The icon that represented his Godlike power had the silhouette of a man surrounded by an angelic aura. When Ben mentally pushed it, he was rewarded with an intoxicating feeling of power buzzing through his whole body. His stats immediately went up by 200% each and his physique must have shown the differences because Valla audibly gasped. “You can use your powers!” The girl cried in alarm. “How can it be!”

Ben ignored her. Somewhere behind him, Red screamed hoarsely, and there was one word identifiable in that dying man’s scream: “Beeeeeen…”

The Beacon knelt and turned Shiraz’s body over. The dead shadow mage’s eyes were open, staring upward at nothing as the rain kept pouring from the brightening skies. Her horror-struck expression remained frozen at the time of her death, and her mouth was still slightly ajar as if she wanted to say one last thing.

Ben ignored Shiraz’s dead plea as well. With what looked like detached coolness, he reached for her belt and pulled out her shadow dagger. As he did, his heightened senses alerted him of a movement by his side, and Ben turned in his place with an inhuman quickness, with the black blade in his grasp.

Valla had no chance against the swift attack of this godlike being. The half-dwarf tried to stab the scout in the back, but before her mind could register what happened, the scout not only dodged her clumsy attempt at backstabbing, he also struck her arm with the shadow dagger. The earth mage cried in surprise - her shield glowed bright blue in defense - but Ben didn’t waste time to press his attack; it would take time to break her magical protection, and he had more urgent things to do. Instead of striking her again with the dagger, the Vindicator straightened and kicked her, hard. While he couldn’t inflict real damage through her earth shield, he still had a 35 Strength score - more than Red’s - and the kick pushed the stout half-dwarf off her feet. She flew through the air and landed next to the tree trunk, gasping.

Ben turned from her and ran. He had a little less than 55 seconds on the duration of his Godlike power, and he intended to use them all.

With a 78 Dexterity score, his speed was incredible, and he all but flew through the rain. In a matter of seconds, he arrived at where Red was being put to death by a group of vengeful elves. The mercenary was lying on his back on the muddy ground, motionless, maybe already dead. The elves - all seven of them, who probably had no clue what had transpired with Ben and Valla - stood around the human in a semi-circle. Ben could see blood dripping from their blades. One of them was standing right over the fallen warrior and raised his longbow. “Moot bekavod,” said the elf, and started to pull the bowstring.

Ben recognized the elven phrase. It meant “die with honor” - high praise from an elven warrior to his fallen enemy. The Beacon, however, did not intend to let Red die. Nor did he desire to fight with honor.

Still too far to stop the elf - about 30 feet - Ben used his Teleportation power and materialized right in front of Red’s would-be killer. The archer’s eyes widened, though it was the last thing he did: Ben’s already enhanced speed was doubled as he used Swift Strike, and the shadow dagger slid easily through the chain mail, piercing the elf’s chest with all of Ben’s godlike strength behind it. The elf was dead before he could even cry out. His body collapsed to the ground, his dead hands still clutching his bow.

Around him, the other six elves reacted to the surprise attack - and charged.

All of these elves were of a level higher than Ben, but the Beacon’s unique power gave him stats and abilities that far surpassed their own. They couldn’t match his quickness of thinking, nor his reflexes and the accuracy and damage of his attacks. To his eyes and mind, all of them moved far too slow - and he took advantage of this fact and used everything he had to put them down. There was no expression in his eyes as he did it, no emotion. He acted like a machine, calculated and deadly.

A sword came flashing through the rain, aimed at his unprotected head. Ben ducked, half turned and kicked high - all in one swift motion. His kick caught the elf in his groin, and the forest fighter gasped and drew back. Ben’s Passive Focus triggered, and he saw an elf woman nocking an arrow; he turned again, using his momentum to swing his forearm forward, and released his dagger. The blade sailed through the air and struck the archer before the elf managed to free her arrow. The shadow dagger caught her in the belly, and she screamed.

For a moment, Ben was weaponless. But only for a moment. The Beacon knelt and snatched the elven bow - with the silver arrow still nocked - out of the dead archer’s hands. He didn’t have to look around to know that the remaining elves were closing in on him. With a Wisdom score of 105, the scout could sense everything that happened in his vicinity as if he was watching the scene from a bird’s point of view, and he calculated the exact amount of time he had to act before the first attack came his way: little less than 2.5 seconds. More than enough.

