Once, in one of Noah’s quests, Ben and his companions were faced with one of the most brutish encounters in their gaming history - they had entered a dark cave and were ambushed and nearly slaughtered by a couple of mountain giants. The players were outraged: they had a high-level rogue and ranger in their group, and couldn’t believe that neither of them could detect the presence of the clumsy monsters that lurked in the shadows before it was too late. Ben had accused Noah of manipulating the dice roll - who could say what dice the game master was rolling behind his DM screen - but his friend had just smiled, obviously enjoying seeing his players struggling for their lives.

A few seconds after Ben entered the treasure room of the Ironhead Clan, he was reminded of that unfortunate encounter and his resulting suspicions - only this time it was Raxlon who Ben believed was manipulating the dice roll in favor of a more interesting plot.

Ben was on his guard when he pushed open the doors and entered the grand chamber of the Duergar. He tried to look in all directions as quickly as he could, fearing - knowing - that a trap was about to be sprung. His left hand was on his crossbow; his right - on his wand. He was as ready as he could be - as were his companions, who were close behind him with their hands on their weapons.

The room they entered was indeed magnificent. Two straight rows of black obsidian pillars supported a medium-height ceiling, where several stalactites of different sizes and colors were looming in abundance, some of them gleaming in an eerie light that gave the entire chamber a mystical appearance. Ben saw movement - a flutter of wings - between the stalactites, although nothing that triggered his identification skill. Between every two pairs of black pillars, at both sides of the room, was a larger than life statue of a Duergar warrior, standing guard with both hands on the pommel of his axe and looking down menacingly at anyone who crossed the room. Behind the statues and the pillars, the room seemed to extend farther to each side, but at this first glance Ben could detect nothing there but darkness.

The two rows of pillars and statues created a wide pathway between them, stretching 50ft to the other side of the room until it ended in five black stairs. The stairs - each one wide enough for three people to stand abreast - ascended toward a 9 by 9 square feet of stage that overlooked the room. There, hovering in mid-air above the stage and drawing everyone’s attention, was a beautiful crystal that was the focal point of the entire chamber. It was fist-sized, its color a radiant blue-violet, and it was surrounded by a slightly transparent multi-colored aura, which was obviously magical. Ben knew immediately what this crystal was.

Standing next to the hovering crystal was a tall man with black robes, smooth white hair and clean-shaven face. He was holding a nondescript staff with one hand, while his other hand was resting on the head of a mountain dwarf that knelt by his feet - Yitro Stone Crusher. The dwarf’s head was bowed in defeat, his right arm cradled in his left. Even from where he stood, Ben could see that Yitro’s thumb was indeed missing; he was bleeding profusely from the severed appendage, the red liquid creating a thin river that streamed down the black stairs.

The black-robed man’s head was not bowed. He was standing with calm assurance, his thin lips crooked in a small smile. His eyes were looking straight forward, locking gazes with Ben as soon as the scout entered the room. Even as Ben’s gaze was drawn to that challenging stare, he could see that behind the stage were a few bronze chests, lining the back wall of the room. And, piling against the stage and almost reaching its surface, were nearly a dozen Ratkin bodies, their vacant eyes staring at nothing and their elongated mouths opened in silent screams of horror.

Ben saw all of that in the span of a few seconds. He was about to shout his friend’s name, to let Mike know that he had come to the rescue, but before he could he was interrupted by a resounding BOOM - the doors to the treasure room were slammed shut.

Ben turned on his heels, alarmed. The trap, he thought frantically. What he saw made him curse his stupidity - and the cruel nature of DMs, who enjoyed the distress of their players. It appeared that Shiraz, who entered the room last, had triggered some kind of locking mechanism that none of them had noticed upon entering, not even Ben with his Perception skill of 25. As soon as the mechanism was activated, the huge doors slammed into place behind her, sealing the companions inside the chamber. Shiraz gave the universal expression of “oops”, but then her eyes - like those of her companions - widened, as the second part of the trap was sprung.

