You were supposed to..."

Mason took Haley's head in his hands and kissed her, her hands trapped on either side. Her eyes closed and she melted into his lips. Then Mason and Rebecca took the plates and set them down on the counter, and Mason was pushing them both towards the bedroom.

"We have things to discuss, you know," Haley was saying as she shuffled inside with a mischievous grin. "Decisions to make. Civilians to pacify. Also there's birds constantly swarming our fountain."

"I'm sure," Mason said, throwing both of his girls back onto the bed. Becky was all smiles in her barely held together towel, Haley was still playing hard to get. That is until she scooted back and put her feet up on the bed and spread her legs, showing a complete lack of underwear under that shirt. Mason felt pulled forward.

He dragged Becky to lay directly beside Haley, putting a hand under her towel to start fingering and playing. Then he dropped and stuck his tongue into Haley before slowing down and tasting her, licking her in the same circle he played with Becky. Soon they were almost moaning in unison.

After a few minutes he swapped and tasted Becky, too. She came against his mouth before he’d hardly done anything.

"Shit!" She went pink and gripped the bed, then put her hands over her face and squirmed as Mason kept on licking. "Oh God I can't!" She tried to crawl away but he held her and forced her through it. Then she was panting and slumped on the bed with her eyes closed, and Mason grinned as he stood.

"Your turn.” He pulled Haley to the edge and held her legs in the air before lining his hard cock against her opening. He slid inside nice and easy, giving her long, slow strokes, enjoying every sensation.

"Our uncivilized caveman," Haley sighed and gave a little moan. "Comes home and...takes us both, just like that."

"Just like that," Mason agreed. Then he lifted Haley up and held her in the air, giving her a few hard pumps before he turned and lay on the bed, putting her on top. "Now put that ass into it, and get your caveman off." He smiled and slapped her hard enough she yelped, then started dutifully riding him.

He heard poorly translated French curses as she moved faster, soon biting her lip and getting into it as she worked her hips. Mason sighed and squeezed her big tits in his face, taking turns with her nipples. Becky scooted up beside him, and he pulled her in for a deep, passionate kiss as Haley rode.

"Look how pleased with himself he is," Becky said teasingly when she came up for air. "Fuckin’ two pretty girls like it ain't nothin’."

Mason grinned as he looked into Becky's beautiful eyes, giving Haley's ass another slap of encouragement.

"You just want your turn, is that it cowgirl?"

"Maybe," she laughed, running her hands over Mason's chest and stomach, playing with his little transformations. Haley was still sliding up and down his shaft like a sex bot, getting sweaty now and breathing hard.

"She might need help," Mason teased, giving Haley's nipples a pinch before guiding Becky's mouth up to suck on one. Haley moaned and clearly lost her focus, movements getting less smooth.

"Not fair," she said closing her eyes. Mason grabbed her ass and held her still, thrusting into her from below with increasing speed.

"How's that?" he said, speeding up. "You just be a good girl and sit there and take it.” He spread Haley's cheeks as he slapped and squeezed. It didn't take long before she was panting and getting shaky, and Mason knew he had plenty more to give.

The second she clamped down he let himself go, watching her face and body tighten with orgasm, loving every noise and eager squeeze as he released another stream of cum deep inside his other woman.

He pumped into her straight through his own orgasm, and when he was finally finished she dropped down and took him all the way, wiggling as if to squeeze it all inside.

She kissed him lightly on the lips, Becky kissing his neck and cheek. He pulled them both in for a squeeze, loving the feel of their bodies pressed against him.

"OK," he said, closing his eyes. "Now I can sleep. But don't get too comfortable."

Both girls groaned and slumped against him.

CHAPTER 37 - SITTING PEACEFULLY

MASON COULD NOT, in fact, sleep. After what felt like a reasonable, mostly human, amount of time, he kissed his way up Rebecca’s body.

“Haley,” his country girl said breathlessly. “I think he’s fucking me again.”

The Canadian groaned sleepily, and Mason grabbed Becky, feeling like a mindless, lust filled animal. He sucked on her amazing tits as she gasped, then spread her legs and pushed inside. She moaned and held on for dear life as he ground her into the bed.

Then there was just Becky’s warmth and wetness, the taste of her mouth and trembling body until he finally growled and came inside her again. She clung to him desperately in the afterglow, still shaking and making little noises.

He eventually slid out and lay beside her, breathing hardly changed, body still ready for more. Maybe sex, maybe violence, but it wanted something. It was like he was filled with some unnatural energy he couldn’t quench. Becky cuddled up next to him and kissed his chest, asleep in seconds.

He wanted to get up and run out into the night, maybe hunt in the woods with Streak for a few hours to push his perception and limbs. But he also knew Blake might be trying to reach him. Plus he’d been running all damn day and why couldn’t he just sleep like a regular human being?

“Not done?” Haley mumbled, giving him a half-awake side eye, and all he could do was shrug helplessly. “Come on, sleepy girl,” Haley bumped Becky as she crawled over. “I recruited you, now do your job.”

The girls eventually both roused, tossed off their tops again and tied back their hair, laughing as they came over on hands and knees. Then they took turns licking and sucking as Mason leaned against the headboard and wondered if there was a more amazing sight in the world.

The girls were all business this time, swapping blowjob ideas and taking turns, deciding who should suck and lick what. Mason just lay back and enjoyed the feel of two mouths sharing his cock.

When he finally came back to his senses, Haley was gulping him down with abandon, Becky underneath and sucking on his balls. He grabbed his first lover’s blonde hair and came, twitching in sensitive spurts as he filled her mouth and throat.

“Hey we had a deal!” Becky popped up and gripped Mason’s shaft, waiting until Haley came up to pull her in for a kiss. Mason watched them making out, fighting over his seed with their tongues. He let out a deep breath, thanking roboGod as usual for Blessing of Gaia.

He finally slumped down and felt drained, and Haley hugged Rebecca as they both looked over at him.

“You see? We need a third. Now I’m awake and my morning is ruined.”

“Sorry,” Mason mumbled, eyes drooping as he slid further prone.

“No you’re not,” Haley teased.

“I guess,” Becky mumbled, still with a bit of pout. Then their voices were just white noise that didn’t matter, and Mason finally managed to close his eyes and sleep.

* * *

Mason woke with the dawn and remembered a few things. First, he’d broken his God damn bow. Second, he had weird magic crystals and an equally magic acorn without really knowing what they were or what to do with them.

But it did occur to him Haley and a variety of others in town had identify powers. That was likely the right place to start.

He sat up and stretched, discovering both girls were already out of bed. He heard faint singing and smelled something cooking, and leapt up to walk to the kitchen.

“Do I drain it like this?” Becky asked, holding up some kind of cup Mason couldn’t identify.

“Mmmhmm.” Haley nodded and grinned, tossing her head and blowing some hair from her face. They were both in some version of Haley’s special silky pajamas, side by side and displaying their amazing figures. It occurred to Mason he was stark naked, and there were no monsters trying to light the settlement on fire…

But he shut down the thought. He still had plenty to do, and if he started something who knew what time he’d be out the door. He went back in silence and threw on the clothes Haley had obviously set out, then walked back to the kitchen with louder footsteps.

“There he is.” Rebecca turned and beamed. “We’re makin’, um, I can’t pronounce it…” She blushed. “I’m better at the cookin’ than the names.”

“You can say it just fine,” Haley laughed, then glanced back at Mason holding up his acorn and crystals.

“Can you identify these?” he said.

She squinted, then shook her head. “Out of my wheelhouse I’m afraid. You should ask Rosa, I think.”

Right. Rosa. Mason took a deep breath and tried not to notice Rebecca’s stink eye. Then he came forward and gave his girls both a good grope and a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll be back to eat. See you later.”