The scout had never used a longbow before - his primary weapon was the crossbow - so even with his increased stats, he felt clumsy when he raised the weapon, pulled the bowstring and released. He was off the mark - the dead center of a charging female elf warrior - but he still shot the arrow from point-blank range, so he managed to hit the elf at her shoulder. The silver projectile struck the warrior with enough force to throw her back and repel her attack.

Ben heard something cut the air behind him - another sword attack, too close to dodge - and Paused the Game. Time froze, and the Beacon had 5 seconds to plan his next move.

He looked around. Three elves were in striking distance from him, and one of them was an inch away from slicing Ben’s back with a longsword. Another elf was striking from the side, brandishing a curved glowing scimitar, whereas the third elf was using some kind of spell - his fists were glowing white, and Ben guessed he was about to unleash a destructive life spell against him. Ben saw something else of interest when he looked at this particular elf: a pair of familiar daggers strapped to his belt.

Other than those three, two more elves were struggling to get up: the one with an arrow through her shoulder, and the one whom he kicked in the groin, seemingly harder than he thought. Two elves were lying motionless on the ground, dead.

Ben could also see Red, still lying in the same spot as before. For a moment, he thought that Red was dead as well, but then he noticed something that convinced him otherwise: Red’s head had moved. It wasn’t in the same position as before, and though he couldn’t see the mercenary’s eyes from his position, Ben knew that it could mean only one thing: the warrior was still alive. Mortally wounded, perhaps, but not completely incapacitated.

Ben activated his Leadership Power - Psychic Battle Communication - and reached out to his companion with his mind. He never tried using this power with the game paused, but he figured that the message would be sent immediately after the duration of his tactics power elapsed.

I know you’re still alive, he thought out to Red. I’m sending one of them your way. Deal with him.

The message was sent, and time unfroze in a rush. Ben braced himself to receive the attack from behind - there was nothing he could do to dodge it - and grimaced when the elf’s magical blade sliced through his armor, the skin of his back, and his flesh.

You were hit! Elven warrior strikes you with longsword for 19 slashing damage.

But Ben’s constitution had jumped to 78 after he used Godlike, which meant an additional 104 HP, bringing his total health to a nearly legendary number of 153. The young hero all but shrugged off the attack as he spun in his kneeling position, too fast for the elf to react. Even as the elf finished his attack and drew his sword back, Ben reached and grabbed the blade - still wet with his blood - with his bare hands. The magical blade sliced through his palms, but Ben was above feeling pain. The Beacon snarled as he pulled at the sword and the elf - maybe surprised that his attack did not affect this crazed human - let go of the weapon, leaving it in Ben’s bloody hands.

Then Ben pushed hard, leaping forward from his kneeling position with all the strength he could muster. It wasn’t a moment too soon; where he had been, a white beam of light, two inches wide, hit the ground, and there was a sizzling sound as water and mud turned to steam where it made an impact. Ben could feel the heat of the powerful spell on his back. He could also see the third elf’s scimitar slashing his way as he bull-rushed the elf he had disarmed.

The trickster managed to dodge both attacks and launch his own: he slammed into the weaponless warrior with his shoulder and drove the elf backwards. The elf lost his balance on the muddy ground and stumbled back - right next to the prone human mercenary.

Red had apparently received his leader’s mental message: before the elf could recover, the powerful human’s hand shot forward, grabbed the slender ankle of the elven warrior - and pulled. The elf promptly fell and the Red Mercenary’s second hand reached out to grab his adversary’s chain mail and pull the elf toward him - and Ben could not help but think of the mythic The Mountain vs The Viper fight scene from “Game of Thrones”. The only thing that was missing was for Red to take out the elf’s eyes with his thumbs; instead, the human used both of his hands to embrace the elf in what could only be described as a bear hug. A deadly bear hug.

I’ve got this one, said Red in Ben’s mind. Go. Finish the others.

Ben left his companion to kill the elf and turned on his heels, still clutching the sword in his hands. He changed his grip on the weapon to hold the hilt of it and not the blade and then raised his head to look his enemies in the eyes. The two elves closest to him stood their ground, watching him with eyes full of hate. The elf with the arrow through her shoulder stood up, readying her weapon. The fourth elf - the one with the groin injury - stood up as well, albeit a bit awkwardly, and held up his blade. It seemed that all of them were waiting for his next move. The rain kept falling.