A moment after the doors slammed into place, several figures stepped from behind the black pillars and into the wide avenue. The companions cursed and raised their weapons, standing back to back as they were surrounded from three directions - the fourth being the closed doors.

At first, Ben mistook the figures to be Ratkin; they had the same build - long snouts, sharp buck teeth, furry limbs and tails swinging behind them. But even before his Identify skill triggered, the scout could see several crucial differences between the creatures that now surrounded them to the ones they had fought before - mainly, the fact that these creatures weren’t alive.

Some of these Ratkin were missing great patches of their fur, as if they had been burned. Others were missing more than fur - large chunks of their flesh were gone, to reveal the gruesome interior of their bodies, bones included (one was actually missing half its head, reminding Ben of his buddy “half-skull” from the first dungeon floor). The monsters’ skin was grayish, their eyes showing nothing but whites. They were the walking dead. Ben picked the one that was closest to him - a dead Ratkin holding a morning star, whose exposed ribs were showing beneath a torn leather armor - and identified it.

Ratkin Zombie Fighter, level 4 Welcome to the undead version of a Ratkin fighter! This unfortunate creature was brought to life by the use of Death Magic, to serve its master until it dies again. While losing its independent thought and most of its intellect, this Ratkin zombie fighter kept most of its fighting skills and special abilities and had regained the undead inherent resistance to most magical attacks. It will follow the commands of its master and, in some cases, the example of its former party leader (in the case such a leader had been raised as well). HP: 28 Damage: Morning Star (1-10) Special attack: infectious bite (1-3, chance to cause disease) Fighter Power: Bull Rush Special ability: Undead Resistance

There were twelve such creatures, differing in classes and levels, though none were lower than level 3 and only two were level 5. There was one exception - a taller Ratkin zombie, who stood directly in the middle of the path that led to the stage, holding a large two-handed sword. This one seemed almost alive; most of its skin was still intact, and the only sign for its recent demise was the large hole in its throat - a hole that was big enough that Ben could see the glowing crystal on the stage through it. The scout identified this one as well:

Ratkin Zombie Elite Warrior, level 7 Welcome to the undead version of a Ratkin Elite! This unfortunate creature was brought to life by the use of Death Magic, to serve its master until it dies again. While losing its independent thought and most of its intellect, this Ratkin zombie elite kept most of its fighting skills and special abilities and had regained the undead inherent resistance to most magical attacks. Having been a Party Leader while it was yet alive, the Elite may still command its former minions (who had been raised with him), though in a very basic and primal way. HP: 67 Damage: Greatsword (1-12) Special attack: infectious bite (1-3, chance to cause disease) Warrior Power: Whirlwind, Rally Special abilities: Undead Resistance, Extra Attack

The Ratkin zombies didn’t attack. They stopped a few feet away from the besieged companions, snarling and dragging their weapons on the floor in what looked like eager anticipation. It seemed that now that stealth was no longer necessary, the undead let their monstrous urges loose, resulting in a very convincing scene that could rival any zombie-apocalypse movie Ben had seen. He sighed. Putting his anger aside, he had to admit - this was a truly spectacular setting for a boss encounter. He would have to tell Noah about it.

Finally, Dark Heart broke the silence. “Pretty awesome, ain’t it?” he said, his words carried effortlessly across the 50 feet that stretched between him and the companions. His voice was almost friendly and carried a certain music intonation to it - Ben could only assume that it had to do with the fact that the player had chosen his race to be half-elven. In any case, it wasn’t the voice of a villain that Ben was expecting. “I can’t take credit for the decor,” the half-elf continued, “but everything else is of my own doing - zombies and bloody thumb included. I do hope you can appreciate the efforts.”

Now that was more fitting to what Ben was expecting to hear. Despite himself, he felt his lips twisting in a snarl and his cheeks flush in anger. “You knew we were coming,” he said - and was immediately sorry he did. Really? He thought to himself, embarrassment now mixing with his anger. The first thing I have to say to this creep is stating the obvious?

