After I regained myself after being bulled over by Pesos and her dark cloud, I was surprised to not see Pesos around. I was expecting acid breath, sharp rangs, cruel claws, the nine nine yards all on me at once in a rage fuel frenzy.

In fact, when I opened my eyes, I found I was quite alone. The noise of the battle was gone, the zombies, skeletons, the mage and the temple had all disappeared. Around me instead was just a black shroud, like I was standing in a dark room all by myself. Unlike that theory though, my own body, still covered in blood and gore, was perfectly visible despite the lack of any source of light.

Weird.

I look around some more, but it really is just a pitch blackness. Whatever that aura was, its really screwing with me.

I cast identify but nothing comes up. I try to cast any of my other spells but nothing doin’. No flare, heal, or cleanse. Lastly, I check my status but I can’t even pull that up. My daggers are gone too.

…

Huh.

…

Am I dead? Is this death? I suppose it's possible I got one shotted by Pesos. That would really stink, I really wanted to get home. Or maybe I did die and now I am being respawned or whatever? Perhaps I’ll be sent back home after failing this instance. I look around hopefully, but still, there is nothing.

Blast. I really hope I don’t have to spend eternity like this.

Then I see a shape forming close by. I squint at it, my glasses were broken days ago, and soon a figure appears in the blackness. I was ready for God or somebody to appear, but the man there was not anywhere close to whom I could have expected.

The man in front of me is around my height, with soft wrinkles and a full set of graying hair. Hazel eyes and firm glance, he throws a comforting smile at me.

“Dad!” I croak out in astonishment. The voice comes out horse as I realize I haven’t really spoken in a while.

Great, its mind games now. It’s a classic move from the villian, but I am not going to fall for it.

I study the Dad figure for a moment. He feels so real, like he is there, and it's pulling on my heart. I just want to run up and grab him and never let go. He’s always been the strong father to me, I’ve been bringing him troubles for years, from a dead car battery to buying a house. I want nothing more than to depend on him now. I grit my teeth at these feelings.

“Pesos!” I call out angrily, “I am not falling for this. Come out right now!”

There is no response, but I see a frown form on my dad’s face.

“Pesos, I mean it!” I shout out, turning my back to my dad. “Come out and fight me!” I don’t know if Pesos can understand my language, but I don’t care. Pulling my dad here is a low blow.

“Gregory,” I hear behind me, Dad’s voice stern. I can’t help but flinch at the sound. Dad only calls me by my full name when he is upset. I turn around and scowl at him. Dad hardly ever got mad at me, I wasn’t the bad child. It was my eldest brother who got the brunt of Dad’s ire, he and his rebellious ways. But the few times I did make him angry are very clear in my mind.

“What, Dad?” I ask in exasperation. I probably shouldn’t interact with the illusion, but I can’t help myself. “I’m in the middle of something here, go bother somebody else.”

Dad shakes his head at me, “We need to talk, you can’t run away from this anymore.”

I’m annoyed now. Whatever this illusion has got planned for mind tricks, it’s going to take more than vague phrases to get me worked up. I don't even know where he could go with this, I live a pretty carefree first world life. What could he possibly pull that wouldn’t be so out of character for him that the message would actually stick?

I’d like to just tell him to shut up and bring Pesos, but I have a hard time saying the phrase “shut up” in the first place, much less direct it at my dad. I just glare at him some more while calling for Pesos again.

Dad reaches behind his back and pulls out a piece of paper. Despite myself, I am a little curious as to what it could possibly be, so I watch him. Unfolding it, he holds it up for me so see and asks, “Can you tell me what this is?”

…

...

Oh. I guess they could go that route. That was eight years ago though, so its ancient history now.

I don’t respond and turn my back to Dad again. There has got to be a way out of here other than interacting with this illusion. I call out again to the darkness before I hear Dad’s voice become angry.

“Gregory, answer the question.”

Dad hasn’t been stern with me in over a decade. I’m just not used to hearing that tone of voice from him being directed at me. It makes me tense and upset even though I know its not real.

I turn around and face him again. I’ll appease him for now, I’m not ashamed anymore of that thing.

I say flatley, “Its my grade for US history, Dad. Big deal.”

