CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Facing Despair, Part 1

As Sam smashed his hammer against the final phantom’s face—one whose flickering form showed off the muscles of a male bodybuilder—a new notification appeared before him.

You have leveled up!

It was the second one he’d seen since his battle began with the eight phantoms he’d systematically destroyed. One by one they went down while Sam tested his body’s limits.

He’d dodged attacks from ghostly hands that meant him harm by jumping around the room like a certain spider-themed hero from his favorite MCU movie. All the while, his hammer had swung without abandon, breaking through bone and earning him kill after kill. More than once he’d been tagged by a phantom’s touch, but Regeneration quickly tamped down on this dangerous curse’s more lethal effects, allowing Sam to be more reckless than his old self would have been.

Now, as he stood over the pile of phantom dust that the bodybuilder phantom left behind—with the inside of his hoodie slicked with sweat—Sam couldn’t quite remember just how long it had been since he’d entered Goodwill Asylum. Although it must have been at least an hour or two since sunlight warmed his skin.

You look like you’re about to drop dead, kid.

“I’m…all…good,” Sam managed to say between gasps of air.

Now’s a good time for lesson number six. Pace yourself! Going past your limits isn’t always the solution, especially not if you’re doing things solo. Know when to fight and when to pull back and recover…that’s lesson number six, but it’s also the first rule in staying alive inside a haunted zone.

“I…heal fast, remember?”

Regeneration only heals your fatigue when you take a break, lame-brain!

Sam’s hand was shivering when he picked up the golden drachma glinting on the linoleum floor below him.

“Oh…right…Sure, I’ll take a break...”

He sat on the ground and gave his fatigue, which was at a whopping [85%], time to drop to [10%] before he collected the rest of the loot scattered around him.

Sam earned twenty drachmas in that last fight against those eight phantoms, and that final phantom earned him a whopping seven drachmas, which Chiron theorized was because some of the gods had thoroughly enjoyed Sam’s mad scramble for victory.

Entertaining the gods is a double-edged sword, kid. The higher the risk the higher they reward, but don’t forget that you’ve just started out on this new path…so pace yourself.

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Yeah…I know.”

Honestly, he hadn’t planned to entertain the gods. Sam was just trying to survive that last fight. Once more his thoughts drifted toward blasphemy as he wondered what kind of gods thought a life or death struggle was entertainment.

“We’re not done yet, are we?”

What do you think?

Sam’s gaze drifted to the far end of the hall where the path split into two short corridors. “I think you want me to get in even more trouble…”

The right path led to the elevators and stairs that would take one up to the floors above. He didn’t want to go that way. Meanwhile, the left path led into a shorter corridor that ended at two heavily-damaged wooden doors that must have once led into what Sam assumed was an administrator’s office. Interestingly enough, the wave of energy emanating from beyond those wooden doors was making the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end.

“Master…do you know what type of horror is hiding in there?”

Sure, the energy he was sensing now was pretty weak—more like a pulse rather than the roaring river that was the alpha-level terror’s strength. But Sam had this feeling he couldn’t shake off telling him that whatever was on the other side of those wooden doors wasn’t something he would have an easy time against.

I’m not sure…but like you said, an asylum is a buffet of emotions just waiting to give birth to every kind of horror imaginable… Isn’t this exciting?

“You and I have different views on what that word means.”

He hadn’t quite found his resolve to wade into another dangerous situation yet. Luckily for Sam, there was one more thing for him to kill time doing. He pulled out the pouch he’d filled with Phantom Dust earlier and scooped up as much of the dust on the floor he could stuff into it.

“I get it now,” Sam said as he realized he’d already earned drachmas equivalent to two hundred forty dollars in this one mission—and he was just cleaning up for the guys who’d already cleared this zone. “Why most heroes risk so much of their lives for this…”

As his gaze turned to the pouch in his hands, Sam recalled his past struggling to earn a living as a newbie hero. The fact he was a healer should have helped since the profession was in such high demand. Only, Sam’s low power rating meant his share of profits was always the lowest whenever he worked as a freelancer.

