The rest of the trip to Beacon went by without a hitch, save for the threat of the poison hanging over Zeke. Abby tried to be circumspect, but Zeke couldn’t help but notice how often she would look at him with concern in her eyes. Nor could he really blame her; after kneeling beside a pond to wash his face, he’d seen his reflection in the water’s surface, and what he’d seen was more than a little troubling.

Pale, sallow skin. Hollow cheeks. Deep, dark circles beneath his eyes. And a fatigue he wore like a cloak the caused his shoulders to sag. His appearance told only half the story, though. Within his body, a war pitting his vitality – both natural and stolen – against the poison raged, and he was gradually losing. Unless he got help soon, he would succumb, and everything he’d done, all his plans for the future, would be for naught, ended by a few crossbow bolts that had barely even pierced his skin.

However, all those concerns fell by the wayside when the first time he laid eyes on the city of Beacon. His jaw dropped as he muttered, “How big is it?”

“Really big,” answered Abby, who’d become a human crutch. She was smaller, but with her enhanced strength, she could support a good deal of his weight. Without that assistance, Zeke would’ve long since fallen to the side of the road. “I think the base is about twelve square miles? I heard that somewhere. How are you doing?”

“I feel like my insides are dissolving,” Zeke mumbled. “So, not great. I hope this healer is as good as you say he is.”

“He is,” Abby insisted. “But he’s a little quirky.”

“I can deal with quirky,” Zeke said, the words coming out with more than a little difficulty. To distract himself from the pain coursing through every cell of his body, he focused on the city in the distance.

Abby had described it as resembling a wedding cake, but to Zeke, that description seemed inaccurate. It was tiered, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Instead, he was reminded of terraced cities like Machu Picchu, though on a much grander scale. Or perhaps Chichen Itza, the famous Mayan pyramid located on the Yucatan peninsula. But neither was a perfect comparison. Beacon, for all its similarities to Earthly structures, was definitely its own thing.

A tiered pyramid with a square base, Beacon had seven ascending levels with wide ramps cutting through the center of each side, going all the way to the top, where an impressive palace that looked like it had been ripped straight out of the Renaissance sat. Constructed of white with shining gold trim, it had three towers, with the one in the middle reaching twice as high as the rest, and a blocky base carved with sculptures Zeke couldn’t quite make out from such a distance. The rest of the city followed the same theme, though the roofs were tiled in red, and on the bottom level, the white walls had been stained almost brown from dirt, soot, and the passage of time.

“Master Hawthorne is on the second level, so we should be able to get to him pretty quickly,” Abby said, half dragging Zeke along. It took most of the rest of the day, but eventually, they reached the outskirts of the city.

“I expected things to be nicer up close,” Zeke muttered, taking in his surroundings.

“Every city has its population of poor people,” Abby said. “Not everyone can afford to live even on the first level. And some don’t want to; there’s less regulation in the Bottoms.”

“Clever name,” he said as they passed the slums of Beacon. There were plenty of permanent structures, but it looked like the majority of the dwellings in the Bottoms were temporary in nature. Tents, hovels, and lean-tos abounded, but though they were dirty and wore rags, the people didn’t look as unhealthy as their obvious poverty suggested they might be. The benefits of a few levels, he suspected.

Slowly, as the sun began to set, Zeke, Abby, and Pudge – who got plenty of fearful looks from the residents – made their way through the Bottoms and to what Abby described as The First Gate – a massive structure as tall as the first level, with an open iron portcullis. A handful of warriors, each wearing chainmail armor, stood guard. Over their armor, they all wore white tunics emblazoned with a golden sunburst emblem.

Taking their place behind a line of wagons and entrants into the city proper, Zeke studied his surroundings. Up close, the city was much bigger than his first impression had suggested. He couldn’t be sure, but the first tier was at least a few hundred feet tall, and its outer surface was carved in a repeating relief depicting the same sunburst pattern on the guards’ tunics.

“According to legend, the city was carved into a mountain,” Abby explained, seeing his awestruck expression. “I’m not sure if I believe that. I mean, geographically, it doesn’t make sense, right? A lone mountain in the middle of a plain? That doesn’t happen.”

“None of this world makes sense,” Zeke stated. “It’s like the terrain was randomized by some impatient god. There are swamps next to mountain rangers and deserts right next to jungles with almost nothing in between. I’m not an expert, but I don’t think that’s how things are supposed to work.”

Abby shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “Still, I think Beacon was man-made.”

“Or something-else made,” Zeke suggested, thinking of the history of the ruined city where he’d fought the harpies and rescued Pudge. According to Abby, it was widely believed to have originally been built by elves, so it stood to reason that there would be other remnants of their civilization. Perhaps Beacon had been built on top of those remains. “Like Tua’Ta’alar.”

