Shiraz gasped, her eyes popping open and her hand reaching for her throat. She breathed hard, feeling around her skin, checking both the front and the back of her neck. The skin was smooth, whole. No blade jutted out; there was no blood, no pain. Still gasping, the young woman straightened into a sitting position and looked frantically about her, trying to understand where she was. What the hell happened?

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, so loud in her ears that she could hardly concentrate on anything else, but gradually she grew calm enough to get her bearings and think. She was sitting on a cold floor in a dim-lighted room, which seemed to be devoid of anything - no furniture, nothing on the walls but a small high window through which a bit of sunlight filtered in. There was a closed metal door, and a broken lamp hung from the ceiling. That was it.

Where am I?

The vagabond shadow mage slowly rose to her feet, steadying herself on shaky legs, with one hand leaning against a concrete wall. Out of instinct, she did the first thing anyone would do in such a situation: she tried to access her interface.

Nothing happened. Shiraz frowned and tried again. Nothing. It was as if the interface wasn’t even there. It was as if...

Her eyes widening, she reached up to touch her flowing red curls. The curls weren’t there; her hand touched the smooth surface of her shaved head. Cursing, she looked down at herself: she was wearing dirty jeans, a long-sleeved white blouse that had seen better days, a blue jacket, and a pair of running shoes. Her D&D clothes and weapons were gone, and so were her powers. She was in real-life.

But if I’m in real-life, then where am I?

The last thing she remembered was her mad dash with Ben, away from the elves and toward the shadow vortex she had prepared in advance. They were about to jump in and escape, but were interrupted at the last moment. Shiraz’s hand went to her throat again. She remembered being struck from behind, remembered the intense pain - diminished as it was in VD - as the wicked blade pierced her throat. She remembered her inability to breathe, the blood filling her mouth. The horrible sensation that filled her when she realized that she died, and more importantly - that she had failed her task. She had failed herself, and Raxlon, and Ben. She remembered Ben’s face blurring in her vision. Then everything went black and...

And she woke up here, in this strange empty room that didn’t make any sense to her. Her mind raced as she tried to bring some order to her thoughts. Anyone who died in VD was bound to either appear back in a nearby waypoint (on the condition they had touched it before) or get logged out of the game and lose their character. In her case, there was no waypoint available next to her dying location, so she must have really died - at least, her shadow mage character did. Her real self was supposed to appear in the same spot she logged into the game: Charlie Williams’ pool house.

After her mad and angry run away from Charlie’s house, with the stolen VD console in her arms, Shiraz knew she had to find a hideout where she could quietly log into the game and find Ben, as Raxlon had tasked her to do. She had planned to jump over the walls of the estate and search for such a place, but after seeing a group of guards huddled not far away, she abruptly changed her plans and ran instead toward the pool house. The Red Mercenary wasn’t at home, and she doubted - or rather, hoped - that no one would use the pool in the middle of December. The cabin was locked, but the windows weren’t, so she managed to squeeze into a narrow opening and roll inside the small structure. Once inside, she hid behind a pile of pool mattresses, plugged the console to a power outlet she found in the cabin - and logged in into Raxlon’s Quest using the card the DM had given her.

Once inside the game, it took her only a couple of hours to track her companions. The city of Sonadin was abuzz with the news of the nighttime attack of the elves, and though she heard a dozen different rumors, one thing was common to all: the elves had managed to infiltrate the city and free their kin from the Punishment Square before they fled to the safety of their forest.

The details regarding the attack changed with each person she asked; some claimed the elves murdered hundreds of humans, including all the nobles in the palace. Others told tales of high leveled elven magicians who put a spell on the entire city, weakening the humans so they could do their evil deeds. All the stories told of the heroism of the Lord of Sonadin - without him, the city would surely have been lost - and of the heroism of another man: the Beacon himself, come to help humanity in its time of need. Shiraz heard stories of how the young Beacon single-handedly killed the intruders in the Great Palace. How he flew among the spires and tall buildings of Sonadin, flinging elves from porches to their deaths. When she asked what had happened to him, she couldn’t get a clear answer, only that he and his warrior companion had disappeared together with the elves. “Gone hunting them down, they did,” said a wounded soldier and pointed at the direction the elves had escaped.