“Oh, Patron,” Haley called. “There’s some admin waiting. I can deal with most of it, but Seul-ki wants to talk. It might be about Blake.”

Mason nodded, anxiety spiking through him at the mention of Blake. The last time they’d spoken in Mason’s dream had been…not good. He hadn’t seen Blake so down, so tired looking, so negative in years.

He sped out the door, feeling strange when he didn’t hear Streak leap after him from the porch. But still, the natural theme letting him move and full speed and strength was wonderful, and he bolted across the settlement so fast a few civilians screamed in panic as he passed.

He knocked on Rosa’s door, only to pull up Wayfinder and discover she wasn’t actually home. For a moment a spike of jealousy shot up his spine until he realized she was just outside the chief hall, right next to Seul-ki in her garden. Then he was racing across the settlement again, yelling ‘sorry’ in advance as he flew past the same civilians.

Seul-ki and Rosa were both inspecting some plants in the Korean’s growing garden. Mason dutifully avoided noticing anything but Rosa’s ridiculous bent over profile, clearing his throat from the edge.

“You know, we have a giant temple full of plants now,” he said. “And I’m pretty sure we can make giant buildings full of plants, too.”

Both girls spun at his voice before they relaxed, Seul-ki bowing as Rosa inspected him and looked self-conscious. He realized it was one of the few times he’d seen her looking not at all dressed up, but it made her not even a little less beautiful.

“Welcome back,” she smiled, clearly uncomfortable.

“The morning is good, Master Mason. And it’s further to the temple,” Seul-ki explained. “Did Haley tell you I wanted to speak with you?”

“Yeah. I’m hoping it’s Blake related. I checked the fortress maybe twelve hours ago and still couldn’t get in. Do you have news?”

Seul-ki was so damn hard to read Mason had basically stopped trying. But if he had to take a guess her expression seemed ‘vaguely concerned’.

“No, I’m sorry. I haven’t spoken to him in…quite some time. I was hoping you had.”

Mason felt his shoulders drop. He shook his head.

“But if the fortress is still locked, that means he’s alive. It would open if he…well, it would be open.” He sat for a little while, feelingly dejected and numb before he remembered his tree gifts. “Can either of you tell me what these are?”

Both girls squinted with the increasingly tell-tale look of magical inspection, coming forward to examine the objects.

“A Great Tree Acorn,” Rosa said. “And Nature-Infused Malachites. The Acorn, I…” she shrugged. “All I can tell you is it’s above my pay-grade. But the Malachites are for civilian craftsman. We can use them to make items, potions, all kinds of things, usually as part of recipes that frankly…we don’t really have.”

“But you can get them?”

“I assume so. We can all buy things with our system points, which we mostly earn making things. Speaking of which, you should probably head down and talk with some of the craftsman, they’ve been making progress.”

“Soon enough.” Mason took the gems and went to hand them to Rosa before he stopped and met her eyes. “It’s looking like I might need another trip to the nymphs.” He waved the acorn. “If we find Calypsa, er, the other one. I expect there’s plenty of recipes to find.”

Rosa gave him a very complicated look. They stared at each other in silence long enough Seul-ki turned away and went back to gardening, probably in embarrassment.

“I’m probably not the only one who’d benefit from that,” she said finally.

No doubt some wiser, message-decoding charmer would have understood exactly what that meant. Mason had no idea.

“One day we can take whole groups of civilians to get Gaia blessed, but for now I want to keep it light. I need to track down a giant afterwards.”

Rosa blinked and rolled her eyes.

“We have ridiculous conversations.”

Mason grinned, because that was true. But then pretty much all his conversations were ridiculous now.

“I’ll take a player or two to escort you back after,” he said, turning to head back to the hall.

“Rebecca?” Rosa said, her tone too neutral to read. Mason turned back.

“Is that a suggestion or a question?”

Rosa stared and took an awful long time to answer. She grinned a little before she did.

“Yes.”

Mason sighed, then glanced at the still rising sun through a break in the canopy.

“A few hours, then we’ll go. I’ll swing by your house and pick you up.”

With that he walked back into ‘his’ hall, looking forward to whatever Haley and Rebecca were cooking, and just sitting peacefully with his women. Hell, it might even feel normal, like he was himself again and people were just people and not problems he had to solve. It was entirely too rare.

CHA[TER 38 - DESTINY

BLAKE WOKE WITH Ilya asleep and naked, arm draped over his chest. He moved some of her dark hair from her forehead, smiling as he inspected her beautiful face. It had been the most meaningful, honest sexual encounter he'd had in his life, and the girl wasn't even human.

Life in the post-apocalypse remained very strange. Speaking of which...

Blake extricated himself from his lover and sat up to find one construct staring at him, like an extra creepy guard dog. The other wandered the small cavern as if looking for more ‘large cave rats’ like the one that attacked them in the night. Though Blake still refused to believe that thing was any kind of ‘rat’.

Looking at them cooled any thought of waking Ilya for another round. He had unfinished business, and a considerable amount of work to do.

He quietly moved out of the furs and created himself a new set of orc clothes, then stared at his Adaptive Veil power. He still didn't know how it worked, but the idea that he couldn't look like a different orc made no sense. He wasn't a damn orc at all. Looking like one was already an illusion. Surely he could just adjust it slightly...

First he wrote, well, created Ilya a note, and left one construct to guard her. Then he took the other back on the winding path towards her house. He waited until he'd reached the crack in the room covered by her family tabard, peeked through until he saw an orc vagrant inside, then re-activated Adaptive Veil. He sent his construct back to Ilya, then stepped out when no one was watching.

Whether he looked different or not he had no idea, but he'd just have to accept that. He walked through the rooms, ignoring the occasionally confused glare from the others, then went back out into the street.

He'd prepared clothes that made him look like one of the wealthier merchants outside. He figured that would let him go most anywhere, as surely trade and goods flowed from the city to the tower. He wandered towards the ramps and stairs leading up, mostly following a crowd of other orcs without concern of being noticed.

Warriors and guards mingled amongst them, seemingly just there as a presence more than anything. Only the guards at the actual ramp checked any wagons or goods, and it didn't seem like they checked them very thoroughly or with much interest.

Blake watched the merchants and other travelers move between, getting as close as he could to overhear any conversations. Most who went had actual goods with them, or else were warriors or a kind of low-born servant or slave. It seemed rare for someone like a merchant to go alone and carry nothing, so Blake soon wandered into a nearby alley.

A pair of young orcs stared at him with some mixture of fear and loathing, but he ignored them and stripped off his clothes.

"For you," he said with a wink, "trade them before tomorrow."

Then he created a new set of clothes that made him look like a slave for Clan Stoneblood, complete with the markings on his back. Then he stepped back out and wandered into the crowd, straight towards the ramp.

* * *

His heart quickened as it neared his turn. He still didn't know what he actually looked like. When he inspected himself he saw a human, and in fact had nothing to indicate anything else except for a lack of orcs murdering him on sight.

Finally he reached the gate, and a large, pale-skinned orc with a milky eye grunted at him and waved him on.

And that was apparently that.

Blake nodded with as much servility as he could, shuffling through with head lowered and a desperate attempt to keep the grin off his face. Then he was free of the lower city and moving up towards the tower with a less cluttered crowd of orcs.

He spent the whole day wandering the path, exploring the different halls and rooms. There were plenty of other orcs looking as uncomfortable as he felt, wandering the halls to find other servants or make deals or run some mysterious errand for their masters. Blake was entirely ignored.

Only when he neared the exit of the tower—which was guarded by hundreds of warriors—did he get looks that seemed to indicate 'fuck off' before he got close. He touched a few minds with Mental Influence just in case he wanted to see through their eyes, but then happily obliged.

