Ben stared long and hard at the place where his friend had been only moments ago. His mind was awhirl, his thoughts dark and brooding. Prompts hovered in his field of vision, demanding attention, but he ignored them. His eyes lingered on the pool of blood that spread slowly but steadily from the crushed head of the demonic rat. He could still see the mighty Yitro swinging his spiked mace, roaring his triumph, vanquishing this foe from hell even while he himself had seconds left to live. It was a magnificent sight, but Ben’s heart did not swell in pride and brotherly love; no, his heart shrank in anger and fear as he thought about Mike’s last words. The look in the dwarf’s eyes when Ben had mentioned Mistress R was a confession all by itself, and that, together with the bizarre story of his friend’s arrival into this VD dungeon, put Ben on edge.

“A glorious way to die,” said Red, coming over to stand next to Ben. The mercenary’s sword was soaked in blood, the red liquid dripping onto the gathering red puddle. The big man crouched next to the fallen beast and wiped his blade on its fur, looking sideways at Ben as he did so. “Too bad he didn’t make it, though. Having another fighter by my side was a welcome change.”

Ben didn’t respond, although he silently agreed with the Red Mercenary. Yitro Stone Crusher could have been a perfect addition to their party, which at the moment lacked melee fighters - those who could assume tank roles and be shields against frontal assaults, thus protecting the ranged fighters and magic users. Red was magnificent, but he could not occupy the attention of too many enemies, as Ben witnessed first-hand again and again. That didn’t matter now, though. The dwarf was gone, resurrected next to an unknown necromancer who lurked in the shadows somewhere.

The blood reached Ben’s boots, gathering around them, yet still, the scout did not move. What secrets did you not tell me, Mike? He thought. Who really sent you here? And why? He moved his hand - it was painful, his health was not fully restored - and touched the crumpled piece of paper that Mike had so conveniently found for him. Were you really sent here to help me? Ben wanted to believe it, but doubts clouded his mind. His previous assumption - that it was Raxlon who had taken care to bring Mike here - was replaced by a more sinister hypothesis. If Mike had met with Mistress R even before he sent Ben to his... assignment… before he gave Ben the VD console... it opened up a number of disturbing possibilities, none of which Ben liked. You fucking idiot, why didn’t you tell me? Ben thought angrily. Why?

Someone touched his shoulder and Ben raised his head to see Shiraz looking at him with narrowed eyes. There was light - Milenna had cast her ball of light again, to the great relief of Red - and Ben could see that the shadow mage was wounded as well. She was supporting a bad leg and had several scratches along her forearms. Still, she disregarded her injuries as she examined the scout with an unreadable expression. “Are you planning on how to find your dwarf friend, or are you just enjoying soaking in your enemies’ blood?” Her lips curled. “Seeing what you did before with the blood of those rotting bodies, I’m beginning to think you have a certain affinity to it.”

Ben was half expecting the red-haired woman to comfort him, and so her sarcastic words took him by surprise - and shook him out of his dark brooding. He slowly straightened, wincing as his wounds rubbed against the leather armor, took a step out of the puddle of blood and regarded the shadow mage with a slight smile of his own. “Maybe I have,” he said ominously. “This game changes people.”

She raised her eyebrows, looking him straight in the eyes. “Indeed,” she said.

Ben looked away from her penetrating gaze. “As for Mike - Yitro Stone Crusher - I indeed intend to find him. But first, how is everyone? You’re wounded.”

Shiraz nodded. “Their first volley included an exploding arrow of some kind. I was caught in the blast and hit in the leg. That’s why it took me so long to join the fray.”

“You arrived just in time,” Ben mumbled. He thought about the teeth of the giant creature closing on his body and shuddered. “I almost finished as rat food.”

Shiraz bowed her head in acknowledgment of his unspoken gratitude and looked behind her shoulder. “You have Milenna to thank as well. If it weren’t for her, the big rat’s master would have finished you off before I had a chance to drag you away from there.”

Ben saw the sorceress a few feet away, standing over the female Ratkin. The beautiful woman seemed unscathed and thoughtful as she regarded the prone creature. He remembered the lightning bolt that she cast, remembered seeing it strike the Ratkin and hurl her to the floor. “Hey, Millena,” he said aloud. “Thanks for the rescue. Your spells have saved me again.”

The sorceress looked at him and shrugged the compliment off. “It was your masterful tactics that led us to swift victory, but I think we can take a raincheck on patting our backs. We have a captive.” She looked down and smiled coldly. “This rat is still alive.”