From there, Shiraz spent the remainder of the night tracking the elves. She wasn’t the best tracker - not like Ben - but the elves had left in a hurry and didn’t bother to cover their trail. Shortly before dawn, she caught up with the group and, hiding among the shadows, devised a plan to rescue the young scout.

She failed. Someone saw her, ambushed her, and killed her before she managed to get away with Ben. She didn’t even know who it was that bested her. Not that it mattered. She died, leaving Ben to fend on his own, and now she was… here. Not in the pool house where she had logged in, but here, in this cold and empty room. She didn’t have her console with her; she didn’t have anything but her clothes. There could be, she realized with a fright, only one conclusion: someone had found her. They found her, took her away while she was still playing, and brought her here. But… why?

Shiraz - she was Shiraz and would remain so until this quest was complete - took a deep breath and tried to relax. Her hand throbbed weakly, and when she looked at her wrist, she saw that her wound - where Raxlon had cut her - was still red and raw. She was still full of scratches and dirty, and above all, she was thirsty: she didn’t drink anything for nearly half a day. Her head hurt too, and when she moved, her sight wavered slightly, becoming blurry. Was it the thirst that made her feel so? Or something else?

Licking dry lips, the young woman slowly went to the door. It was made of cold grey metal and seemed extremely strong and unmovable. When she tried opening it, she discovered that it was, indeed, locked shut. Fear grew in the pit of her stomach and took residence. Her breaths quickened. Someone kidnapped me and brought me here. She forced herself to think. What would I do if this was VD?

She nodded to herself and put her ear against the cold metal, listening, but all she could hear was her own heart. Moving away from the door, she approached the window. It was more of a narrow aperture than an actual window, and it was too high on the wall, so she couldn’t property look through it. She could, however, see the blue skies and what looked like a part of a large tree trunk. But if she was looking up from such a steep angle, and all she could see was a tree trunk…

That, together with the metal door and the narrow slit of a window, made her leap to a frightening conclusion. I’m in a bunker, she thought, and her panic intensified. They locked me in a bunker somewhere. Dear God, what have I got involved in?

The anxiety was suddenly too much to keep inside. Shiraz spun on her heels and ran back to the door. She started pounding on it with both hands, first slapping the cold metal with open palms and then hammering with her fists. “Hey!” She shouted. Her voice was hoarse. She swallowed and pounded again on the door. “Hey! Does anybody hear me?”

She could hear the fear in her voice and breathed hard. No answer came. “Hey!” She tried again. “Get me out of here!” She demanded. “Get me out!” She pounded on the door, again and again.

The rushed movement took its toll on her weak body; her vision blurred again, and the world spun before her eyes. Shiraz stumbled back, lost her balance, and fell heavily on the floor. She tried to block her fall with her hands, but her body reacted too slowly, and the hard stone floor met painfully with her cheekbone. The young woman gasped, feeling blood in her mouth. Her head throbbed, and she had to close her eyes before she got sick. Whimpering, she stayed on the floor, trying to take deep breaths and let the pain and nausea pass.

A sound caused her to open her eyes again: the soft whoosh of air as someone opened the door. Shiraz struggled to get into a sitting position - her back against the wall - and looked at the three people who entered her room: one woman and two men. The men were armed with guns - one of them was one of the biggest men she had ever seen - and the woman… Shiraz recognized her. It was the blond woman who stood in the patio of Charlie’s Ranch. The woman whom Shiraz was eavesdropping on, hearing her speak about her plans to use the Red Mercenary to convince Ben to kill the elves. The woman who had also said something about “the girl who escaped us…”

The blond woman was now looking at Shiraz with a cold smile. “The runaway Effie Hunter,” she said in a pleasant voice that contradicted the loathsome look she gave Shiraz. “Finally awake. How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

Shiraz swallowed and tried to find her voice. Think you’re in the game, said Raxlon. I need you to be the hero now. But it was hard. She was alone, and frightened, in pain, and It was hard to find her courage and anger amidst the overwhelming sense of desperation. “I…” she started, but her voice broke, and her eyes filled with tears.

The blond woman chuckled. “That bad?” She said and tsked. “Well, I guess we might have overdosed you. Sorry about that; what with all that’s going on, we simply didn’t have time to deal with you properly yet.” Her smile vanished. “Now, will you come quietly, or do we have to drug you again?”