The others seemed to share his sentiments. He could see Red frowning and Milenna rolling her eyes. Dark Heart seemed disappointed as well. “Obviously, I did,” he answered and pressed his lips together. “Otherwise I wouldn’t take all that trouble of cutting your friend’s finger and setting that awesome trap, would I now?” He drummed his fingers on Yitro’s bowed head and suddenly smiled. “I’ve been watching you guys for hours now, you know, ever since you killed my Ratkin back in that cave. That was quite the fight, I’ll give you that. And the map! That was amazing. I was wondering how I’ll ever find this treasure room when suddenly you projected the answer to my troubles in such a magnificent and illuminating fashion. Thank you for that, Scout of Sonadin, mate.”

Ben opened his mouth several times during the half-elf’s speech but closed it anew to give himself time to think - and to curse his own stupidity. Thinking about what had happened at the waystone, Ben had to admit that it was another spectacular bonehead move on his part. He did project the dungeon’s map in the air. And if that wasn’t enough, he let it hover there for a long minute - enough for anyone with the right skills or items to gather whatever information they needed. And was Ben so arrogant and so sure of his abilities that he believed they were alone in that cavern and not being watched? Apparently, he was.

Upon hearing the other player calling him by his title, Ben realized he was at a disadvantage. He quickly focused on the half-elf and tried to identify him - only to be once again disappointed with his abilities.

Dark Heart. Level: unknown. Race: Half-elf. Class: Necromancer. HP, powers and everything else: unknown.

As Ben was struggling to get over his ineptness in dealing with the situation, Milenna was the one who took control. The proud sorceress took a step forward to stand next to Ben. Despite her filthy state, the woman had such a regal bearing that she easily dominated the room, drawing everyone’s attention - even the zombies, it seemed - to her. She held her Enforcer Staff with a sure hand and her beautiful face was fixed with a cold expression. “I was wondering when we’d meet again… Jonas.”

Dark Heart, who stood smirking as he looked at Ben, shifted his gaze to Milenna as she drew closer. Ben was expecting him to show anger or surprise, but instead, the necromancer’s smile widened. “Ah. If it isn’t my old-time friend Kiera. Or is it Milenna this time? Doesn’t matter. I would recognize that beautiful RLP face anytime, be it elven or human. I believe I was an assassin the last time I killed you, wasn’t I? Cutting that gorgeous face was a true pleasure, one I treasure to this very day - now, I wouldn’t do that if I were you - “

The last he said when the fist at the end of Milenna’s staff started glowing white. Red, following the lead of the sorceress, growled and raised his sword, which started glowing in its own magical aura. Shiraz’s shadows started gathering around her as she readied herself for a shadow-jump. In response, the zombie Elite raised its greatsword with a growl of its own. Its minions raised their own weapons - many of them ranged ones - and took a step forward, tightening the circle around the companions.

Ben, at long last, was coming to his senses. His analytical mind quickly took all of the factors into consideration and he knew - almost beyond any doubt - that engaging in a fight with Dark Heart and his cohort of zombies would end badly for them. They were outnumbered, outmatched, and outwitted. This was not the time to fight.

The scout took a step forward to stand between Milenna and the Elite. “Stop!” He cried, trying to put all of his leadership skills into that single word. Red and Shiraz both did stop - they didn’t lower their weapons or readiness, but they turned to look at their party leader. Milenna was another story. The sorceress seemed to be lost in her rage and need for revenge. Her lips were moving and Ben knew that he had seconds to act before all hell broke loose. The scout activated his Psychic Battle Communication Power - it was now available to him as the fight was about to commence - and chose Milenna as the party member he could telepathically speak with. His hope was that hearing his voice inside her head would be enough to make the woman see reason.

Milenna, this is not the time!

It worked. The sorceress’s eyes widened just a little bit, but she was smart enough not to look at Ben and keep their secret communication private. I have to kill him! She thought back at him, frantic with desire.

I know. We will. But we need more information. Hold on to your spells for now.