At that, all three of her companions perked up. Ben walked over to stand next to Milenna and saw that indeed, the Ratkin wasn’t dead. The sorceress’ lightning bolt had left half her face blackened and stunned her, but even as the scout looked, she stirred and her eyelids fluttered. As Ben watched the beastly half-breed regaining consciousness, his thoughts were still on Mike. He needed his friend to survive - and for that, he needed to find the necromancer who had cursed him. And here, he thought, was someone who might point him in the right direction.

Ben’s smile was unpleasant as he looked up at his companions. “How do you guys feel about some justified intimidation?”

**

Ikzim groaned and her eyes came fully open, focusing on the faces of the adventurers that stood over her. Her elongated rat’s mouth opened in a snarl, showing sharp teeth, and she made to jump away, but to do so would mean to get her throat sliced - a sword, freshly cleaned, was resting beneath her chin. Looking up from the blade, the Ratkin saw it was held by one of the biggest humans she had ever seen. He had dark skin and the muscles of the arm that held the sword bulged, as if he had to restrain himself from plunging the blade into her skin. A heavy Duergar helmet covered the hero’s face and the eyes that looked at her from beneath that helmet promised swift death - the same death she saw him deliver to her kin.

Ikzim was furious, but her hot rage died along with her summoned demon. The anger she now felt was tinged with fear and desperation, and her mind - programmed by a talented DM to be relatively smarter than the rest of her kin - searched for a way out of this hopeless predicament. All she wanted now was to survive. The party-less leader kept her eyes locked on those of the big warrior, trying not to show fear. “What… you want?” She spoke the human language, although she did so haltingly and with a guttural accent.

To her surprise, the big man said nothing. Instead, he turned his head to look sideways. Ikzim followed his gaze and saw another human step forward. She immediately recognized the crossbowman and was astonished he was still alive. She saw her demonic rat sink its teeth into him and she herself had scored a hit against his flesh, yet here he was, looking at her with cold eyes. This hero looked much less impressive than the sword-bearer. His armor was bloody and she could see the teeth marks on the studded leather, where her pet from hell had bitten him. He was thin, with brownish skin and green eyes. Short black hair was plastered to his forehead and his face was nothing of note - other than those eyes. There was wisdom there, knowledge beyond his years. Ikzim’s last reserve of anger faded away as these eyes looked at her, leaving only fear in its absence.

“Tell me of your master,” said the young human. “Where is he?”

Ikzim’s mind raced. Master? She had no master. Was he referring to her clan chief? That too was not likely, for Ikzim and her band were rogues and have left the protection of the clan long ago. She tried to think of an answer, but fear dulled her senses. “I do not - “ She began, but stopped in a whimper of pain as the tip of the warrior’s sword penetrated her flesh, drawing blood.

“You’d better tell him what he wants to know,” growled the human. “Or else.” He smiled savagely under his helmet, obviously enjoying intimidating her.

Ikzim licked her lips. She was intimidated alright. “I - I have no master,” she said quickly, before the warrior could stab her again. “I be leader of my kin.”

The crossbowman’s eyes narrowed. “No master? What of the necromancer? Wasn’t he the one who sent you?”

Finally, Ikzim understood. Her little rat eyes widened. “Him? No! No master! He promise gold if we catch the dwarf thief. Is all. I meet him today. He be adventurer, like you.”

Her words caused an uproar amongst her captors. A woman with long red hair grabbed the crossbowman’s shoulder. “Did the rat just say that the necromancer is an adventurer?”

Another woman, this one with hair as black as a cave troll’s beard and skin as white as a bat’s belly - Ikzim recognized her as the sorceress who had stunned her with her lightning bolt - also stepped forward. “An adventurer!” She looked down at the prone Ratkin and her eyes were ablaze. “What does he look like?”

The big warrior growled something that Ikzim didn’t understand, and the crossbowman looked perplexed, as if not entirely understanding why his companions were so excited. The red-haired, noticing his look, explained: “If an NPC recognizes someone as an adventurer - sometimes they refer to us as heroes - then this someone is in all likelihood a player, like us. And if she met him only today…”

The crossbowman’s eyes widened in understanding, though Ikzim had no idea what it was that he understood. The only thing she could think about is that her words caused some kind of a problem amongst the heroes, so she decided to keep speaking. “He be half-human half-elf,” she said, looking at the sorceress this time. “Black robes, white hair. He calls himself Dark-Heart”

“Sonofabitch!” Exclaimed the sorceress, and her voice was so shrill that the others looked at her in alarm. “Fucking Dark-Heart! I should have known. Of course it would be him who would employ the services of rats to advance his goals.” She suddenly knelt and grabbed the frightened Ratkin by her shoulders. “Where is he? Tell me, scum!” Spittle flew from her mouth in her rage.