“Different architecture,” Abby muttered. “But maybe the base structure…”

The line gradually crept forward, and Zeke focused on fighting the poison within his body. He wasn’t sure if what he was doing actually helped anymore; it had long since broken the containment of stolen vitality he’d built around it. But he didn’t feel right just letting the poison run rampant. So, he concentrated on pushing his mana through his body, hoping that it would somehow slow the damage enough that the healer would have something left to save.

It was a strange feeling, knowing just how close to death he was. One lapse in concentration, and he’d fall, likely never to rise again. And while he’d been fighting for his life for the better part of three years, those situations had been different. Even with the curses, he’d found a way to save himself. He’d fought and clawed his way to survival every step of the way. However, in this situation, he knew his efforts wouldn’t be enough. He needed help and, for someone who had solely relied on himself for so long, that realization was a damning one.

“What’s wrong with him?” came a harsh voice, jarring Zeke from his inner thoughts. He looked up to see the sneering face of one of the guards. “He sick? No one gets in if they got the plague or something.”

“Poisoned,” Abby said. “I’m taking him to a healer on the second level.”

The man looked like he was going to turn them away, but Abby produced a coin from her belt pouch and passed it to him. With the bribe out of the way, the guard’s attitude improved considerably. “Ah,” he said. “Sure. Go on through. Enjoy your stay in Beacon.”

Zeke did his best to glare at the man, but he knew it probably came off as more of a grimace. However, in the depths of his increasingly less lucid thoughts, Zeke cursed the guard. In a world where healing was only a skill away, why would they turn sick people back? It made no sense.

Abby, sensing his anger, said, “It’s about money, Zeke. Everything costs something because progression is expensive. There’s alchemical concoctions that can boost your stats or add years to your life, and that’s not even considering the astronomical cost of evolving your race.”

“Still not right.”

“No,” she said, half-dragging him through the massive gate. It was at least fifty yards before they passed through and began to ascend the wide ramp. “It’s not. But think about it. Every point in vitality increases your lifespan, and evolving your race doubles that effect, at least. On top of that, the right piece of equipment can mean the difference between you becoming some monster’s next meal or you getting your next level.”

Truthfully, it wasn’t so different than it was back on Earth. Sure, the details changed, and everything was exaggerated in the new world, but in both worlds, poor people got the shaft.

The incline leading to the next level wasn’t steep, but in Zeke’s weakened state, it felt like he was climbing an insurmountable mountain. As sweat beaded on his forehead and his every muscle cramped with exertion, he hardly even noticed his surroundings. By the time they reached level ground, Zeke could feel tears flowing down his cheeks; it was as if the moment he’d begun his climb, a fire had erupted in his chest. His heartbeat quickened. His breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps. And his steps became a shuffling gait.

He was dying.

“Stay with me,” Abby grunted. They hadn’t stopped for almost two days, and she was exhausted, so she could barely bear the sudden increase in her load. Beside her, Pudge whined, the sound not unlike a keening canine. “We’re almost there.”

It was quite telling that no one stopped to help them, despite their obvious struggle.

For Zeke’s part, he grew ever more delirious with every step. The sights blended together even as the sounds oscillated between deafening and so soft they were unidentifiable. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other as he let Abby drag him along.

Suddenly, after some interminable span, they stopped. Abby banged on a door, the sound echoing in Zeke’s ears. Vaguely, he knew they were somewhere important, but for the life of him, he couldn’t quite remember why his companion was making so much noise.

“Hawthorne! Open up you old asshole!” Abby growled. “It’s Abby Summers!”

She kept pounding on the door for another few seconds before it finally opened, revealing a thin, old man. With wispy eyebrows, a nose that was far too long for his face, and a wild mane of thick, white hair, he looked like nothing so much as a mad scientist.

“What the hell do you want, girl?!” he spat. “I was busy!”

It took Zeke a moment to realize what else was wrong, and when he did, he couldn’t help but giggle. The man was stark naked, and just past him, there was a trio of young women in a similar state of undress.

“Apparently,” Abby said, her eyes narrowing.

The old man waggled his eyebrows, completely unashamed of his nudity. “You’re welcome to join in, of course,” he said, his voice far less annoyed. “But your friend has to wait out here. I don’t swing that way.”

Abby rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no,” she said. “Keep it in your pants, you old lech. I’m here for healing. He’s been poisoned.”

“And that matters to me why?”

“Because you’re a greedy, old bastard who’ll do anything for enough gold,” she said. “Ten for the healing. Five for silence.”