It didn’t matter that his gift risked his own life to heal others. What mattered was how much actual healing Sam could do. Thus, the Wardens rating system appraised Sam as an ineffectual healer, and the rest of the world saw him that way too as a consequence of it.

“I earned a thousand drachmas in the Battle of the Bronx, but that horror’s corpse probably cost ten times more,” Sam deduced.

No one believes a zeta could have done what you achieved, kid… It’s just the way it is in these days of heroic commercialism.

Yeah, Sam thought. The system is biased for those with greater power. It wasn’t fair, and in the corner of his mind, Sam recalled the Trickster and how the villain had called this current hero society corrupt.

“Thunder and Dr. Hearthstone would have gotten most of that battle’s profits,” Sam guessed. “She’s probably the reason I even earned a thousand drachmas…”

Yeah, she asked me to give you that money.

Sam was surprised that Chiron so easily admitted this to him. Not that he was angry about it. Thunder deserved all the credit. It was her power that destroyed the horror. Not Sam’s.

But it wasn’t just you…Thunder donated most of what she earned from that battle to the families of the heroes who’d died fighting the terror. She’s a classy gal, that one.

The thought of Thunder made Sam smile. “Yeah…she really is.”

If you’re done looking like a lovesick puppy, lame-brain, I recommend you get to finishing the mission already. We’re burning daylight here.

That comment wiped away the dopey smile plastered on Sam’s face.

“I’m not lovesick,” he protested. “I’m just impressed with her generosity…”

Yeah, sure, you’re very believable right now.

It was only just the message box, but Sam could swear he could read the sarcasm in Chiron’s words.

He sighed. “Fine, fine… I’m going to go fight the creepy monster hiding in the shadows now…are you happy?”

I’d be happier with a more competent student… Sadly, all I have is you.

“You said even Superion would have been impressed with my moves,” Sam reminded him.

I don’t remember ever saying that… Now quit fooling around and go to work already.

Sam was fuming as he stomped his way toward the left corridor. He didn’t even realize that his annoyance with his master had helped him shed off the nervousness he’d been feeling earlier. But, as he stood before those damaged wooden doors, Sam wondered if Chiron had intentionally riled him up to help get his head back in the game.

Cold, the kind of brutal cold only a horror could unleash wafted out of the many holes peppering those wooden doors.

“I need to figure out my battle cry,” he said in an attempt at levity.

The doors crumbled to the ground at his touch. Dust got kicked up into the air, helping to momentarily block his view of what lay beyond. He didn’t need to see to know what he would find, however, because Sam heard the high-pitched shriek that made his skin crawl. He’d heard this same sound in his nightmares; the one that never failed to wake him up in a cold sweat.

“Talk about bad luck…of all the horrors I could face…I get the one born from despair.”

At the far end of the room, Sam saw a ghostly face with blood-red eyes and an open mouth that was fixed in a silent scream.

“Holy Zeus…not another one.”

Just like the terror he’d fought three weeks ago, this horror of despair had a tall, thin frame and four spindly limbs that ended in sharp-nailed hands and feet. Wild, wiry hair flew out from behind a face so pale it was like staring into death.

The horror’s lips parted, widening into the shape of an O that unhinged its jaw, giving it the countenance of one of death’s shrieking mistresses.

“Aw, Styx,” Sam sighed.

He ducked behind the sliver of a wall that had once supported the wooden doors as the horror unleashed a high-pitched shriek whose sound waves shattered the office floor.

Sam covered his ears. “I’m not ready to rehash this old trauma!”

I’m skipping to lesson number twenty-one, kid—identify your enemy! There are thirteen types of horrors, and each one has several kinds of manifestations. Quickly identifying what you’re up against will ensure you stay alive longer!

“I already know what it is!” Sam answered. Although he couldn’t hear his voice over the ear-piercing shrieks. “It’s a freaking Banshee!”

Good! You got it on the first try!

Of course, he did. Because this particular kind of horror, a creature born from the despair of losing a loved one, was the star of Sam’s worst nightmares.

"Why oh why"—Sam shut his eyes out of frustration—"did it have to be a godsdamn Banshee...?"