He went to the 'cafeteria' he'd killed orcs in when he first arrived, seeing no sign of the previous carnage. Instead orcs sat around at tables eating and laughing, and Blake went so far as to get his own bowl of mystery slop and sit with them. He ate mechanically and listened, using more Mental Influence to hear them speak.

A quiet tension hung between the orcs. It was clear there was trouble between the clans and tribes and everyone expected violence. They spoke of the losses to the humans, fearing an attack would come. They feared for their 'holy stones', and Blake resisted the urge to palm the one in his pocket. They grumbled about restrictions to their lives, worse food, less food, too much time at home with their mates and children.

Blake eventually tried moving higher into the tower. Again he was largely ignored, until he reached a floor where the guard held out his hand and sneered.

"No low born. Go back unless you've a writ."

Blake Mind Controlled the guard, making him believe he had the writ, feeling it was a very 'these aren't the droids you're looking for' kind of Jedi moment. Then he went on through like he had important business and belonged, and once inside was ignored again.

Above this level there were only well-dressed, clean looking orcs, warriors, and what looked like shamans or their servants.

Still he climbed, feeling sweat trickle down his armpits as less and less orcs were obvious from the lower levels and city, more and more from the warrior caste. But he wanted to see.

Finally he reached what must have been the peak of the tower, a final staircase winding up with several guards out front. The tabard of clan Stoneblood stretched overhead, but this one rested below another flag with a simple yellow crown dangling from a lone tusk.

Blake turned and made his way back down the tower. His plan was either brilliant or insane, but that wasn't exactly new. He went without being bothered, none of the guards interested in someone leaving the tower, only entering it.

He knew he should probably do the same climb a few more times, or control some more minds to discover Gromsh's exact schedule.

But he had a feeling the new orc 'king' rarely left his tower now. After so long without even a trace of Blake the orcs under his command had become lax and probably not sure he existed at all. They likely doubted the king's words and commands, unsure why they were even trapped in the tower, except by their king's orders.

Without lifting a finger, Blake realized, he had already damaged Gromsh badly. Now it was time to finish him.

* * *

Ilya sagged with relief as Blake entered their little cavern. She came across as if to hug him, but stopped short and looked somewhat awkward.

"I got your note," she said, "welcome back."

Her tone was pretty cool, and Blake fought the impulse to use mind powers to understand what she was thinking. Mostly he was just glad roboGod's translation services included text.

"I learned a great deal," he said, deciding to just power through. "All I need now is a day to summon my constructs, maybe another to rest. Then we can go." He blinked and realized she'd known instantly it was him.

"Do I...look like the same orc as before?"

"Yes," she said, as if confused, then a little quieter. "I prefer you as a human."

He crossed the gap between them and took her in his arms, and she practically melted into him with relief.

"You're not...angry with me?" she said.

"Why on earth would I be angry with you?" he said, genuinely confused.

"I should have been awake…to make breakfast. To help you. I slept all day."

Blake laughed as the tension melted. "I deliberately didn't wake you." He breathed in her scent and whispered in her ear. "Anyway, you definitely earned some rest last night."

Ilya flushed and grinned. "Well I can cook us something now."

"That would be excellent. I’ve been walking all day, and I have work to do. I'll be just..." he gestured towards the middle of the cave. "I'll eat later."

Then he opened True Making and took a deep breath, scanning down the complex list and designs. No room for errors now.

A day, maybe two, and his little game with the system and with its unholy creation was going to end. What happened after that, he still had no idea.

* * *

By the time Blake was finished with his work, his head throbbed from concentration and mana burn, and he more or less collapsed and chewed Ilya's now lukewarm stew in silence.

When he was finished she helped him into his furs, where he half closed his eyes and stared at the dark roof, numbers and constructs still running through his mind. Ilya just cuddled next to him and stroked his skin until he slept.

When he woke he finished his final Construct—a much smaller Arcane humanoid with both arms melded into a single spike. It was his 'holy shit' plan if all else failed.

He Meditated, running through his Mental Partition to make sure everything was working perfectly again. It was, but it had taken a great deal of time. It reminded him that apparently Mind Rend was pretty good at fucking a person up, and he now had a gem of it on his amulet.

He fingered the item and grinned. Gromsh would no doubt be resistant as a 'boss', but likely not entirely immune. Blake would use it first and early and hopefully throw the creature off its game while the constructs attacked.

After that...well, he supposed he'd see. As usual, first things were first.

"We're going to have to make you look a bit less obviously radiant," he said to Ilya when his mana was full.

She smiled at the compliment, then frowned.

"What exactly does that mean."

He constructed her a brand new set of slave clothes, opting for as dirty and disheveled as possible on the outside, but scant and sexy underneath. Ilya scowled but put them on in silence, and Blake refrained from watching her undress to keep his mind focused.

Then he made himself a new set of merchant's clothes, and finally inspected his row of constructs. One Psionic Defender (made, somewhat reluctantly, with Duality of Ambition), three Arcanes with spears and picks, plus his back up plan, all set to permanent. They took basically half his mana to maintain.

He wouldn't necessarily need them long against Gromsh, but he couldn't know what problems he might encounter, or what would happen after. He decided not to put himself in the situation of watching the clock and feeling rushed. Better to be careful.

They finally made their way through the tunnels and back to Ilya's house. There were two vagrants sleeping in the room, and Blake sighed. He didn't want to kill them, but he didn't want to waste much mana or risk discovery either.

He used True Making instead, then stepped out quietly and nudged the orcs awake with a boot.

"All of you! Out! I'm buying this house," he said. "Take this and go, or I'll call the guards."

He handed them several of the orc's bronze coins, and the squatters took them and bolted. He did the same with every other orc he found in the place, then debated if he should create or buy a cart.

Large things took considerably more mana, so 'buy' ultimately won out, and he went to the streets and spoke with a few merchants until he found one who'd sell. Then he pulled it back to the house, covered it with a giant tarp, and hastily snuck his constructs inside one by one.

He produced a series of items like the ones he'd seen in the upper tower floors—mostly pottery with elaborate designs, drinking cups and jewelry. Ilya grinned as she watched at first, then helped him pack it away and look somewhat natural.

Blake looked around to make sure they weren't being watched too carefully, which it didn't seem like they were. Finally he found a couple of the vagrants he'd chased off nearby, and offered them more coin to pull his wagon up to the tower. Two agreed, and he strapped them in.

They all walked with the crowd towards the gate, Blake trying to look confident and perfectly at ease, or slightly annoyed at the delays. His two wagon pullers definitely helped pull it off, and when Blake arrived at the gate the guards looked genuinely uninterested.

"Go on," one waved him through, not even bothering to flip up the tarp to take a look.

Then they were inside and moving towards the ramps, and the rest of the tower. And of course a vicious battle to the death.

Blake took a deep breath and trusted in his destiny.

CHAPTER 39 - LET'S GET RUNNING

MASON CHEWED HIS...whatever Haley’s food was called...and grinned. Just watching and listening to his girls calmed him down, made him feel something approaching...normal. Though he knew his life was far from it.

"Oh!" Becky turned to Haley and slapped her arm. "I went down to the temple yesterday lookin' for yer thyme, and I smelled this...amazin' thing, so I went over to see some flowers. And I was gonna pick a few to bring home, and one spit at me! Hit me right here.” She gestured to a little patch of red skin on her hand. “I was so surprised I just turned and ran like hell."

Haley gave a sympathetic face. Mason laughed. They both looked at him with disapproving glares.

"Oh come on. The mighty Rebecca, who can charge a line of murderous orcs, defeated by a flower. It’s funny.”

Haley slowly smiled until Becky looked at them both with an open mouth in mock offence.