The big C is staring at me from the page. It’s the only C I had gotten in a class at university. Idly, I realize it's absurd to have a single document represent the class and its grade, but somehow, here, it does. Weird.

Its a C too, not the end of the world. It may have felt like the end of the world at the time, but after a few years I realized it had exactly zero impact on my life.

Dad sighs and puts the paper away. “I don’t care about the grade, Greg, I’ve always told you that. I have had my share of low grades in college too.”

Its true. Dad grew up with a pretty serious form of dyslexia which made reading and studying difficult for him. He was kind of a delinquent in high school, barely scraping by, caring only about the swimming team he was on. In college he got a degree in restaurant food and management, not the most strenuous program academically. It wasn't until he got married and had kids that he started applying himself, abandoning the rough hours of restaurant life and getting an education degree and becoming a high school teacher. He ended up getting a master’s degree too, in education, a feat his younger self couldn’t have imagined. He is an example of a person maturing and overcoming his obstacles for the sake of his family. He’s the man I admire and respect the most. When I become a father, I want to be just like him.

“It’s not about getting the good grade” he continued, “it's about doing your best. I’ve always told you that, you have got to use the gifts that God has given you. Tell me, Greg, did you do your best in this course?”

I didn’t answer the question because the answer was obvious. Also, this is further confirmation that Dad here, is an illusion created from my memories. Nobody knew about this particular grade in this particular class from eight years ago because I never told anybody and nobody ever asked. It was my little secret. Besides, I’m way over it by now.

My father pressed anyway. “Greg, answer the question.”

“No,” I replied in irritation. Where the Hell was Pesos? I shouldn’t have to deal with this. “It was eight years ago and I was a punk.”

“What happened?” my dad asked seriously, “was the class too hard?”

I snort and look away. This is stupid. Pesos really needs to step up her game if she thinks this will phase me.

“Of course not,” Dad answers his own questions with a smile, “Academics always came easy to you, much easier than your brothers and even your younger sister, despite her better grades. If you had bothered to apply yourself, you could have performed much better in all your classes, not just this one. Here, though,” he added, smacking the paper, “you messed up big. The exams and homework were easy enough, you did well on that work despite your limited studying. No, in this class, you just decided not to complete a book report, worth 25% of you grade. Just throwing away points, Greg? It's not worth your time?”

I grimace. Yeah, I knew you were going to say that. I remember clearly the look of disappointment in my professor’s eyes as he squeezed my shoulders in fatherly frustration after I told him I hadn’t done the report, even after the week long window had passed where I could have turned it in late. He had had my older brother in classes before and knew my Mom well as she worked at the university too, so he felt closer to me than, perhaps, other students. He had said to me at that time, “You’re just throwing away points, Greg!”

I couldn’t help but answer my Dad. I mumbled back, “It’s not like I just decided not to do it.”

“No,” Dad said right back, “You are right. You intended to do it right up until the moment you didn’t. You waited and waited all the way up until the morning it was due to write it. Intending on just skimming the book and writing out the ten page report in a few hours?”

I shrug back at Dad, what can I say? It wasn’t the first or last time I had done that. With a sigh, I relax and face my dad squarely. It seems like the only way out of this is to face this problem squarely. And to be fair, this is a walk in the park and I’m not remotely ashamed about the stupid report anymore. I’ve faced bigger problems before breakfast.

He shook his head like he knew what I was thinking, “But this time you didn’t write it. Instead you took a look at the book, skimmed through for a few minutes, opened up Word, stared at it and then shut it all down and went back to bed, writing off the points like it was bad debt.”

This illusion was reading my mind quite well, because that’s exactly what happened. I roll my eyes, I am a bad procrastinator and I know it. I’ve had the procrastination speech from Mom so many times I couldn’t count them.

I’ve got Dad’s number now though, next he’s going to say how irresponsible I was, how what a privilege higher education was and how I had squandered it. How many people would love to have the opportunity Yada, yada, yada. Well, too bad for him, those words are a gross exaggeration. And got my degree and my job, thank you very much.

I know it all already, Dad. It was eight years ago and at this point you’re preaching to the choir. If I went back in time I surely would have been more responsible.

I smile at Dad. It’s actually kind of nice here, I don’t have to worry about infections, skeletons, zombies, or mages. Just me and a bad Dad illusion. This will be easy.