Shiraz’s eyes grew big. Drugs? They drugged her? “Where…” She blinked hard, trying to think. “I was… in the Ranch. How -”

The woman blew air from her nostrils. “You really think we didn’t know where you were?” she said and shook her head in disgust. “Foolish girl. You did exactly what we wanted you to, and you will do so again.” She gestured impatiently for her to stand up. “Can you walk, or do I have to ask Gary here to carry you?”

Shiraz shook her head in denial. “No,” she said. “Ben, he’s… I left him there. Please, let me go back -”

The woman snorted again. “How precious.” She tilted her head as if a sudden thought struck her. A small smile danced at the corner of her lips. “We might, you know. Let you get back.” She seemed to be talking more to herself than to Shiraz. “It all depends on him; maybe seeing her dying again will be just the thing he needs.” She shrugged. “Well, all in good time.” She fixed her eyes on Shiraz. “Now, get up, yes, just so, and -”

But Shiraz, finally finding some of her courage, cut her off as she suddenly lunged at the man who stood nearest to her and tried to take his gun. It was a desperate move, but in VD, such surprise attacks could change the course of the game. This, however, was not a virtual game; it was real life, and Shiraz was weak from both pain and drugs. She got as far as putting her hand on the weapon, but that was where her bold plan met harsh reality: the man easily shrugged her off him, with an elbow to her face. The next thing she knew, she was on her knees, and suddenly her already injured cheek flared in agony, and she realized that the woman had slapped her. Shiraz fell on her back, looking with blurry eyes at the three people looming above her.

“Drug her, Gary,” said the blond woman. Her voice was full of contempt. “Only half a dose this time. Then bring her to the lab. She might prove useful again.” She spun on her heels and strode out of the room.

Shiraz could only look at the giant of a man who reached down to grab her. She screamed, kicked, spit, and struggled, but to no avail: Gary had her in a deadlock grip, holding her arms with strong hands while putting his knee against her abdomen. Shiraz, who suddenly found it extremely hard to breathe, saw the other man produce a syringe from his pocket.

“No,” she tried to speak, but the word came out without any voice; only her lips moved. The syringe came toward her and she felt a sting in her arm. Her vision blurred even more. She couldn’t breathe. Ben, she thought. I’m sorry...

Everything went black.

***

The air had a foul taste to it. Zixzeix could taste it on its forked tongue: a distinct bitterness to the otherwise clear forest scent. Zixzeix recognized the taste; he had felt it several times before in his long life and knew what it meant: the forest was facing intruders and was trying to fend them off, yet they prevailed. And they grew close. Closer with each passing moment.

Humans.

If Zixzeix could tsk, he would have. At the very least, he would have snorted in derision at the prospect of facing yet more humans who thought they could fulfill the ancient Engill prophecy. But Zixzeix could neither tsk nor snort; he was a Naga, and the best he could do was hiss in contempt as his large eyes scanned the forest around him.

His hiss was answered by a string of harsh words in the Naga language. “These humansss… are different.”

Zixzeix turned his big reptilian head to look at his mate. Kshaa’s long and beautiful neck swung slightly from side to side, as always when the she-Naga was angry. She didn’t look at Zixzeix, but she didn’t have to: he could read her emotions through their special bond and knew that she was agitated as well as irritated. “Different?” Said Zixzeix. “How ssso?”

Kshaa’s tongue lashed out and remained outstretched. “They have the blessssing of the queen,” she hissed.

Zixzeix narrowed his eyes. Kshaa, while weaker than him in many ways, was always better connected to the magic of the elves and the forest than he was. He didn’t have to ask her if she was sure, but he couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why would the queen blessss such puny humansss?”

But even as he asked it, he realized that it did make some sense. Zixzeix could detect that these humans weren’t powerful, yet somehow they managed to overcome not only the magic of the forest but its defenders as well. If the queen blessed them, it could explain their string of victories.

Kshaa gave the equivalent of a reptilian shrug. “The prophecccy,” she whispered. “Perhapsss one of them isss the one.”