"Some sympathy I get!"

"I'm sorry, you're right," Mason reached across for her hand. "Show me where the little rose hurt you. Are you OK? Do you need the infirmary?"

She slapped his hand and clearly fought a smile.

"I'll remember this. You'll rue the day."

"Very intimidating." Mason chewed and grinned, then cleared his throat. "So, I need another nymph visit." He could see both girls were about to comment about not being enough last night so he held up his acorn. "I need them to tell me what to do with this, and a bag of little magic gems."

He stopped and wished he was as clever as Blake but just gave up and said what he meant.

"I need to take Rosa to Calypsa, but I don't want to come right back after. I was thinking you could come with us Becky and take her home. Maybe...get to know her a little."

Becky mostly just stared.

"With you and Rosa,” she said finally. “To the nymphs."

"Um, yeah," Mason said, and Haley nudged Becky with her shoulder.

"It's a good idea, no?"

"Peanut butter and chocolate is a good idea," Becky mumbled. "This is more like…whatever the hell’s in dynamite."

"We won’t...stay." Mason winced, "I just need their knowledge. Rosa needs recipes from Calypsa. And…you and she need to get to know each other."

Rebecca quirked her head as if to say 'oh do we?'

"Just me and her in the woods?” she said. “Alone?"

"I’ll know if you kill her," Mason said deadpan. "She’s in my contract list. I’d technically have to punish you. Or the system would."

Rebecca glared and stuck out her tongue.

"I don’t...dislike her," she sighed. "I just don’t like to share is all."

"You share with Haley right now," Mason countered.

"That’s different. Haley’s the best."

Haley grinned at that and the girls exchanged another shoulder check.

"Rosa is good people," Mason said. "Get to know her, it’ll be good for you both. For me?"

Rebecca rolled her eyes and squirmed in her seat.

"Fine."

"I’ll take that as an excited yes." Mason leaned across the table and lifted Rebecca's chin, then gave her a good long kiss until she was getting into it. Haley winked at him beside her, and Mason kicked her a little under the table.

"OK," he said when he finally sat back, scooping the last of his food and washing it down with coffee. "Breakfast with girls, check. I'm supposed to talk to the craftsmen, right? Anything else I'm forgetting, Haley, before I run off again?"

She smiled.

"Nothing that can't wait. I'll tell Rosa to be ready to go."

"Right. Thanks." Mason stood to leave before Rebecca gave Haley and then him rather meaningful, judgmental looks.

“Um, yeah, you forgot to ask how Haley is doin’,” she said, and for a long moment Mason just stared, literally no idea what she was talking about.

Right. Pregnant. With my child. He looked at Haley helplessly, and she just winked.

“It’s still very early. I’m fine. Some weird cravings.”

Mason had no idea what else to do except pull her up and give her a squeeze. He also had no idea what to say. She put a finger to his lips before whispering in his ear.

“No need, master. I already know.”

He gave her a good, long kiss, then stuck his tongue out at Rebecca over her shoulder.

“OK. Leaving. See you later.” He turned and left the house without another word, still feeling incomplete when Streak didn't leap off the porch and chase after him.

He went down to the crafting quarter to find people already hard at work. He shook hands with several civilians whose names he didn’t know, all of whom took turns showing him their various projects.

Apparently they were making actual weapons and armor now.

"It's not pretty, but it works," said a shy, middle-aged leatherworker. "We've got layered linen. Gambeson, I think it’s called? Which is stronger than you'd think. And we've got boiled leather we’re trying now. Main problem is supplies. We need more hides and materials to work with, sir. But we've got the players who are here to get sized in some of it. Can we make you something?"

“Good work…Cynthia, was it? Sorry I’m terrible with names," Mason said, impressed with the efforts. His instinct was to tell her to just call him Mason, but he fought it. Maybe titles and hierarchy would make people feel better, would help keep control. "I'll try and deal with the supply side. In the meantime, I'd be happy to take some. Prefer the leather, if you've got it. Talk to Haley about measurements, OK?"

"Sure, boss.” The woman smiled. "Just let us know if you..."

"Any chance you can make a bow?” Mason said to the general group of civilians all watching. “I mean…I sort of know how to make myself something, but 'crude' likely wouldn't begin to describe it."

The big blacksmith, Peni, put a hand to his chin. "The system has knowledge on just about anything from the old world. We could...look into it. I expect it'd be a group project."

Mason smiled, certainly not expecting anything as fancy as his compound bow, and trying not to be angry about the loss again. But something was better than nothing.

"I'd be grateful. I'll be back in a few days and we can talk about it then."

"Sure, chief," said the smith absently, clearly lost in thought. "See you later."

Mason talked to the builders, too, who said they could make new tools to start moulding metals and plasters and all kinds of things. But they too lacked supplies, especially material to practice with.

He told them he'd try and do something about that, though not yet sure what. He looked into more patron options and had some things he could do. But it seemed something like a 'mine' wasn’t possible until they found resources and locations in the real world.

He glanced over the walls towards the large mountain not far in the distance, knowing it was likely time for a visit soon. And not just for materials, but because the last dungeon implied he might find a certain ‘guild’ of goblins there that might need a lesson in consequences.

Streak’s excited howl interrupted his thoughts, and the increasingly large wolf bound inside the settlement walls ahead of Phuong and the others. Some nearby citizens and player guards went to greet them, but John and Seamus were awkward as they stared with open mouths at the settlement.

"Sweet merciful Jesus," Seamus said, frenzied eyes moving from trees to buildings to houses. Then Mason realized Haley had come out and walked down to greet them in her more formal clothes, and Seamus' eyes finally found something to focus on.

"Welcome," she said, with a glance at Mason to make sure they actually were. He nodded, and she smiled. "I'm Haley, Mason's assistant. I can help get you settled."

"We've found bloody paradise, Mac," Seamus beamed as he smacked the bigger man's arm. Then he pointed a finger at Haley and lowered his voice. "Are you single, darling?"

Her smile strained ever so slightly.

"I am very not. This way, please. You must be tired. But you're in luck, we have free houses again."

"If he gives you any trouble," Mason called without any indication he was kidding, "just let me know. I still debate killing him occasionally."

Seamus laughed with exaggerated volume. "He's a funny one, that one. But nevermind, sweetheart. We’re good pals now."

Mason sighed and turned to Phuong.

"Can you…

"I’ll keep an eye on him, Patron. Don't worry."

Mason put a hand on the man's arm and gave it a squeeze.

“The trip back was uneventful?”

"Quite peaceful. You’re off again?" Phuong added, eyebrow raised. "Need any help? I wouldn't mind a bite to eat but..."

"Watching Seamus is more than enough help. I've a lot of ground to cover this time, but I'll take a few people to the great tree first. Take care of everyone for me."

Phuong nodded and smiled, then walked off towards the 'restaurant'.

Mason told Haley he was ready, then soon found himself at the gate with an awkward and obviously competitively 'sexy hiking' dressed Rebecca and Rosa.

Streak came loping over chewing on...something, obviously no intention of being left behind again.

"OK." Mason put on whatever small charm he had. "I've still got a lot to do. So let's get running."

The girls both looked determined as they stepped out into the trees, and Mason legitimately wondered if they’d both run until they dropped.

“I bet we can make it today,” Rebecca called back, rolling her shoulders and lifting or bending her limbs. Rosa was similarly preparing, both of them unintentionally giving Mason a leg and ass show from his position at the gate.

“Possibly,” he said, knowing if he offered either woman a ride in that moment they’d be telling him to go to hell. “But let’s not overdo it. You’ll need to actually be able to walk back.”

Rebecca and Rosa gave each other the briefest glance before looking back at him with a ‘well let’s get on with it’ sort of intense stare.

