“Step up, I sense you’re on the precipice of something.

  Me, I’m on the brink of delivering your lumpings.”

  - D. Hess, Final Boss

  CHAR

  Char ducked a swipe from the golem’s only remaining arm and shoved the crumbling bodyguard back with his shield.

  “Chaos Convergence!” he yelled, louder than was strictly necessary, and raised SoulSinger over his head. He’d seen clips of an old cartoon where a blonde warrior with a bowl-cut struck a similar pose before beating the shit out of a skeleton. He could never remember the name of the show, but he liked the image.

  The blade vibrated and filled the tunnels with an inspiring, pulse-pounding melody; a perfect backing track to Char’s heroic deeds.

  Shouting wasn’t necessary to trigger powers—simply muttering the words would suffice—but if you couldn’t show off a bit as the highest level storm guard in Silverdawn, then what was the point?

  “Move!” he warned, giving a pointed stare to the bare-chested barbarian whose meaty thighs were currently wrapped around the golem‘s neck.

  For the past few minutes, Gallup had done a good job keeping the enemy busy while Char systematically removed its limbs. Now, though, it was time to let the star of the show have his grand finale.

  That was Char, in case there was any doubt. Maybe he wasn’t level 100, but he was the hero of this story.

  Fortunately, the barbarian was on the same page and threw himself clear just as Char’s plate mail was consumed in crackling blue energy. SoulSinger’s music grew louder; more insistent.

  Char propelled forward, no longer corporeal; a being of pure energy. His vision gave way to a prismatic spectrum, colors swirling, drowning out the rest of the world. It was difficult to aim in this state, but the tunnel was narrow and, except for his enemy, the coast was now clear. So he let himself unleash a killing bow.

  When his senses returned, he was standing a few feet from the door, muscles quivering.

  He didn’t turn. He didn’t have to. Behind him, there was a tinkling crash as the golem’s last arm shattered into refractive shards.

  But there was another sound, too. And this one was was unexpected: a soft gurgling, like a stream meandering gently though the forest. Char had fought Bask’s guardian many times, but didn’t recall it ever making that noise.

  Confused, he looked down to see a cloak embroidered with astrological constellations, and inside that, a man with a deep gouge carved across his chest. His eyes, formerly a swirl of glittering space dust, were now a static brown.

  Orion’s name was a deep red, the universally understood signal for “oh shit.” If there was any good news, it was that his status was still at “Death’s Door,” which meant he was bleeding out, but not beyond help.

  The guy must have been invisible. What was he doing there?

  “We need a healer!” Char yelled as the limbless golem began to vibrate frantically, its faceted torso blurring into something equally frightening and hypnotic.

  Mammon rushed to Orion’s side and knelt down, but not before offering a patronizing glare. As if it was Char’s fault the transparent player with no armor had wandered into the middle of combat.

  “Nice job, asshole,” the bone bender muttered.

  “Fuck off. Some of us have to actually, you know, fight. Not stand in the background like a creepy blair witch. And anyhow, he’d be fine if you hadn’t chosen to wipe half his Health.”

  “I’m not creepy. I’m just not a prick.” Mammon placed an open palm on the warlock. “Entropy Reversal.”

  Orion’s skin bubbled like boiling water, flesh and tissue merging with Mammon’s until it was impossible to tell where the bone bender’s hand began and Orion’s chest ended.

  Yeah, definitely not creepy at all.

  Char turned his attention to the cracks spreading rapidly across the golem’s body and raised his shield. “Everyone else get back!”

  It would only take a few seconds for Mammon to stabilize his patient, but during that brief window, they’d both be exposed to attack. As much as Char didn’t like the guy, Mammon was the undisputed (well, okay, maybe a little disputed) top player in Silverdawn. They needed him.

  Also, whether Char wanted to admit it or not, this was kind of his fault.

  “Exosphere!” he shouted, again entirely for dramatic effect.

  A split-second later, the golem erupted into dazzling white light and a thousand crystalline needles launched in every direction. Most of Silverdawn’s monsters had at least one unique ability, and—as many players had discovered the hard way—the Death Throw was a heavy damage dealer. Char had seen it insta-kill even high level characters.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Fortunately, he’d reacted in time. A golden bubble enclosed the three of them like a snow globe, except instead of being filled with reindeer at the base of Santa’s workshop, it was populated by an idiot warlock, a zombie-fucker, and a heroic knight at the base of Satan’s throne room. Streaks of lightning danced along the bubble’s translucent surface.

  The shards slammed against the barrier, each impact marked by a spiraling ripple, and then all was still. The golem was gone; every inch of the thing had been transformed into deadly missiles, now scattered along the tunnel’s bone floor.

  The rest of the party peeked around the corner. At his feet, Orion sat up with a groan, his chest smooth and unscarred.

  “Coast is clear,” Char said, approaching the simple white doors that led to Bask. “I’d say it’s time to go, but I don’t want anyone thinking I’m taking charge without a vote.”

  To his surprise, there was no retort from Mammon. He turned and saw the bone bender a few yards away, preoccupied in a conversation with Quartz.

  “What are you two doing?” he wedged between them, not at all liking how close they were standing. Mammon was clearly annoyed by the interruption, which was nice, but so was Quartz, which didn’t feel good at all.

  “Quartz asked to discuss strategy,” Mammon said. “And since it was more complicated than ‘hit it with a sword,’ we didn’t want to confuse you.”

  Speaking a little too quickly, the mage added, “We’ll be right there. Tell the others to get ready.”

  Well, now Char really didn’t like what was happening here. Was this gloomy fuck trying to steal his girlfriend? Temperature rising, he pointed at a vial of cloudy liquid in her hand. “Does the strategy involve milk?”