Another tense moment passed, but then the light from Milenna’s staff vanished. You’d better not screw this one up.

Ben let out air that he wasn’t aware he was holding. I won’t. Keep your guard.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

They all turned to look toward the stage. Dark Heart had taken his hand away from Yitro’s head. His staff somehow stood on its own, leaving both of the necromancer’s hands free for a contemptuous clapping. “Ain’t it sweet?” He said. His musical elven voice seemed to be out of context with his choice of words, which Ben found unsettling. “You have a leader now, Kiera! And you actually listen to him. No end to marvels.” He looked at Ben and gave a very slight bow of his head. “I salute you, oh Scout of Sonadin. A curious title, by the way. Did you give it to yourself? Guess you did, seeing you’re only level five and probably haven’t even seen Sonadin since you joined the game.”

The necromancer’s words once again threatened to overwhelm Ben’s coolness, but this time he managed to keep his head relatively clear. At least he didn’t say anything about my Naked Noob title. The scout locked his gaze with the half-elf. “You got it right,” he said and was relieved that his voice was steady. “I haven’t seen the city. Nor have you, for that matter.” He wasn’t sure about that but guessed he had nothing to lose by showing confidence, as false as it was. “Besides,” he added, “Scout of Sonadin is so much better than Dark Heart.” He said the name with as much contempt as he could muster. “So droll. Did you think of it yourself or did you watch every third-rated indie fantasy movie before you came up with such a brilliant name?”

Red snorted with laughter and Shiraz drew closer to Ben. “Touché,” she said in a low tone. Even Milenna smiled.

For the first time, Dark Heart’s smile wavered. “Droll, am I?” He did something with his wrist and suddenly he was holding a short dagger. “Yitro, mate. Give me your right hand, will you.”

The dwarf raised his head for the first time. His eyes were brimming red and his face was twisted in rage and pain, but to Ben’s horror, his friend was still obeying the command of the necromancer, slowly raising his bloody four-fingered hand toward the half-elf.

Ben’s eyes widened. “M - Yitro!” He cried, remembering in the last second not to reveal that the dwarf was his long-time friend. “Stop! What are you doing!”

Yitro didn’t answer. Instead, he presented his hand to the necromancer, who calmly took hold of it with one hand and brought the dagger close to the dwarf’s index finger. Dark Heart’s smile was cruel as he looked from the bloody hand to Ben. “Your friend is a valiant fighter, but his mind is very weak. It was easy cursing him the first time... and easier still the second time. He’s my puppet now and even death won’t set him free, as you already know. In fact,” he continued, putting the blade against the root of Yitro’s finger and drawing blood, “the only way for dear Yitro Stone Crusher to get himself free of my grasp is if I allow it… or if he logs out of this Quest for good. Seeing he’s still here with us, I guess that’s not really an option for him - which leaves us with only my way of doing things.” The blade started cutting deep into the flesh of the finger, and Yitro groaned in pain.

“You fucking sadist!” Milenna took a step forward again, but was blocked by the large zombie.

Ben held up his hand to stop Milennna, although he was starting to think that the only way out of this mess would be to fight. “What do you want?” He said through clenched teeth. “Why are you doing this?”

Dark Heart stopped sawing, leaving the blade half inside the dwarf’s finger. “Ah. So we’re done with the battle of wits yes?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “What I want, mate, is for us to help each other. You see, I’m at a dead-end here, and I think that the only way for me to finish this quest is with your help.” He didn’t let go of the dagger as he spoke and Yitro’s blood flowed freely onto the black stage floor.

Ben tried to bring some order to his thoughts. He felt he was several steps behind the necromancer and knew he couldn’t let the situation keep going like this. He replayed the half-elf’s words in his mind, trying to find anything that will give him an advantage. “A quest? You mean this crystal, don’t you? It’s the Eye of Paragmir. And you can’t touch it.”

His companions stirred behind him after this revelation, but Ben’s eyes were on the perverse player who was torturing his best friend. The necromancer smiled broadly. “Yes!” He exclaimed happily. “I knew we both got the same quest, though I’m not sure who gave you yours…” he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re right - I can’t seem to go through this damn magical aura that protects the crystal.”