“Hmm,” the man said, completely unconcerned with the fact that he was entirely nude. He gripped his chin as if thinking. “Make it twenty-five, total, and I’ll fix him up good as new. Break it up however you want, but I won’t tell anyone.”

Zeke knew from their experience with Cort, the trader, that Abby desperately wanted to haggle. However, with his condition being what it was, the healer had the definite upper hand. He could’ve charged twice as much, and they would’ve had little choice but to pay.

“Fine,” Abby said. She opened her money pouch, then counted out a dozen gold coins. “Half now, half when he’s cured.”

“Sure, sure,” the man said, snatching the coins out of her hand. Then, he turned, saying, “Ladies, we’re going to have to cut this short. Daddy’s got to work a bit.”

As Abby helped Zeke into the building, the trio of women gathered their things and were ushered outside. It might’ve been Zeke’s imagination, but none of them seemed terribly upset at the end of the encounter.

Laid out like a studio apartment, with only a single room, the inside of the building was an absolute mess. Papers were scattered everywhere, the bed was disheveled, and there were stacks of books on every surface. In the corner, Zeke saw a door that he suspected might lead to a bathroom, though he couldn’t even be sure that a place like Beacon even had indoor plumbing.

He collapsed onto a chair, and he would’ve continued his tumble to the floor if it wasn’t for Abby’s helping hands. Even with her assistance, it was a close call.

Hawthorne pulled a stool around and put his hand on Zeke’s chest. Thankfully, the old man had donned a robe, though it was short and pink, so Zeke suspected that it had probably belonged to one of the ladies.

“Nasty poison,” the healer said, his tone all business. “Necrotic. And it’s been there for a while.” He looked up, asking, “How long since he was poisoned?”

“Two days, give or take a few hours,” Abby answered.

The man’s eyes widened. “He’s only level fourteen. How the hell is he still alive?” he muttered.

“High vitality,” was all Abby said, obviously not wanting to give away Zeke’s secrets.

Hawthorne shook his head, muttering, “High vitality…”

“Can you heal him?” Abby asked.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” the man said. “The poison has spread to every single part of his body. It’s like his cells are rebuilding almost as fast as it can dissolve them. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that he’s using a self-healing skill. But those are far more structured than what he’s doing. It’s like he’s just flooding his body with pure, formless mana. Never mind the poison, that much mana is enough to kill most people. It’s almost a poison in itself. His body is doing things I can’t even begin to understand.”

“Just cure the poison, then,” Abby said.

“If I do that, he’ll die,” Hawthorne stated. “You have to understand that there’s a very tentative balance here. If I tip it one way, he’ll –”

“Do it,” Zeke breathed. “I’m dying anyway.”

Hawthorne flinched away, breathing, “Shit! He’s lucid?!”

“Sort of,” Abby said. “He’s been coming in and out. But you heard him. Just fix the poison, and the rest will have to sort itself out. I’ll pay you the entire fee regardless of whether he survives.”

“This isn’t about the money, young lady!” Hawthorne insisted. “I took an oath! This is about –”

Abby cut him off with a glare. Then, in an ominous tone, she said, “If you don’t do what I’ve paid you to do, I’ll make you regret it. And don’t give me that garbage about an oath. That was invalidated the moment they kicked you out.”

To punctuate her threat, Abby fingered the haft of her hatchet.

“Fine! I’ll do it,” the healer said. “But don’t blame me if he doesn’t make it.”

Without further hesitation, Hawthorne leaned forward and replaced his hand on Zeke’s chest. He closed his eyes, and Zeke felt a surge of mana crash into him. After only a second, the mana split into six tendrils, each searching out the original wounds caused by the crossbow bolts. There, the poison was the thickest, the strongest. The foreign mana assaulted it without mercy, tearing the necrotic poison apart, bit by bit. It may have taken a single moment or an entire eternity, but eventually, the poison was completely dismantled by the curing skill.

But that was only the beginning.

The poison had spread through Zeke’s entire body, and to rid him of its effects, it would take more than simply cutting off the source. To that end, the tendrils retracted within the original blob of mana before slowly spreading through Zeke’s body. Like a tide, it flooded every single cell, eating away at the malicious poison.

The poison didn’t go down without a fight. Its assault redoubled, almost as if it was a living thing. It was on the ropes and gradually giving ground, but it seemed resolved to take a huge chunk of Zeke with it. Like a wild animal, the poison bit and clawed as it was surrounded and smothered by the tide of mana. Through it all, Zeke tried not to scream in agony.

He was unsuccessful.

And then, just as the last of the poison dissipated, the real pain began. Without anything to fight, his own mana went wild, surging through his body and crashing against his very essence like a tidal wave of pure acid.

Thankfully, Zeke could only endure it for a few moments before unconsciousness overtook him.