Mason sniffed and clicked for Streak, leading the way as he set the pace. He wanted the women to get along, of course. But if he was honest, the competition wasn’t entirely turning him off…

CHAPTER 40 - BLAKE VS GROMSH

THE CLIMB TOWARDS Gromsh was excruciating. Or at least it probably was. For the pullers. Blake didn't help them at all.

Instead he focused all his attention on the battle ahead as he walked.

They reached the end of the city and the beginning of the tower floors without challenge, climbing floor after floor with their hired orcs grunting and once or twice asking what the hell was inside the cart.

"A gift. For the king," Blake said with as much haughty attitude as he was capable. Which was a lot. "You should count yourselves lucky just to carry it."

They made it all the way to the top levels before anyone seemed to really care about them. Then the same guards who had stopped him a day before and asked for his writ held out their hands.

"Where are you going?"

"To King Gromsh," Blake said confidently. "Gifts from the Stilek tribe."

The guard sniffed and lifted the tarp, inspecting the constructs and everything else with impassive eyes.

"What are they? Statues? They look...strange."

"Sculptures," Blake said instantly. "Basalt sandstone, very colorful, yes? For the great king's hall."

The guard frowned but clearly didn't want to be the one to interfere with such a thing. Finally he looked to Ilya, nostrils flaring and eyes squinting as he gestured at her clothes.

"What would the king want with this one?"

Blake smiled, and lifted Ilya's tattered coat until her shapely leg was exposed, showing the lacy fabric beneath.

"Couldn't have the riffraff in the city pawing at her, could I?"

The guard grinned, but dropped it quickly.

"On your way, then. Don't stray from the main hall."

"Thank you." Blake nodded with respect and snapped at his pullers. "You heard him, move it, we’re blocking the way."

The orcs growled and pulled, and soon they were rolling through the last few halls and ramps to the top of the tower.

Then they’d reached the final stairway and the two guards standing at attention at the base. One approached the cart without concern, no doubt receiving such things frequently.

“Is the king available?” Blake asked like he expected a greedy, ambitious merchant might.

“Who wants to know?” said the guard, flipping open the tarp to inspect with squinted eyes.

“We come with gifts. I’d hoped I might go and…meet the king myself, introduce myself. Hmm?” He produced a few coins from his pocket and rolled them between his fingers.

The guard looked at the coins and snorted. “No chance. But I’m not carrying these fucking things up those stairs. Your half starved runts here look ready to keel over. So what’s your plan, then?”

Blake felt his gut clench as the moment arrived, his mask dropping. He glanced back to see there was no other orcs anywhere near.

“Oh, it's not going to be a problem,” he muttered, commanding his constructs to rise and gather.

“Eh? How is it…wait, what?” The guard stepped back with wide eyes as the constructs crashed and clattered their way out. Then the guards were shouting in alarm and battle as the constructs ripped them apart.

“You can go back now,” Blake said, turning to meet Ilya’s wide eyes as she looked at the mangled corpses of the guards. She blinked again and again then met Blake’s eyes.

“I'm here to avenge my kin, and to help you,” she said. “To the end.”

Blake nodded, both thrilled and saddened at the expected answer. He smiled, and took her hand.

“Then let's go and meet our destiny.”

* * *

The wagon pullers stared at Blake and the constructs with huge, uncomprehending eyes.

"Off you go," he waved, and after a small delay they turned and bolted so fast they tripped before running again.

"Shouldn't we...stop them?" Ilya said as Blake scrolled through his powers and Partition commands again and again, knowing it was more like a nervous tick now.

"Won't matter," he said. "This will end quickly. One way or another."

Ilya's fearful eyes hardened, and she pulled back her hood and collected her staff from the wagon.

"I'm ready," she said, and nothing more. Blake gave her a fierce grin, then started climbing the last steps to his enemy.

The Defender in particular clomped his way to the tower like a clydesdale. These weren't flying constructs with little claws anymore. They were solidly built murder-bots, armored particularly at the front with as much weight as Blake could fit. He felt very strange ascending those stairs with the constructs at his side.

For the second time since he was five, he was going to face something obviously terrible and final without Mason beside him. All his life he had learned to trust in that single rock, to build himself around like the bottom pillars of a fortress. It felt awful and lonely, but also…exhilarating.

It was only him and the things he'd prepared. There was no authority to appeal to. No great protector to call if he lost.

He reached the top of the stairs, and there across the room stood the giant orc king. He was staring out the window, a cloak around his shoulders, a crude crown upon his head.

"I've been waiting," he said, voice deep and filled with menace. He turned slowly, gaze moving over Blake and Ilya and the constructs with little more than cold assessment.

His eyes were red and held up by bruises. His tower room stank like rotten food and old urine, like he didn't ever bother to leave.

"I sent away so many guards I feared you’d recognize I wanted you to get in. But sooner or later, I knew you'd come. And I'm very good at waiting. Now take off that disgusting mask."

Blake grit his teeth and dropped his Adaptive Veil, clutching his amulet as if it had been the source.

"You're clever,” said the orc king. “But then I expected no less of a human targeted by the gods. I will kill you cleanly as a worthy foe." The orc's tired eyes moved to Ilya, and his mouth curled in contempt. "You, though—you will die badly, traitor. You will beg for death before the end, and piss on the banner of your kin."

Blake felt the orc girl practically vibrating at his side, and decided that was probably enough talking.

"No, Gromsh," Blake said with no pleasure or malice. "You're just an obstacle, one piece of my story. I'll forget you existed before the dawn."

He activated Mind Rend, and sent his Defender charging.

Gromsh threw back his cloak to reveal a body armored in leather, and a pair of glowing knives in his hands.

Well. 'Knives'. They were about the length of human longswords, curved like scimitars and jagged at the back.

Gromsh roared as Blake's amulet flared with dark, red light. The moment he used it the metal necklace seemed to clamp and squeeze around his neck, but he had no time for distractions.

His defender struck with a massive, two-fisted blow to Gromsh's chest, knocking him sliding back as he ignored it and held his head in pain.

Two Arcanes moved to either flank, stabbing with their spears and poking holes in the king's leather armor. They struck once, twice, the defender bashing again before the giant orc finally roared and opened his eyes, face curled in fury.

He slammed his blades into Blake's defender, pushed straight into its shoulders to the hilt. If it was a man, it would have been exceptionally dead right there. But it wasn't.

The Defender grabbed Gromsh by the wrists and held on as the Arcanes moved in stabbing and swinging their picks. Gromsh wrestled with the defender, roaring and twisting before he side kicked it and yanked, ripping off one of its arms.

Blake lifted the first of his bundle of constructed spears, and launched it with Telekinesis.

It sunk into Gromsh's leg, but he flicked it out with the barest movement, twisting and slashing at the Arcane's spears with his free blade, still kicking and pulling at the Defender.

Then the orc’s eyes glowed with arcane power. He muttered words too soft to hear before the room shook and a sound like thunder deafened Blake except for a high pitched ring.

His Arcanes lifted off the ground, flung several feet. But his Psionic Defender hadn't budged. Gromsh fought on, obviously surprised and even more enraged as Blake started tossing spear after spear with Telekinesis.

Blake sent the other untouched Arcane just as Gromsh spun and cleaved his Defender's head from its shoulders. The giant construct crumpled and fell before exploding into dust.

Gromsh stared at Blake with victorious eyes, and charged.

* * *

The Arcane constructs were up and attacking, but Gromsh smashed them away and ignored them. He was covered in blood, his armor pierced and ripped to tatters. But he was still coming.

Ilya growled and seemed to grow as she chanted and held out her staff, then lifted one of Blake's spears and intercepted the orc king.