“And you think we can?”

The half-elf nodded. “I do. Well. sort of. You see - “ he accidentally moved the hand that was holding the dagger, which resulted in the blade digging deeper into the flesh of the finger, reaching the bone. Yitro roared in pain, and Dark Heart removed the blade, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that, Yitro mate. You can rest now as I explain the situation to your buddy here.”

Yitro retrieved his injured hand to his lap. His eyes searched for Ben’s, found it, held his gaze. Ben couldn’t decide what message his friend was trying to convey through that look, or if there was any message to begin with.

“Where was I?” said Dark Heart. “Ah, yes. You see, I know for a fact that the only way to dispel the magic that protects the Eye is through blood sacrifice. You must know it too if you’ve reached this part of the quest.” He paused for a moment, waiting to see if his words had any impact, but Ben worked hard to keep his face expressionless.

The half-elf scowled, examining the bloody dagger in his hand. When he spoke again, his voice was bitter. “At first, I tried sacrificing a few Ratkin - “ he gestured with the dripping blade at the pile of corpses beside the stage and frowned. “So many of these wretched rats around here, it was easy luring them here and killing them all while you guys were busy following the tracks I so kindly left for you.” The last bit he said with a bit of his customary cockiness. When again there was no response, the necromancer sighed and continued. “Unfortunately, it didn’t work. The Eye demanded another type of blood, so to speak. So the next thing I did was using the dwarf’s blood - which, as you see, didn’t work either. I don’t - “

He was interrupted by Red, who spoke for the first time. “If you think we’re gonna spill our blood on this stone just so you could complete your quest you must be fucking mad.” The mercenary’s knuckles were white around his sword and it was obvious he was itching to fight.

Dark Heart gave the warrior a shrewd look. “Ah. I was wondering when the mighty Red Mercenary will lose his patience. I was thinking much sooner, mind you. That you are still alive and not devoured by my zombies by now is truly a marvel. But no, spilling all of your blood is not my plan. No. What I have in mind is much more… surgical.”

Dark Heart sheathed his dagger with a small twist of his wrist and took hold of his staff. He whispered something, and suddenly the room fell into a hush as the zombies lowered their heads and stopped growling and snarling. When the half-elf spoke again, his voice was low and foreboding. Ben felt himself drawn to that voice, but his eyes focused not on the necromancer but on the hovering crystal, which seemed to call to him, filling his mind with foreign memories from a distant past. “Do you know, Scout of Sonadin,” said Dark Heart, “that this is the place where King Ghol Ironhead was self-exiled? They say it happened when a hero of the land had completed the Maten Ghoren and was ready to accept his reward. But this hero, known as the Gladiator of the Depths, was betrayed. What happened next has changed the realm of the Duergar forever, and some say the world of Nolxar itself... ”

A sharp pain exploded in the back of Ben’s skull. He blinked, and everything around him fizzled and changed as he dived into another ancient memory...

At long last, the man stood before his prize. He was bleeding from numerous injuries, including a vicious cut above his left eyebrow - a souvenir from a battle with a lesser demon lord that the Duergar had conjured. He had won that battle, as well as many more that awaited him as he made his way through the dark dwarves’ realm. It was his Maten Ghoren, Throndrefeen had said before the wizard vanished in the darkness. He must prove his might and bloodlust to be deemed worthy and receive the words that would grant him access to the treasure. His bloodlust was already proven as he slaughtered the slaves, but apparently they needed further proof of his battle prowess.

And proof they got. The hero had to use nearly everything in his disposal but there wasn’t a single challenge that he couldn’t overcome. He was given the words and now he stood in the treasure room before the obsidian stage, where the Power Crystal that was promised to him hovered in mid-air, surrounded by a powerful magical aura. Around him were two scores of Duergar Guardians, standing nearly as motionless as the statues that loomed along the avenue of pillars. By his right hand stood the wizard Throndrefeen, holding his staff. On his left stood King Ghol Ironhead, his hands resting on the pommel of his huge battleaxe.