Zixzeix thought about it. Many years have passed since the last human tried to enter the Temple of Bree; how many, he wasn’t sure - time passed differently for the Guardian Nagas - but he remembered that encounter well, as well as those that came before. That last human was level 15 and accompanied by a company of adventurers who wielded powerful weapons and strong magic. Still, Zixzeix and Kshaa proved too much for the would-be heroes; the bones of the adventurers were still scattered around the temple’s walls, together with the bones of many others who were slain over the years by the undefeated level-20 Nagas.

Well, almost undefeated. There was one human who managed to kill Zixzeix and his mate more than three centuries ago. That intruder fulfilled all the parts of the prophecy, yet when Zixzeix and Kshaa came back to life, they were surprised to find that the entrance to the temple remained sealed. Their curse, they realized then, was still valid; they had to keep their guard over the temple and kill all intruders until the one who was foretold would arrive.

Zixzeix hissed. “Weaklingsss,” he said. “Weaker than mossst who came thisss far. You can finish them off by yourssself.” It wasn’t arrogance; it was stating a simple fact. Zixzeix could feel no serious threat from the humans who approached.

Kshaa smiled, but didn’t answer. Instead, she curled her huge body around her mate, showing her affection for him, before she returned to her post. Zixzeix smiled too. Killing intruders was what he and Kshaa were created to do; by telling her she could do it alone, he gave her the highest praise and showed her how much he loved her.

“Here they come,” whispered his mate.

Zixzeix straightened. Stretching his body up, he spoke a single word, and a protective magical white aura appeared around him. He could sense Kshaa doing the same - it was the first layer of their defense - and the two giant snakes turned to look at the forest.

The first human to appear from between the trees was every bit what Zixzeix expected from a would-be hero. He was big and muscular for a human, black of skin, his heavy armor battered from countless fights. He had a bow over his shoulder, and he gripped a magical longsword with the assurance of someone who knew what to do with it. Zixzeix felt nothing special about the magic of the sword, but his eyes were immediately drawn to another item, one that was indeed powerful: the golden knuckles on the man’s right hand. The power of this item was enough to make the 20-level Naga cautious, and he felt his mate tense as well. Still, it was not enough to cause any alarm - not in the hands of this human. Zixzeix identified the man as a level 10 warrior, and while his list of powers and skills was impressive for his level, he had no chance whatsoever against the mighty beings who were twice his level.

Zixzeix could feel two more humans hiding in the trees - separate from each other - yet they chose not to make their presence known. Fools, he thought, disappointed. It seemed that this encounter would be just like the last, ending with the bones of these three humans scattered around the temple’s walls.

The black warrior boldly strode forward until he was only fifteen feet from the great nagas. There he stopped and looked up into Zixzeix’s eyes. “I am The Red Mercenary,” he said aloud. His voice was deep and carried easily, and the forest - as it always did in these situations - grew quiet. “I wish to enter the Temple of Bree,” he continued. “By - emm - the blessing of the Engill, you shall let me pass!”

Zixzeix blinked. He had a distinct feeling that the man was trying to recite lines that were prepared in advance. The warrior seemed ill at ease - as anyone should, facing such powerful beings as the Guardian Nagas - but Zixzeix realized that it wasn’t fear that caused the man to hesitate, but something else. As if he wasn’t doing his job properly.

The naga frowned, at least as best as his reptilian face could. “The Engill,” he said simply, speaking the language of the humans, “have not blessssed you. You will not passs.”

The warrior frowned as well. He started to look over his shoulder as if seeking guidance but caught himself and returned to look at Zixzeix. “I have - emm - withstood the charms of your forest,” he called out. “I have slain the protectors of your realm.” He smiled, obviously proud of himself for remembering what he wanted to say. “I have the blessing of the Engill -”

The man stopped when Kshaa suddenly lashed with her tail. The quick attack took the warrior totally by surprise; it hit him square in his chest, and he was flung some ten feet into the air before landing heavily on the ground. That single hit did damage of more than 40 hit points - nearly half of what the human had - and by the sound of it, probably broke some of the man’s ribs. Still, the human showed remarkable resilience and quickly jumped to his feet, his sword in his hand and his face twisted in anger. He spat blood and looked into the trees, obviously furious - probably at his friends, who remained hidden and did not come to his help.