  “It’s a boost potion. For spell casters.” Again, Quartz’s answer came a little too fast. Something odd was going on. She took a swig and held the bottle out to Mammon. “Here. Give it a try.”

  When the bone bender hesitated, Char seized the moment. “What, not used to gifts from pretty girls?” He snatched the vial and took a deep gulp. It tasted like saltwater and juniper and required every ounce of his Body attribute to keep from choking. But other than a slight uptick in his Spirit, there was no noticeable effect. “She’s my girlfriend, by the way.”

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Quartz yelled, the crimson trails beneath her skin glowing hotly. Char had never seen her so angry and the reaction caught him completely off guard.

  “Sorry? I didn’t think—”

  “No one asked you to think!” Her voice was still loud enough to echo down the halls. “And I’m not your girl—”

  “It’s okay, there’s plenty left.” Clearly relishing Char’s discomfort, Mammon swiped the potion and brought it to his lips. One eye twitched faintly, but otherwise his face remained still.

  Quartz looked frantic, for reasons that were still not entirely clear to Char. So what if he took a sip from her stupid potion? Who cared? She was about to say something else before the mid-level snake charmer wandered over and cleared her throat.

  “The others are ready to go if you—what’s that?”

  Mammon shrugged and handed her the bottle. “Boost potion. There’s a little left, if you want it. And yeah, we’re ready to go.”

  “Oh for fuck sake!” Teeth clenched, Quartz seethed as Apostle finished the contents.

  Why did she care so much? She’d been reserved and moody these past few months, and hadn’t been swinging by Castle Voerhaven as often for late night hook-ups, but this was weird behavior, even for her.

  Whatever. He needed to focus on the very big, very dangerous, task at hand.

  “Okay strategy-time’s over.” He clapped his hands and gestured toward the doors. “Now, who wants to spend their last few minutes online punching a big ol’ devil in the dick?”

  QUARTZ

  Quartz was the last player to enter Bask’s chamber, but the battle was well under way by the time she stepped inside.

  Everything was black and red, from the tapestries billowing against smooth onyx walls to the thick carpet depicting gruesome mutilations. Even the dark candles kept the color scheme, their crimson flames floating just out of reach.

  A table honed from an enormous garnet squatted at the room’s center and on the far side was a matching throne, its sharply-angled back rising twenty feet high, nearly touching the ceiling.

  But as grandiose as that all was, it was just window dressing. The real star of the show was the twelve foot tall, pot-bellied behemoth who called this place home. Bask had leathery skin and tusks that matched the room’s decor. His armor was a patchwork of marrow cab shells, decorated with the same blue crystal that had so recently detonated on the other side of the door.

  Well, technically there was no door, now. It had vanished the moment Quartz tentatively stepped through.

  Bask swung his battle axe, a brightly polished instrument of double-bladed death that chirped like crickets as it cleaved the air, and Quartz ducked behind the table.

  All around her was chaos.

  Swords, spears, and daggers came at the demon in all directions, a cloud of murderous intent. Bursts of different colored light erupted like fireworks as various spells found their target. Her companions charged, dove, and rolled around in constant motion, desperately trying to stay out of Bask’s range.

  “Tides of War!” Char shouted—that boy did love to yell—from somewhere to her right, and a typhoon of hissing water lassoed Bask’s wrist, yanking it wide so that Gallup could drive both fur boots into the Leyline Guardian’s chest like a wrestler off the top rope.

  She had first met Char when they were both new to the game, working their way up the level board. He was a showboat even then, certain of his inevitable rise to Silverdawn’s elite. But Quartz had always sensed an undercurrent of insecurity beneath his cocky exterior. He used confidence as an armor; not to protect him from other players, but to keep his own crippling self-doubt from leaking out.

  Or maybe not. Maybe he was just as arrogant in real life, too. She’d never know. He was decent in the sack and made her laugh, which was enough for a virtual fuckboi. Certainly better than her real life co-workers, who were more than happy to leave her alone in shitty florescent lighting while they toasted their success at a fancy steakhouse.

  But after his little peacock display a few minutes ago, she never wanted to see him again. That potion had taken months to make. It was only supposed to be used by her and Mammon. What the hell was going to happen now that four players all had its contents working through their virtual veins, rewriting their code?

  Goddammit that idiot might have ruined everything!

  She closed her eyes.

  >> AWAITING INSTRUCTION [QUARTZ]

  “Time until reboot.”

  >> SEVEN MINUTES TWELVE SECONDS

  “Heaven’s Wrath!” Orion screamed. Everyone was feeling the adrenaline rush of combat now. A hundred flaming rocks pummeled Bask like angry hornets. The demon lord stumbled under the onslaught, bellowing in fury.

  Curious, Quartz called up his overlay.

  His name was still written in a clean, unblemished white, which meant that despite the group’s full court press, they’d barely dented his health.

  “Joinus,” Mammon said and hopped onto the table. Green-hued disks, each the size of a dinner plate, hovered around Bask’s clawed feet, floating portals to some horrific realm. The faint sound of screaming could be heard from their depths as skeletal arms reached out.

  The Guardian kicked and stomped at the bony limbs, scattering them across the carpet. But while he was distracted, Mammon leapt forward and drove a spear crafted from some animal’s spine into Bask’s thigh. At least, Quartz liked to assume the spear’s donor had been an animal.

  Its tip found a gap in the demon’s armor and drew black ichor.

  “Time’s almost up,” he announced, retreating as Bask removed the spear and snapped it in half.

  Quartz shut her eyes again and tried to focus. She could still do this. She could still make herself the rightful ascendant hero of Silverdawn. The plan just required a few creative last minute tweaks.

  “It sure is,” she whispered to herself. “For you."

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