She thrust well and skewered his side just above his hip, and Gromsh roared in rage. He swiped a blade at her face, and Blake almost called out in panic before a green shield appeared and stopped it.

Blake launched spear after spear with Telekinesis, draining every scrap of mana from his bar and most of his gem. Gromsh's chest was like a porcupine's back, javelins sticking out and oozing with blood. But the bastard just wouldn't die.

The orc king tossed his weapon, pushing his hand forward slowly through the shield until he managed to seize Ilya's neck.

Blake panicked and grabbed his amulet, forcing it to Mind Rend again.

It tightened further, seeming to press into his flesh with a searing pain, and he knew he'd have to figure how what to do about it later. But he needed it now.

Gromsh's head lolled as the magic hit him. He released his grip on Ilya, who fell to the floor gasping and pale. The orc king backed away, only one Arcane construct healthy enough to follow and stab before the giant creature smashed it away almost instinctively.

He wavered on his feet, finally dropping to his knees. He sneered before he opened his eyes, which now dripped with blood.

"Now I know why the gods want you dead." He spat more blood and showed his teeth. "That's demon magic. You are a servant of the Kazikdra."

“No!" Ilya managed to growl from the floor. "He saved me from them. To kill you!"

Gromsh laughed, another spurt of blood dripping down his chest. "Who do you think enslaved our people, daughter of the Stoneblood? It wasn’t the demons. It was their slayer, the great hero, corrupted by their magic."

Ilya glared.

"A lie."

The orc king laughed again, then twitched, as if the magic of the amulet was still attacking his mind.

"Shut your mouth, betrayer,” he growled. “Ignorant whore. Who turns against her own people for a human, a mind mage, a servant of the enemy?"

Gromsh roared and stood with what seemed an incredible feat of pure will, stepping over a puddle of his own blood to stagger forward, one blade still in his hand.

Blake used every last scrap of mana in his gem, lifted his Arcane construct built as a spear, and launched it into Gromsh's gut. It skewered straight through to the other side.

His Mental Partition flared, and the moment his minion made contact it activated its Burning Touch, smoke rising from the horrific wound.

Gromsh staggered, pulling briefly at the construct before realizing it was completely through his body.

He lurched further and further away, gave one last malevolent stare, then turned and leapt from the tower through one of the large windows. He fell in silence into the dark.

CHAPTER 41 - ERROR SURVIVOR

[/SYS_ERROR. MORTAL CHALLENGE: defeated. Reward: Unspecified. //Error.]

[//Experience gained.]

[You have earned enough experience to reach level 11! Please select a power to enhance.]

[Title gained: Error Survivor. Thank you for your patience. +2 luck]

The block of system text floated before Blake’s eyes, but he ignored it.

"Are you alright?" He went to Ilya and found her neck was already red and bruised. It seemed even with her magically enhanced strength and protection, the orc king had nearly killed her with just a moment's effort. She smiled and stood with a groan.

"We did it." Her eyes glowed with wetness, and she sagged into Blake's arms. "My family is avenged."

"Yes we did." Blake smiled, then walked to the window and looked down at Gromsh's corpse lying mangled on the stone below. A variety of orcs were down there already inspecting and looking generally panicked.

He sighed, still not sure what to do. His instincts told him to go down there and start taking charge, but he didn't quite trust himself as he once did.

Perhaps, he decided, he should take a page from the Mason book and just take Ilya and run. He could go back to Nassau and the others and keep playing the game as they'd been playing. Or…

He could go to the orc lords and explain himself as 'Thrall', continue the lie and perhaps collect some kind of reward. Or he could try and become like Gromsh. He could take the minds of the orcs he needed, use his constructs and his magic and make himself a more subtle king.

"What are you thinking?" Ilya said, watching his face. "What do we do now?"

"Exactly what I was wondering," he said, drumming his fingers on the wall.

"I figured you had a plan," she said. "You always have a plan."

He smiled and met her eyes.

"Plans. I have to pick one."

She furrowed her brow in thought, then seemed to make a decision and held his arms. "Whatever it is, I'll help you. I trust you, Blake. I don't care what Gromsh said. He's the one who betrayed his people. Who cared nothing for their lives. I owe you everything."

Blake smiled, surprisingly affected by the orc girl's trust. Most people who believed in him believed in a facade. His parents. His friends and old schoolmates. They saw his carefully constructed persona and thought they understood who he was, and what he wanted.

Only Mason had ever known the real him—the scared little boy who'd re-built himself, like the constructs he now made.

But maybe in this strange fictional world designed by a robotic alien, he could find others he could trust. He could be honest with himself, and therefore with them.

"I don't want to go home," he said, a little surprised at his own words. "Not yet. And I don't want to lie to your people."

Ilya looked at his eyes and nodded, maybe happy, maybe concerned. "Alright. Then we'll have to talk to the chiefs we can trust...if we can explain to them, if we can..."

"Wait."

Blake’s level had regained him some mana, and he took Ilya's hand and activated Telekinesis, floating them out through the window and down towards the body of Gromsh and the gathering crowd of orcs.

His intuition was returning in full force, his trust in himself regained the moment he'd spoken the truth. With a smile on his very human face, he floated down to gamble again.

* * *

"Blake, what are you doing? We can't just...they'll kill you."

"They might," Blake agreed, realizing he wasn't afraid. Mostly he was just tired of playing this game like he was supposed to. He'd been in the minds of these orcs and seen enough to know they were sentient, that they were more than whatever programming they'd been given, whatever script they'd been fed. Ilya proved that more than anything.

Maybe roboGod had conceived of every possibility. Maybe no matter what Blake did he was just making another pre-determined choice laid out like all the others.

But maybe not. Maybe it would react to him, too. And he would much rather forge his own path, keep this system at least a little on the defensive. Blake had always liked to break the rules and get away with it.

He landed softly next to Gromsh's broken corpse. Orc warriors were coming out from their tower posts with their weapons clutched and ready, but they didn't come any closer. They all stared at Blake and Ilya.

"Go on and fetch your tower lords," Blake called in his regular tone and voice. "Tell them King Gromsh is dead. Tell them his human killer would...like a word. If they aren't too busy."

The orcs looked rather stunned. Some whispered and argued back and forth before messengers were sent scurrying into the portals. Blake created himself a chair with True Making (to an audible gasp from the orcs), then sat and meditated.

His level was extremely easy so he finished it now. True Making was the only choice to enhance. It glowed but gave no option, simply telling him what it did.

[True Making enhanced: all option mana costs decreased.]

He smiled, perfectly happy with the result. Then for a moment he pictured the exact image of the great orc hero he'd seen in many of the tower halls, wondering if he could clone it exactly with Adaptive Veil. But he discarded the idea.

What he’d said to Ilya was true—he didn’t want to lie. He was very tired of always living a deception. He let Navi float out beside him and gave the construct an affectionate pat, then looked at Ilya standing awkwardly beside him and made her a chair, too.

"Thank you," she said quietly and sat, looking not much less awkward.

Blake had a good 15% of his mana back by the time the portals had flared a few dozen times. A veritable army of orcs came through covered in iron. Behind them Blake could see a cluster of shamans, and finally several well-dressed and half-armored orcs covered in different symbols, all with wary bodyguards close at their sides.

The large group of orcs stopped maybe thirty feet from Blake, opening with enough space for what he assumed were the tower lords to come forward and inspect the dead orc 'king'.

One—clearly a much younger lord—smiled. The rest looked somewhat grim.

"Who are you?" asked a large, white-haired orc with a simple staff that was likely anything but. Blake refrained from using Mental Influence to get all their names.

"My name is Blake Nimitz," he said, knowing it would have been spread by the king in his search. Some whispering passed through the orc ranks but silenced quickly.