“You are not blessssed by anyone,” said Zixzeix. His voice was suddenly full of regret. His hope - that their eternal curse might be finally lifted - was gone. “You will die, jussst like the ressst.” He started to draw back, waiting for his mate to finish what she started. He will be good to his word and let her do the killing alone this time. He did, however, plan to watch and act if need be - especially if the other two humans decided they wanted to join the fight. One of them, at least, was a magic-user of some talent and would, perhaps, be able to counter a small part of the nagas’ magical attacks.

Kshaa started to advance - but stopped. Another human appeared from between the trees. This one was shorter and slimmer than the warrior. He was also armed with bow and sword - as well as several daggers - and when Zixzeix laid his eyes on him, he froze in amazement. He knew this man!

The Beacon, whispered Kshaa in his mind.

It was, indeed, the same human who appeared in the World Prompt a few days past. But Zixzeix wouldn’t be so amazed if that was the only reason he recognized this human. No. He would have known this face even without the prompt that proclaimed him as the new hope of the world. He saw that face three hundred years ago… the face of the only human who had ever killed Zixzeix and his mate.

But how could it be? This man was just a level ten scout, and he looked younger than the one Zixzeix and Kshaa had met so long ago. Could it really be the same one?

The Beacon put a reassuring hand on the warrior’s shoulder and took a couple of steps forward to stand alone before the two nagas. As he did, Zixzeix’s eyes were drawn to his weapon - and the naga actually gasped. If he needed any more proof, here it was: the man was carrying the same wicked blade that had once slain Zixzeix and his mate. Kshaa saw it too and hissed in anger - and fear. She did not want to die a second time by the same sword, especially by someone who could not fulfill the prophecy.

Zixzeix drew up to his full height. The aura around him intensified, changing colors from white to red and starting to radiate heat. The human was about to find out just how strong the two nagas have become since they last met. “Why have you come again?” Boomed Zixzeix.

The man drew his head back when the heat of the protective aura reached him. He pressed his lips in resolution and looked up into the naga’s eyes. There was something about him that demanded obedience, yet Zixzeix was too ancient and too wise to care. The man looked at him defiantly. “I have come to fulfill the prophecy,” he said loudly. He looked around him as if daring the forest to intervene - and then looked again at the naga. “The time has come.” His confident speech was only slightly ruined by the fact that he had to constantly flinch and narrow his eyes against the scorching heat that came from Zixzeix’s aura.

The naga lowered his neck until his big head was only two feet away from the head of the puny human. “You could not do that the lassst time,” he whispered. “What hasss changed?”

The scout had no choice but to take a step back - else his skin would burn. When he spoke again, it was with some effort. “I am Scout Benjamin of Sonadin,” he announced. “I have the blessing of Queen Talia herself. I have made a pact with the heroes of old.” His hand touched the hilt of his sword. “The Crystal of Bree shall be mine.” His eyes shone, and Zixzeix was startled to feel the eagerness of the young man.

The naga’s tongue lashed out. “Yesss,” he said. “All true. Yet not enough. “You cannot passss, young hero. Not until you are blessssed by the Banished Godsss.”

The scout clenched his fists. Behind him, the warrior was slowly approaching, ready for anything. In the forest, the magician waited as well, still out of sight.

“You will not let me pass?” Asked the Beacon, incredulous. He suddenly closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they shone with an inner light. Power radiated from him, and Kshaa’s hiss was a twin to Zixzeix’s. The man drew himself up and got closer to the naga, ignoring the heat blisters that appeared on his skin. “Not blessed by the gods?” He roared. “If I want, I CAN BECOME A GOD MYSELF!” He spoke a word, and suddenly - he was a god.

Or at least, the closest a tenth-level trickster scout could get to godhood. In front of Zixzeix’s amazed eyes, the stats of the young hero jumped by 200 percent. In an instant, he seemed bigger, stronger, and nearly powerful enough to present a real challenge to the two nagas. The man drew his sword in one swift motion and raised it high, the tip only a few inches away from Zixzeix’s head. “Let me pass, or suffer the same fate you have suffered before!” He cried.

Zixzeix watched the sword and the man - and paused the game. He rarely used this ability, yet this time he felt he needed the extra time to think and consult with his mate.