Ben checked his Godlike timer. Twenty-five seconds left. If he wanted to finish this, he had to act now -

Before Ben made his move, the elf who was also a magic-user spoke up. His words were in Elvish, but Ben recognized enough of it to understand what he was saying: he told his companions to mount their horses and go. “Tell our Queen what has happened here,” said the elven leader. “Tell her to be ready. I will deal with this evil bastard.”

The other three elves didn’t argue. They turned as one from the battle scene, and half ran half limped toward their horses. Ben watched them go with the same emotionless detachment. He had 15 seconds left to his Godlike.

The remaining elf spoke a word, and his hands started glowing again. Ben identified the spell as the beginning of a life bolt. “You are no beacon of mine,” said the elf in common, and raised his hands, with both of his fists closed. When he opened them, a ball of pure light shot forward.

Ben was ready with a counterspell of his own: Death Aura. The adventurer cast the instantaneous spell just as the elf released his magic, using the elf as the source for the energy needed to empower the death spell. This action had two immediate results: Ben was enveloped in a black aura that gave him additional defense against Life Magic; and the elf had to try and resist the fear effect of Ben’s spell.

The ball of light hit Ben in full force, enveloping him and immediately sucking his health away. Ben couldn’t ignore the intensity of the spell - the elf in front of him was a level 11 war mage - and despite himself, he screamed in agony as more than third of his health points were brutally siphoned from the very core of his being. Still, his Death Aura - and his 10% magic resistance - saved him from a much worse fate. He was still clear-minded enough to deliver his own attack.

And so Ben, still howling in pain, ran straight at the elf, with the longsword raised high in his hands and the light from the elf’s spell still sizzling around his body. If Red would have seen his poor warrior stance - Ben had no skill with swords - the mercenary would probably have laughed out loud. If the elf had the presence of mind to face him, the elf would have probably laughed as well.

But fortunately for Ben, the elf had no presence of mind whatsoever. Just like it happened the last time Ben had used Death Magic against elves, the elf had succumbed to Fear and could not react at all. He could only stare wide-eyed as this human from his worst nightmares charged at him - and kept staring as Ben slashed downward with the longsword, putting all of his Godlike strength into that single attack.

The sword cleaved through the elf’s shoulder blades and reached halfway toward his heart. He screamed and fell, the sword still embedded in his body.

The searing light vanished, just as Ben’s Godlike Power elapsed. Ben, feeling the accumulated injuries he suffered to their fullest, dropped to one knee over his fallen enemy, breathing hard. Prompts flashed in his vision, bright and red, informing him he had 10 percent of his health left and was, once again, about to die.

“Killer!”

The shout came from behind him. Full of rage. Of Fear. Of despair. Ben remained kneeling over the dead body, letting the rain - which started to weaken - fall over them both. His back burned and throbbed in pain, the flesh of his palms was exposed and bloody. His entire body was weak from the elf’s life spell, yet his resolve was firm as never before. His gaze shifted from the face of his dead enemy to the elf’s belt.

“Killer!” Came the shout again. Valla, back again to haunt him.

Ben remained still, his back to her. His hands slowly moved, unclasping a particular sheath that hung from the dead elf’s belt, and then moving to unclasp another.

“Killer!” She cried a third time. “Queen Talia was right. You are evil incarnate. Mamzer Rasha. Turn and fight me, evil bastard!”

Ben slowly stood up and turned to face her, though he kept his hands hidden behind his back. The rain was gradually stopping, the raging storm becoming a drizzle. In the light of the brightening skies, he could see the result of his fight with the elves: four of them lay dead around him; the one he stabbed through the heart, the one who still had the hilt of Shiraz’s shadow dagger sticking out of her belly, the war mage with the sword halfway through his body, and the fourth elf who lay dead next to Red, after the mercenary had strangled him to death. The human warrior himself was leaning weakly on his elbows in the mud and in the process of rummaging through the dead elf’s belongings.

Valla stood twenty feet away. The blue gemstone on her forehead glowed brightly, and the protective aura around her seemed even stronger than before. Through the blue light, Ben could see tears streaming down her face. In her hands, the earth mage held a familiar crossbow, with the engraving of a hawk’s eye on its head - his Crossbow of Skewering. The weapon was loaded and ready and aimed straight at his heart.