The Gladiator of the Depths raised his hand, nearly trembling with expectation. This was it. The final reward. With this, he would finally become truly invincible. He would become… one of them.

The hero raised his hand, touched the aura - and screamed! Agony, pure and excruciating, filled his being as his hand was engulfed in searing white flames. He backed away and watched, horror-struck, as the white flame ate through the skin of his hand and started devouring his flesh as it made its way to his bones. It also spread upward, rolling along his arm in a matter of seconds.

Any other man would have fallen, mad with pain. Not so the hero. The Avenger of Broken Promises roared his rage and drew a blade with his left hand. Around him, the Guardians were no longer motionless - they drew closer, weapons raised high, closing a circle around the stage. The wizard Throndrefeen took a step back, hands on his staff - which began to glow. Only King Ghol stood calmly as he watched the man being burned, though his eyes were sad and almost regretful. Almost. “I am sorry, Gladiator,” he said. His voice was louder than usual, maybe to be heard over the hiss of the magical flame and the screams of the man. “I had no choice but to break our pact.” As he spoke, the white flames kept spreading along the man’s arm, nearly reaching his elbow. His fingers were already gone - burnt to a crisp. Somehow, though, he was still standing, his long blade held tightly in his left hand.

King Ghol raised his head to look into the eyes of the doomed man. “The only way to take the crystal is through the blood sacrifice of a mortal enemy,” he said. “I have made you such an enemy. Now, I shall claim your blood. I am sure you - “

But the king stopped, his eyes widening as the man suddenly burst into action and raised his sword. “Stop him!” Cried the king, understanding what were the man’s intentions. But he was too late.

The man, realizing there was no way for him to stop the spread of the flames, did the only thing he could think of - he cut down with all his might, slicing his own arm just above the elbow. The magical blade cut through armor, flesh and bone, cleanly severing the arm - which flew through the air, the flames eating it completely and turning it to ash even before it reached the blood-soaked floor.

For a moment, there was silence, interrupted only by the heavy breathing of the man and the gasps from the surrounding Guardians. The man looked at his bloody stump, his face twisted in intense pain - and in hot, unimaginable rage. Slowly, deliberately, he moved his glare from his lost arm to the Betrayer King. “You fool,” he growled. “You have doomed your race. This will not be forgotten.”

King Ghol didn’t answer at first. Instead, he raised his mighty battleaxe - a heavy weapon that few could even lift. The old king, however, showed no difficulty as he held the axe high. His eyes bore into those of the doomed hero. “Your final act of defiance matters naught, foolish human. I will kill you myself. I will have the blood of My. Mortal. Enemy!” The last three words were shouted in a mighty roar - and the king lunged forward.

The Avatar of the human world met the charge with a sword raised high. His strength wasn’t equal to that of the ancient warrior, but somehow, he managed to withstand the attack and for a moment the two enemies stood close together with their blades between them and their eyes inches away from each other. When the Gladiator whispered, his eyes shone with a promise of imminent death. “You are a fool, King Ghol. There is only one way to retrieve the crystal…”

The king’s eyes widened a bit at that, but the Champion of the Forests was done speaking. With a roar of his own, he pushed the king backwards - and the duel commenced.

Later, it would be described as the “Final Duel of the Depths.” The king had centuries of battle experience, one of the mightiest weapons ever to be forged - and two hands. But the betrayed human would not go down easily. He was nearly spent and done for after his adventures in the deep, he was missing a hand, he was surrounded by powerful enemies. But he would not give up.