Ikzim gulped. “He say he be here,” she said hurriedly. “He lies. He hides when we be fighting.” She turned her head - as far as she could, with the sword still against her throat - and looked at the direction of the tunnels. “He be there somewhere.”

The woman snorted and abruptly stood up, looking at the others. “Things have just got more complicated,” she said. “I know Dark-Heart’s player. He’s a VD veteran. He changes characters all the time, but he keeps the name. He’s cruel, he’s brutal, and there’s one thing he loves above all else: killing other characters.” By her tone of voice, even Ikzim understood that the woman had a personal vendetta against the man.

The crossbowman nodded. “I remember him sitting with us around the table at first log-in,” he said. “We should have expected it, I was wondering when the other players would show up. He had killed you before, hadn’t he, Milenna?”

“He had. And I swore that day that I would pay him in kind. And then some.”

“And justly so!” Roared the warrior. “What do you think…”

As the heroes kept talking amongst themselves, they seemed to forget about Ikzim. Even the big warrior let down his guard - his sword still hovered next to her head, but the blade didn’t touch her anymore, and the hero’s eyes were not on her at all, but intent on his companions. Ikzim, a survivalist, knew that she wouldn’t get another chance. If she were any smarter she might have recognized that there was a chance for her to scheme her way out of this, but the Ratkin was not skilled in the art of words, and she was surrounded by the still-bleeding bodies - one of them headless - of her kin. All she wanted to do was flee.

What she was, however, was a good strategist - or so she liked to think of herself - and a good strategist always made plans for emergencies. Before she could second-guess herself, Ikzim grabbed a small vial that was attached to her belt. Bracing herself, she rolled beneath the warrior’s sword and jumped to her feet, using her strong tail to propel herself up in an impressive acrobatic maneuver. Even as the Ratkin landed on her feet, her hand was already moving, throwing down the small vial of poisonous vapors with all the force she could muster.

**

Ben’s high initiative saved him once again. He was in the middle of asking what were the rules regarding players killing each other, when he sensed the danger and reached for his crossbow. Red was slower; by the time the mercenary understood that his captive was escaping, she was already rolling away; the big man’s sword found only the stone floor where the Ratkin’s head had been a moment before.

Ben saw the Ratkin’s hand movement and immediately understood its significance. His reflexes were already in motion and he tried to do three things simultaneously: jump away from the danger, shout a warning to his friend, and nock a bolt to his crossbow.

Were it not for his recently-achieved Acrobatics skill - which had risen during the last encounter - Ben would have probably failed. As it was, he was able to leap away just as the vial broke on the floor amidst the group, emitting a cloud of green smoke that enveloped everyone except the Ratkin and the scout. Ben rolled away, narrowly avoiding inhaling the green vapors, and finished his roll on one knee, with his mighty crossbow notched and ready. His timing was so perfect, that he didn’t even need to use his Pause The Game! power. He also had another advantage; while another person might have had a hard time seeing anything beyond the green cloud, Ben’s first skill power came into play. With his Passive Focus, he could clearly see the Ratkin as she spun on her clawed feet and began to run away, obviously thinking that the green smoke would supply her with enough cover. In the space of a few seconds, she would be over and behind the boulders, and from there the adventurers would have a hard time tracking her.

Ben aimed. He had a fleeting moment of indecision, pondering whether he should shoot the Ratkin as she fled. But the moment was just that - fleeting. Ben couldn’t let the creature run back to warn the necromancer. He also couldn’t let such a perfect shooting opportunity escape him. And last but not least, he wouldn’t let the one who had harmed him - nearly killed him with her summoned pet - escape. Ben’s bloodlust guided his hand as he pulled the trigger of the Skewering Crossbow.

Time slowed. Just like the first time Ben had killed an enemy - back in Sonadin’s prison cell, in what seemed like ages ago but was less than a day before - the system recognized this scene as worthwhile enough to add some justified video-effects. Ben’s bolt flew true, but it did so in the best Robin Hood slow-mo fashion - slowly cutting the green smoke on the way to its target. Ben saw it pass inches away from Shiraz, who was coughing and twisting her face in agony. It passed Milenna, who was trying to jump away from the green smoke. It passed Red, who seemed oblivious to the poison that engulfed his face and was in the process of raising his sword, his face full of rage. Then the bolt was out of the cloud and speeding toward the back of the Ratkin. The half-breed, as if sensing her doom, turned her head to look behind her. Her little rat eyes widened when she saw the bolt. Her muscles tensed as she tried to leap away to the boulders.