Ben cocked his head. “You can’t use this against me, Valla,” he said. His voice lacked any emotion. “It’s soul-bound to me.”

The half-dwarf’s hands shook a little, but Ben didn’t know if that was because she was injured, frightened, or angry. “It was soul-bound,” she corrected. “Not any more. The magic of the weapon found a better soul to bind with.”

Ben tightened his grip against the items he held. When the scout spoke again, there was the hint of cold anger in his words - the faint trace of emotion, reminiscent of the man he used to be. “You didn’t have to kill her,” he said.

Valla shook her head. “I couldn’t let her take you away. I couldn’t let you escape and continue with my father’s Quest. All you care about is killing elves…” The girl blinked the tears from her eyes. “So I had to kill her. And I have to kill you, too.”

Ben took a deep breath. “You’re no match for me,” he said simply.

The earth mage shook her head. Despite her efforts, tears still kept streaming down her cheeks. “You’re already finished, Beacon,” she spoke the word with contempt. “I can see you’re about to die, and you used all of your powers. Besides, nothing you would do could penetrate my shield - “

Ben teleported and reappeared behind Valla. In each of his hands, he held a dagger made of shining dark metal: the Daggers of Dispelling, given to him as a gift by Valla’s father, Lord Viridion Darkblade. Lost to him when the elves captured him, and now his again. Before the half-dwarf could say another word, the trickster stabbed her from behind with the two daggers at once - as was required for the daggers’ magic to work.

The magic worked. There was a flash of bright light, the sound of a gemstone breaking, and the blue aura that surrounded Valla disappeared. A moment later, the daggers penetrated through the half-dwarf’s back. Ben had never used two blades at once to attack, yet he didn’t really need the two of them to complete his backstabbing maneuver; he had become quite skilled in this kind of attack and Valla had no decent armor to protect her. So after her magical shield was gone, Ben used one of the daggers to easily penetrate her back and slid the blade next to her spine, where he knew it would do the most damage.

Valla - a level 4 character - could not survive the cruel attack. With a gasp, the half-dwarf earth mage let go of the crossbow and stumbled back, half-turning as she fell. Ben, more out of instinct than anything else, caught her as she fell. Her eyes - with the life already fading out of them - looked into his. A single ray of sunlight appeared between the heavy clouds and illuminated her beautiful face, as freckled as the face of the shadow mage she had killed.

“You… were supposed… to help us,” she whispered, gasping.

Ben, expressionless, watched her die. “That’s what they all say,” he said, and let her fall to the ground.

The rain stopped completely. The world grew very quiet. The clouds parted, and the sun came out in all its glory. Ben stood there, still holding the daggers in his bloody hands, taking shallow breaths as he watched the VD world gradually being uncovered around him. To the north, south, and east, there were miles upon miles of rolling hills and green meadows, and far on the eastern horizon, he could make out the silhouette of the Shemds Mountain. Nestled at the foot of the mountain was Sonadin, though it looked like no more than a grey spot from this distance. To the west, the plains soon gave way to the thick green of the Ronadin Forest. My next destination, he thought.

There were steps behind him - boots squishing through the mud. The steps stopped. “Skin, you alright?” Red sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “I… I found some healing potions on the elves. I think you need some, too.”

Ben didn’t look back. “Red,” he said quietly, “can you do something for me?”

“Just name it,” said the mercenary.

Ben still didn’t turn to look at him. “There’s a large tree not far back, about a hundred yards from here. You will find Shiraz’s body there. Can you bring her here? I think we should bury her before we move on.”

Red gasped. “Shiraz? What - “

“Can you please do that for me, Red? There’s something I need to do, and then I’ll help you.”

“I - “ Red sounded flustered, but he recovered quickly. “OK, man. I’ll bring her here.” The steps drew away.

Ben turned his attention to the array of flashing prompts that demanded his attention. He ignored all of the skills and experience points notifications and went straight to the prompt that notified him he had levelled up to 10. There was something exceptional about this prompt: it was surrounded by a golden and purple outline and the way it flashed… Ben had the distinct feeling that this single prompt was the most important notification he had ever gotten in his VD play. That after he read it, nothing else would be the same.

He tried to feel excited about such a prospect but failed. Then he accessed the flashing prompt. And his life changed forever.