"So you have killed your enemy," said the younger, much fiercer looking grey-skinned orc with the Blacktusk tabard. "Why would you ask for us, when you know we might do the same to you?"

Blake nodded, very pleased at how reasonable they seemed. He stood, also very pleased when practically every orc in sight startled or gripped their weapons, some sparing a glance at the very mangled and bloody corpse of Gromsh.

"Because I wanted you to know you're not my enemies. Only Gromsh was. And now he's dead. But the other humans you attacked aren’t so forgiving. And they'll come back for the rest of you."

"We'll be waiting," snarled the youngest tower lord, which seemed to garner almost an eye roll from the other lords.

"He waited, too," Blake gestured at Gromsh, then sighed. "I wanted you here to show you not only am I not your enemy, I wish to be your friend."

Even the older tower lords sneered at that. "Humans have always been our enemy. Why should we believe anything you say?"

"Because of this." Blake pulled the holy stone from his pocket, and the orcs stared with wide eyes. Blake knew he must act quickly or risk violence. "Navi," he said, "please identify Ilya, daughter of Dralok."

The little construct twirled without hesitation.

"Ilya of the Vori, Stoneblood Oracle, Tower Highborn Bloodline."

Still the orcs stared, lost in the spectacle, as Blake handed her the stone. She stared with equal amazement as he closed his hands around hers and whispered.

"Use it. It will make a new orc tower, I suspect, and you the lord. And who knows what else."

"I..." she blushed and stared, glancing at the other orcs before Blake squeezed.

"Do it, Ilya. Quickly, now, before anyone gets a chance to do something foolish."

Ilya met Blake's eyes and clenched her jaw. The stone hummed with power and glowed with bright light between their fingers, and soon Blake had to look away. The earth shook, the sky darkened, and many of the orcs fell to their knees in terror.

The nearby walls expanded, pushing out like stone could move of its own accord. Some of the orcs fled in panic, the walls moving closer and closer as if to crush them, until suddenly all of it stopped.

Then with another roar of natural power, a tower grew from the earth itself, huge and white as it jut higher and higher to reach the size of all the others.

When it was finished, a giant tabard fluttered from its side with the image of Ilya's family crest—an amber eye.

Blake smiled when he saw it, watching the orc's watery gaze as she clearly struggled to hold herself together.

"I told you to trust me," he whispered, and she covered her mouth with a hand to hide a shuddering sob. "No time for that," he added, glad the orcs were all still staring, gobsmacked, at the tower. "You're a tower lord. Er, lady, now. You'll need to be strong. And I don't really know what happens. Do you get warriors? Or can they just kill us anyway? Really not clear on orc politics. Should I be running?"

Then the noise ended, and the sky grew clearer, and the tower lords stared at Ilya and Blake with all the other orcs in obvious wonder.

"It is a miracle," whispered the older lord, a little wetness in his rheumy eyes, too. "We live in a time of myth. Of legend." With that he came forward on his staff, a slight smile on his lips as he walked to Ilya and took her hand. "Welcome, Lady of Clan…Amber Eye, Oracle of the Vori,” he smiled. “Your wisdom will be most welcome on the council."

The other lords looked equally pleased, and not backstabbingly murderous at all, which pleased Blake greatly. They came forward one by one to congratulate and welcome Ilya, all amazed still as they stole glances at the tower. She accepted in silence but with considerable grace, and when it was over the orcs all turned to Blake, clearly wary.

“What do you want from us, human?” said the Blacktusk lord. “For this...incredible gift.”

Blake clucked his tongue. What did he want? He’d hardly thought it through, if he was honest. It was a strange feeling that sat in his gut like a new food. He had helped Ilya, and helped these orcs, without any thought to his own benefit, except maybe some new friends.

He didn’t much like it, if he was honest. Like some exotic new dish, it was good to try now and then, but only sparingly. He glanced at the tower.

“I've come to like it here,” he said. “I was thinking, if you have any extra, I wouldn't mind a room. I could use a little space, and time to study.”

The orcs exchanged glances, but turned to Ilya for an answer. She smiled, and clearly wanted to throw her arms around Blake, but kept it together. Very ladylike, he decided.

"There is always room for you in my tower, Wizard."

"Well then.” Blake smiled. “I'll talk to the other humans, and we'll see about calling off the whole ‘fight to the death’ thing. If that's acceptable?"

The lords looked at each other. Most shrugged helplessly.

"Yes...Wizard Blake,” said the older lord. “If…it’s possible. We would accept peace."

"Very good.” Blake stood and let his chair crumble to dust, just to startle the orcs a little. He held out an arm for Ilya. “Should we go take a look at your new tower, my lady?"

Ilya grinned, and took his arm, and together they walked towards the new gate.

“If you don’t have a key,” Blake whispered, “I can probably animate the thing to open.”

It opened instantly as Ilya touched it, a beautiful smile spreading across her face as the double doors revealed inside. These too had the image of a huge, amber eye, staring as if watching any who entered.

Blake and Ilya walked towards it without looking back. Only after they'd touched it and vanished, re-appearing in an empty hall of stone and plush carpet, with busts of dozens of orcs lining the walls, did Ilya turn.

She threw her arms around Blake as she wept. He held her and put a hand to her hair, no reason at all to stop the smile. He supposed in that moment helping others for nothing wasn’t so terrible. Not so terrible at all.

CHAPTER 42 - WHY DON'T WE GO INSIDE?

MASON PROBABLY WORKED the girls harder than he should have. He'd picked a comfortable pace at first, but they kept pushing him (each other, really) until he more or less said 'fuck it' and went at 'human fast run' speed for two hours.

It wasn't a fair competition, either. Rebecca was a player, Rosa was a civilian. Mason wasn't sure what Rebecca's Vitality was, but considering she was a defensive player he was guessing it was pretty damn high.

But Rosa wouldn’t quit. She was incredibly competitive, and also in great shape. At the two hour mark she was dripping with sweat, skin a little pale, her breathing frantic. Still she hadn't said a word.

Mason was about to turn and snap about this being ridiculous, and that they needed to have a conversation like grown ups, when Rosa tripped. She went down with a shriek, and Mason just saw the blue shield flash as Rosa smacked into a fallen log.

She stood up looking somewhere between pissed off and exhausted, checking herself for injury.

"You alright?" Mason hunched down and pulled some dirty leaves off her sweaty shirt.

"Fine," Rosa said, obviously embarrassed. "We can..." she closed her eyes and wobbled as she tried to stand, and Mason had enough.

"OK that's it, climb on." He grabbed her and forced her to his back, giving Becky a 'don't act like you're not involved' sort of glare before he continued.

They ran mostly in silence after that, but took a break to eat and drink before they reached the grove.

"I'm getting a bit cold," Rosa said like it caused her physical pain, after putting on a thin sweater from her bag, but still shivering. Mason winced because he’d forgotten the weather was actually getting cool in the forest and that it bothered the others.

He ended up sitting next to her and putting his arm around her, getting Becky to do the same on the other side. They sat awkwardly until Streak clobbered into them from behind, trying to get in on the action.

"Yes, yes, everyone loves you most, Streak." Mason pulled him over and flipped him semi-violently. At this point he was so big all three of them could hug a chunk of his increasingly long body and thick fur. He stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes happily.

"No offense, big guy," Rosa said, hugging him for warmth. "But you really need a bath. You stink like wet dog and dead orc." She pulled up at the realization and crinkled her nose, and Mason decided it was time to keep going.

He carried Rosa the rest of the way, and after their group hug things at least felt a bit less awkward. But as they approached the grove Mason heard voices on the wind. He felt something in the trees that didn't belong, and held up a hand as he set Rosa down.