Kshaa, is he the one? I cannot sense the blessing that was foretold.

The female naga was hesitant in her reply. I am not sure. He is blessed, but the blessing is not… complete. I don’t think the Banished Gods have come to terms amongst themselves. I don’t think they can - not until he makes his choice.

His choice?

There is evil in him, yet good as well. He has not yet decided what path to take.

Can we take the chance? If we are wrong and let him pass, we will be forever doomed.

It is you who must decide, my mate. But I feel… this human is one with the very soul of our world. More than that, I cannot explain.

The time of his power elapsed, and Zixzeix drew up, away from the dangerous sword. Can it be? Can our curse be finally over? He looked down at the Beacon, lowered his head in respect, and said the words he had wanted to speak for almost a thousand years. “You may proccceed.”

Scout Benjamin’s relief was so visible that for a moment, Zixzeix wondered if he had just made a terrible mistake. Still, the words were spoken, and there was no going back. “Would you want your companionsss to accompany you?”

The Beacon, who sheathed his sword, looked up at the naga with furrowed eyebrows. “Companions?” He asked. Then his face cleared, and a smile appeared on his young face. “Of course…” he mumbled to himself. He looked over his shoulder at his warrior companion - the man was busy tending to his wounds, now that the danger had passed - and then scanned the forest with his eyes. “Just in time,” he whispered, though Zixzeix could hear every word.

Finally, the hero turned back to the naga. “Yes,” he answered. “Please keep the passage open until we have all passed.” His Godlike strength ebbed away, and with a start, Zixzeix realized that the power’s duration had elapsed. He was about to let a level 10 human enter the Temple! One who might not even be able to fulfill the prophecy! Did he just doom the world?

Feeling he was acting against his better judgment, Zixzeix spoke a string of ancient words. Behind him, the walls that protected the Temple of Bree shimmered brightly for a long moment - so bright the humans had to avert their eyes. When the light of the aura diminished, a human-height opening appeared in the center of the wall. “Your passssage awaitsss, Beacon,” said Zixzeix, though maybe slightly less respectful than before.

The Beacon turned back to the warrior. “Let’s go,” he told his companion in a loud voice - loud enough, knew Zixzeix, to be heard by the third human, who was still hiding amongst the trees. “We must enter now, and do so quickly.”

The warrior looked quizzically at the young hero. “No need to shout, skin,” he muttered. “I’m right here.”

The Beacon grinned. “Just making sure you know what to do. Wouldn’t want you to get tail-lashed again.”

The warrior cursed but gathered his things and came to stand next to the scout.

The young-but-old hero looked once more at the towering nagas. “Keep the passage open,” he repeated.

Zixzeix exchanged a look with his mate. Kshaa slightly shook her head and drew back from the wall. Zixzeix sighed and followed her lead - clearing the way for the two humans - and for the third one, whenever she decided to join the others. “Claim the Cryssstal,” said Zixzeix to the human. “Fulfill the prophecccy. Elssse all isss doomed.”

The human gave the naga a long look, and said something that caught the legendary creature by surprise. “I will save you all,” he whispered. “This, I promise.”

Then he and the warrior passed through the opening and were gone inside the temple.

True to his word, Zixzeix left the passage open and waited. After a couple of minutes, the third human finally appeared, cautiously making her way from between the trees. She tentatively approached the two nagas and looked up at them. “You will let me pass?” she said.

Zixzeix looked at her. There was strength in her, too, maybe even more so than the other two. Using another power, he searched her most inner feelings. It took only an instant, but he was satisfied: this one was as loyal to the Beacon as could be; she would give her life to him. The huge naga nodded. “You can passss,” he agreed. “As promisssed.”

The woman smiled. “He’s a genius,” she murmured - and went through the passage and into the temple.

The two nagas waited until they could feel the presence of the humans going deeper into the temple. Only then did Zixzeix spoke the word that closed the passage. The walls shimmered and returned to their original state, swallowing the three humans inside - for better or for worse. Whatever the outcome of their quest will be, Zixzeix and Kshaa’s lives would be ended; their millennia-long duty would be over, their watch over the Temple of Bree finished. But would their souls rest quietly with the Engill, or would the Banish Gods doom them with the rest of the world?

Zixzeix looked at his mate. And shivered.