The two mortal enemies fought for long minutes, first circling the hovering crystal, then going down the broad stairs. The king pushed the human back, toward the pillars. His axe whirled in the air with incredible speed, scoring hit after hit. For a time, it seemed that the king would be true to his oath and would destroy the human Avatar. But then something strange happened. The man, whose back was to one of the black pillars, looked up. His eyes scanned the air as if he was seeing something. He suddenly smiled, and when he looked back at the king, his eyes shone with rekindled hope. The king, who raised his axe for what he believed would be the death stroke, was surprised when the man kicked him hard against his armored chest - a kick that was boosted with magical power. The ancient dwarf stumbled, fell on his back. Before anyone could move, the man was on top of the king, his blade pushing tightly against the dwarf’s throat.

The Guardians cried out in alarm, lunging to attack and rescue their king. Throndrefeen shouted words of magic. But the axes that landed on the man’s back bounced harmlessly back, finding an invisible shield. The bolt of necrofire from Throndrefeen’s staff hit the same shield and dissipated. The Avatar of Broken Promises gave them no heed. He looked into the eyes of his mortal enemy. “There is only one way to retrieve the crystal, old king, and that is not through the blood of a mortal enemy…” He lowered his head until his lips were nearly touching the dwarf’s face, and whispered a few more words that only the king could hear. The king - and the silent watcher who witnessed the entire scene.

King Ghol listened. Then he closed his eyes. “I have doomed us,” he whispered. There were tears in his old eyes. “You will destroy my clan. You will destroy all of the Duergar.”

The man shook his head. “There is a way. Exile yourself, Ghol Ironhead. Remove yourself from the depths. I shall spare your kin, though I hold no promises regarding the wrath of the rest of the world. As for the crystal…” He glanced at the object of his desire, which was still hovering in its place, untouched. “It will remain here until the day when a true sacrifice can be made.” Looking back at his defeated enemy, his eyes hardened. “Agree to my terms, betrayer king. You have no other choice. I will have your oath.”

The king closed his eyes. When he reopened them, they were dry of tears and empty of hope. “I do so swear,” he whispered.

The man looked up, searching for something in the air.

Then he winked.

Ben blinked again. Dark Heart had fallen quiet, looking strangely at him across the length of the pathway. His companions were supporting him - Red from one side, Shiraz from the other side.

“Intriguing,” said the necromancer. “Does it happen to you often? I never saw a player going into a blackout like this. Is the extreme situation affecting you so much that your mind can’t handle it? Serious glitch, that. I would check with your gaming company if I were you.”

Ben just looked at him, trying to recover from everything he had just witnessed, so Dark Heart shrugged. “Anyway, as I was saying before you passed out, legend says that the only possible way to get past that aura and grab the crystal is through a truly unique sacrifice - one of a mortal enemy. I didn’t believe it at first, hence the dead Ratkin, but after my initial failures, I’m beginning to suspect that the legend is true indeed. And, as it happens, I have a mortal enemy standing right in front of me!” He smiled.

Ben found his voice. “You can’t be serious,” he said incredulously. “Me? Your mortal enemy? This is the first time I see you.”

Dark Heart’s smile grew wider. “You give yourself too much credit, Scout of Sonadin. You’re a far cry from a mortal enemy - or a regular enemy for that. No, no. I am talking about someone else. Someone with whom I have a long history of violence… someone who’s been dying to kill me for years now. Now that's what I call a mortal enemy. Wouldn’t you agree, Kiera?”

Ben turned to look at Milenna, whose beautiful face paled somewhat. Still, when she spoke there was no trace of fear in her voice. “I have no intention of spilling my blood for your benefit, asshole,” she said simply.

Dark Heart laughed. “Ah, but you will, old friend. As you have done before. You realize of course that there is no way for your little party to leave this room alive. You will die fighting my zombies, and I will only have to hope that your valiant party leader is not the first to die - it will be such a nuisance for you all to be resurrected by the waystone and to wait until you come here again. But I will wait if need be. In the meantime, I’ll amuse myself with cutting Yitro Stone Crusher’s fingers one by one. See what I mean? Yes, I see that you understand. So bare with me for a moment as I explain a much better solution to this predicament, for all of us.”