"Stay here," he said to Becky, "watch Rosa. I'll be right back."

Before she could complain, he touched the nearest tree and camouflaged himself with his Sleeves, then gestured Streak on as he slipped through the trees.

* * *

Itzit, Third Circle Wizard of the Mountain Guild, stared at the empty, mist-filled grove.

"Ley line seer said between river and valley on Western forest edge. This must be place, Prospector. It's on map. But I see no tree." He gestured at the colored cloth provided by the Guild and shrugged when his client frowned.

"It's here, Wizard, I can smell it. This is nymph magic."

Itzit sneered at the word. The forest whores had been trouble for goblins since the dawn of time. Always interfering, always opposing. They brought trees to life to destroy their machines, tricked and even seduced them only to cut their throats and leave their bodies drained like insect husks.

Itzit stepped to the edge of the 'clearing' and closed his eyes, invoking a rare incantation taught at the Third Circle to destroy or at least suppress magic. The more time and mana he gave it the more powerful it became, but he thought it wise to try a test. Perhaps he could break the illusion for a moment to see if the Prospector was right.

His spell finished, filling the air with a dull purple glow as it blanketed over the clearing. For a moment, just a moment, he thought he saw something physical in the mist. He smelled it, too. Tree sap and pine, just like all the forest life he hated.

He glanced at the Prospector, who met his eyes and grinned.

"Can you end the spell?"

"I think so, Prospector. But I will need time."

"Time is something we have, Wizard. The rest of you, make camp. Scouts, find us something to eat. I’ll take anything that isn't salted or dried."

"There you're wrong," whispered a foreign voice from somewhere very nearby. Itzit squinted and stared as he looked for the source before it went on. "You've a lot less time than you think."

"Who is that? Show yourself! Wizard, tell me who's speaking before I..."

Prospector Snarsk gasped as the tree beside him seized his neck. Then the tree shimmered and became a thing with arms and legs and...

"Humans!" Itzit screeched a warning then turned and fled behind a rock before starting his spell. He had many destructive tools in his arsenal, and usually preferred speed, but decided better to reveal himself with a first, brutal surprise.

The human had slammed Prospector Snarks against a tree trunk before it finished, tossing the merchant limp to the ground.

But Itzit cared nothing for the Prospectors. He’d already been paid, and only served his own order. Besides, the tree had been found. All that mattered now was returning the knowledge before somehow the nymphs moved it, or tricked them.

Boil Flesh swirled green and launched in spray of acidic venom that filled the air in a wide, deadly cone. The ooze stuck to anything it touched—covering trees and sending steam rising as it burned and melted even wood.

Itzit watched long enough to see his target half covered before he smiled and turned to run.

Hot breath hit his face. He pulled back as white teeth rose above and below his vision, like the pretty stalactites of the cave Itzit called home.

"Oh," he said, mostly just surprised before they closed.

* * *

[Apex Predator active: Elemental]

[Title activated: Poison Shmoison]

Mason growled in pain as the foul goo covered most of his body. He'd underestimated how many goblins there actually were, but ducked and ran as darts and arrows zipped and thunked all around him from the trees ahead.

He wiped some ooze off his face, feeling the sting most there. It was some kind of contact poison, apparently, but felt more like acid. It wasn’t worse than the pit of the Devourer's stomach, though, and maybe not even that bad.

It wasn't too easy to get off, either, but if these goblins thought it would stop him before they were all dead, they were very wrong.

Mason activated Aspect of the Cheetah, summoned both his Claws, and sprinted after any creature he could see in the gloom. The first stood with a blowgun and wide eyes as he almost cut it in half with his larger sword. He instantly moved on, finding another with a short bow. He took its throat with his sickle, then its bow as he unsummoned his larger blade.

"Thank you," he said, then turned and drew the small weapon, activating Endless Quiver for the first time in quite awhile.

He blinked in surprise at the drop down list. It looked like it had way too many options compared to normal. But there was no time to inspect. He quickly accepted some random barbed tip and loosed at a goblin with Power Shot, blasting it flying.

Then he heard Streak growl and leap on some poor little bastard and start thrashing it like a dirty rug. He ignored them and moved through with his camouflage active, putting arrows into anything green and moving. The bow wasn't particularly good, the draw too light to pierce much but flesh. But it didn't need to be.

The goblins soon broke and ran. Mason followed and hunted them down without mercy, telling Streak to do the same. They moved well and fast, but not fast enough. He soon had the last of them lying in the dirt, looking up at him with terrified eyes, remaining hand quivering in front of its face.

[Greenblood Prospector Team defeated. Experience gained.]

Mason had heard enough to understand this ‘Prospector Team’ was here looking for the great tree. After what he'd seen in the dungeon he knew more than he wanted to about why.

"Tell me where your mountain entrance is," he said, grabbing the goblin's severed stump and hovering a thumb over the wound. "And I'll make your death quick and painless."

The goblin sneered, grabbing for something at its waist before Mason used Predator's Strike and took its head. He sighed, and found the rusty knife before tossing it away. Then he went back and collected as many of the bows and blowguns and darts as he could carry, whistling for Streak on the way.

He found a crude map on the goblin leader, some strange coins made with at least rudimentary craftsmanship, and a staff on the wizard. Then he walked back to the girls and almost panicked for a moment when they weren't where he'd left them.

"Thank you, druid," said a feminine voice from the mists. Calypsa stepped out with her spear and bark-like armor covering her from neck to knees. She was leading Rosa and Becky with the other hand, and gave Mason a bloodthirsty smile. "I enjoyed watching that. Very much."

Mason cleared his throat and tried not to enjoy her enjoyment of his murdering things.

"Nice to see you again, Calypsa. Why don't we go inside?"

The nymph's smile only widened, and she turned and disappeared back into her grove.

Mason took a deep breath. He knew he was here for the reasons he’d said—to get the strange women/creatures help with the seed and other things. But he also knew what tended to happen when you hung out with nymphs and attractive young women.

He glanced back at Becky and Rosa and tried to fight his excitement, but didn’t do very well. What they were thinking he had no idea, but before they could say anything, he took their hands, and followed Calypsa into the mist.

LOOKING FOR MORE?

YOU CAN EXPECT a new ebook/audiobook in this series at least every 2 months (and probably more like 1 month) for the entirety of 2025, and probably beyond! There’s 10 books written, and more on the way.

But if you want access to TEN PLUS books in The First Great Game series, right now, you can sign up to my Patreon here:

Https://www.patreon.com/c/piercegrey

There’s a variety of other places to find great LITRPG and Harem.

Here’s a few:

Facebook

Https://www.facebook.com/groups/LitRPG.books

www.facebook.com/groups/HaremLitBooks

https://www.facebook.com/groups/litrpgs

Https://www.facebook.com/groups/dukesofharem

Discord

https://discord.gg/6DgPaerTDU

Reddit

Https://www.reddit.com/r/fantasyromance

Https://www.reddit.com/r/harem

Https://www.reddit.com/r/Haremlit

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

PIERCE GREY IS the Harem/Litrpg pen name of epic fantasy writer Richard Nell. No, it's not a secret, it's just different genres and he (OK, 'I') didn't want to confuse people.

If you like male protagonists kicking ass and getting amazing girls, with harem tropes written by someone who actually cares about good writing: you, sir, are in the right place.

But if you'd like to check out my much bigger, epic, darker, deeper fantasy with philosophizing and 'applied sciences Jesus' and a prince with god-like powers...you should go check out 'Richard Nell' and my other series Ash and Sand.

Either way, I'm glad you're here, and I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Want instant access to 10+ unedited books in The First Great Game series? Click the link below:

Patreon Link:

Pierce Grey | Creating Litrpg/Harem fantasy and sci-fi novels | Patreon