The bolt hit. True to the name of its weapon, the projectile rammed into the back of the Ratkin with a force of a bullet. Blood - an exaggerated and dramatic amount - sprayed outward in a circle. The bolt penetrated the kin’s body and exited her chest with another burst of bright blood. The creature’s momentum hurtled her forward. She crashed against the face of a large rock and slowly slid down. Her little rat eyes stared blankly as the last HP left her body, and she died.

As her head lolled, still in slow-mo, Ben took the time to read his prompts.

Critical hit! You hit Ratkin Party Leader with Crossbow of Skewering for 56 piercing damage. You kill Ratkin Party Leader. Shared XP Reward: (note: this reward includes the results of the previous battle) 7,200 (base 4,200 +2,000 for a well-executed plan +1,000 for killing a Party Leader ). Personal XP Reward: 1,800. Current XP: 8,100. Points to next level: 1,900. Skill Increases: Stealth: +1 Crossbows +2 Death magic +1 Acrobatics +2 Tactics +1 Leadership +1 Perception +1 Identify +1 Traits Changes: Honorable -1 (note: shooting an enemy in the back when no danger is poised to you is certainly becoming a habit, isn’t it? Be warned: further decreasing this trait may result in additional changes to your Fame, Title, Active Status and Path). VD Achievement: There Can Be Only One Leaders are plentiful in this world, yet why should you share your game-time with others that are less worthy? Killing a Party Leader is not a small feat, and thus the system recognizes your prowess and grants you the following boons: Instant Heal. Current HP: 31. Additional personal XP: 500. Current XP: 8,600. Points to next level: 1,400. Constitution +1 New Title: Ratkin Slayer. Your party has slain a party of eight Ratkin and you personally have slain their leader. From this day on you shall be recognized as an unmerciful killer whenever you meet another Ratkin. Damage against Ratkin: +20%

As the last words vanished from his vision, time also resumed its course - bringing with it the sound of violent coughing from the direction of his companions. Ben straightened to his feet, slinging his crossbow behind his back. More hale than ever before and with his health fully restored, he felt the same glorious feeling of invincibility he had experienced before. Looking at the others he even smiled to himself - Milenna was on her knees, coughing and spitting, while Red was helping Shiraz to her feet. All three of them seemed to suffer only lightly from the poisonous fumes, but they did take damage - whereas Ben not only escaped the cloud, he had slain their foe with a single shot. He remembered that moment by the first waystone, when they rebuked him for his poor choice of rewards and twisted his lip in a rebuke of his own. And what do you think of my crossbow now, assholes?

“Ben!” It was Shiraz, who stepped forward to join him. She looked a bit green in the face herself and her breathing was shallow and fast as her body tried to battle the effect of the poison. Still, she looked at her party leader with concern. “You okay?”

Ben was still feeling triumphant. “I’m fine. Can’t say the same for the rat, though.” He gestured, and Shiraz followed his look until she noticed the bloodied form of the Ratkin against the rock. Instead of congratulating the scout for his kill, though, the shadow mage furrowed her eyebrows. “Goddamn it, Ben! She was our only source of information. She could have led us to that player Milenna is so hot for.”

Ben felt anger swelling inside him at the accusing look in her eyes. “That she was,” he said through clenched teeth. “But there are two sides to that coin. Had I not killed her, she could have run to this Dark Heart and tell him all about us. Have you thought of that?”

Shiraz regarded him for a long moment. Coughs racked her body again and Ben almost reached out to support her, but he stayed his hand. He was in the right and had no tolerance for her rebuke. Why couldn’t she -

“You’re right,” said the shadow mage. The painful spasm was gone and she straightened with a crooked smile. Her eyes twinkled as she looked at him with the same thoughtful gaze she had given him before the battle, and he could see the black shadow clouding her irises. When she suddenly grinned, there was blood on her white teeth. “You’re so very right, Ben. And you know,” she added, and looked back across the few dozen feet to where the dead Ratkin lay, “that was one hell of a shot. Did you get slow-mo for it?”

Ben, who was ready to defend his position and if need be to walk away in anger, was taken aback. He slowly smiled back, disarmed by her change of mood. “I did. It was awesome.” Now he did put his hand on her shoulder - and was surprised that his heart rate stayed as it was. He did not notice the smug expression on his face as he spoke his next words. “Just stick with me, Shiraz, and I will lead you to glory.”

“Hey Ben! Would you come here a moment?” Called Red. Ben gave Shiraz one more look - which she returned with a smile that seemed only half forced - and walked away to see what the mercenary needed.

Behind him, Shiraz’s smile withered and shadows clouded her eyes again. “You were right,” she whispered again as she watched the scout clasping the warrior’s shoulder, “this game does change people.” She pressed her lips in thought, before sighing and walking over to rejoin her companions.