The companions glanced uneasily at each other, but Dark Heart wasn’t finished. The half-elf drew something from his robes - a small amber stone. Then he turned to look at Ben. “This here is the magical stone that keeps the dwarf’s curses active. Ben, I will give you this stone to crush at your leisure… if you agree to kill Kiera for me. And before you ask - yes, I need you to kill her. I don’t trust the bitch to get too close to me, and the ritual will still work since you kill her at my request.”

The necromancer seemed immensely pleased with himself as he kept explaining his plan. “You will have to do it on the stage, of course, to complete the ancient blood ritual. Once I have the crystal, I will log out, leaving you guys to find another quest to complete as you will, unfortunately, fail this one.” He paused and spread his arms in a mock peaceful manner. “It’s not such a big deal, really. Kiera - I mean, Milenna - will, after all, come back to life. And you will have your dwarf friend again, curses-free. So you see? You even get to have a bigger party once this is over. Win-win for all of us.”

Ben felt a tag on his shoulder. “He’s crazy,” whispered Shiraz. “Lost his marbles, if you ask me. Ben, keep him talking. I will merge with the shadows and shadow-jump toward him. I bet I can get hold of this curse-stone and then he’ll have no advantage over us - “

“No.” Ben said the word without looking at Shiraz, his eyes still on the smirking mage.

Shiraz tightened her grip on his shoulder. “What, no? You can’t seriously think - “

Ben ignored her, turned to look at Milenna. “I think we should do what he says,” he said simply. In the same time, he re-established the telepathic connection he had with the sorceress. Trust me. I won’t kill you.

The sorceress eyed him long and hard before she finally gave a nod. “It seems it is the only way,” she said aloud, adding silently - What’s the plan?

Ben kept his face grim. “Let’s go then. Shiraz, Red. If the necromancer betrays us, feel free to unleash hell.” I know something that he doesn’t.

Red and Shiraz looked incredulously at Ben. “Skin, are you really going to murder our sorceress just because this sonofabitch said you should?” said Red and took a step back, away from his party leader.

“Milenna, what the fuck are you doing?” said Shiraz urgently. “We can take these zombies, you know we can. This sacrifice bullshit is madness.”

But neither Ben nor Milenna listened anymore. With silent agreement, they started walking down the pathway, side by side. The zombies moved aside to let them pass. Dark Heart watched as they walked, the evil smile still plastered on his clean-shaven face. Ben saw him whisper something and a shimmering aura appeared, surrounding him with a magical shield - it appeared he didn’t want to take any chances.

When Ben and Milenna reached the stage, the necromancer took a couple of steps away from them, stopping within arm-reach of the Power Crystal. “Do it,” he said, his eyes shimmering with anticipation.

They slowly ascended the stairs until finally, they reached the surface of the stage. There, they came to a stop with only the kneeling Yitro Stone Crusher between them and the smirking Dark Heart. The dwarf, be it by choice or by command, didn’t move. His head was lowered, trembling. Ben put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It will be over soon,” he whispered. “I promise.”

The dwarf didn’t answer. Slowly, Ben drew his dagger and turned to look at Milenna. His heart drummed like crazy.

The sorceress eyed him calmly. This better work, she thought to him. With a slow and deliberate motion, the sorceress unlaced the front of her blouse, exposing the smooth skin beneath. “Make it quick,” she said quietly. “You do know where the heart is, don’t you?”

Dark Heart laughed, but Ben didn’t answer. He raised his dagger, poised to strike above Milenna’s exposed chest. “There is only one way to get the crystal,” he said, his voice seeming to come from far away.

Dark Heart stopped laughing, looking angrily and impatiently at the scout from his place by the hovering Eye of Paragmir. “Yes, yes, we know that already. The blood of a mortal enemy. Let’s get on with this. Kill her!”

Ben swallowed. “No. That would never have worked,” he said. “The only sacrifice that the magic will recognize is not through the blood of a mortal enemy, but through that of a loved one…”

Before he lost his courage, the Scout of Sonadin plunged the dagger with all his might - not through Milenna’s heart, but straight into the back of Yitro Stone Crusher’s exposed neck.