“I know Dad, I messed up,” I say, trying to take the wind out of his sails. “I was young and stupid, and I have learned from it. It was a long time ago and I have matured since then.”

“Have you really?” Dad asks with a scowl.

I frown. Of course I have, I’m an adult now with a real job with people depending on me and a house with a mortgage. All these things I couldn't even imagine when I was in college. I hated just answering phones back then.

“Don’t I always say to you, if I can’t trust you with the small things, how can I trust you with the big ones?”

He certainly did say that a lot. It was logic I couldn't ever fight against. It made it so that even white lies were unacceptable.

“If I can’t trust you to do the work for a class, to do your best in your responsibility, how can I trust you with the bigger aspects of life? Aren't you proving yourself already?”

I feel like his logic is unfair and his words make me angry. He’s never directly questioned me like this before, but it’s what I have questioned inside of myself.

“I have proved myself,” I bite back, “I have a job and the people there love me. I am the best worker they have.”

Dad scoffs, “It’s an easy job for you. It’s not challenging at all, just the way you like it. As always, you take the path of least resistance. You’re not like your sister at all.”

I grit my teeth at that.

“Your sister, she puts everything into what she does, but you, you do as little as you can to get by. And your brothers, they also work hard, they push for it, and they get what they want. That’s what you lack, you’re lazy and you compare yourself to lesser people to make yourself feel better.”

...

I admit, I am frustrated and angry now and I realize what is going on. This isn’t Dad talking to me at all, this is myself in the form of Dad. These are the things I feel inside of me sometimes, the arguments I make against myself. And, while I have thought along these lines before, it is completely different having them voiced aloud and coming from somebody I respect.

I don’t answer my Dad and just look away. After a moment, he continues, “You could have done so much more with your life, but look at you. You sit at a small job, doing basic work for basic pay with no ambition and few friends. What do you spend your free time doing, Greg?”

I’ve heard that argument before, too. What a person spends his time doing is what they value. I spend my free time alone in my house, usually reading fantasy novels.

Dad shakes his head at me, “That’s what you value?”

A snarl hits my face and I shout back, “I’m HAPPY with my life, Dad! How many people do you know that can say that?? I like my job, I like my house, I like my family. Do you know how many people I work with who can't say any of those things?’ I waive my hands around, “They are divorced, away from their kids, in a job they don’t like and they grumble and complain and drink. I don’t do any of that.”

“You compare yourself with them again?” Dad says crossly, “There’s always somebody worse than you out there. And you say you are happy but is that really the case? As you escape into your fantasy novels?”

I grind my teeth and don’t respond. In the back of my mind I realize I am getting pulled in too deep into this illusion, but I can’t help it.

“Why are you still single, Greg?”

I hate that question.

“It's all connected, isn't it? You’re scared of new things, paralytically so. You've dated one girl for a single year in your ten years of availability and that ended because you were too scared to actually do anything with the relationship, too scared and too ignorant. She left you because of that, didn’t she?”

That’s a low blow and nobody would say that to me in real life. But deep down, I have always wondered if that was what she really thought.

“She saw you for what you really are, what you hide from everybody,” Dad scoffs, “That you are lazy and selfish. You want a family but its too hard to get in a relationship with a girl. You want a career advancement, but it's too much work to go out and get a MBA or CPA. You want friends, but you don’t put in the time to sustain them. You prefer your own company over everybody else, and what you do for others you do grudgingly to keep up your appearances and social demands.” Dad takes a deep breath, staring at me, and continues slowly, “If you had it your way, you would lock yourself in your house every night and abandon all your current relationships with friends and family because they are just too much effort to maintain.”

I feel sick. It’s much easier to ignore these thoughts when they are just inside my mind.

Dad crosses his arms and asks, “Where do you see yourself in forty years?”

Damn. I know where he is going with this too. It’s what I ask myself.

“You know what I see, don’t you Greg?” he says, staring away at distance as if the future was just over the horizon, “At your current rate, In forty years, your mother and I will pass away and you’ll be alone. Your brothers will probably have grandkids by then, your sisters will have been married off, but you’ll be by yourself in your house with nobody around. You’ll be disenfranchised from your friends and you’ll be a bitter lonely old man full of regret because you knew you just needed to put in some effort in the past but it’s too late now.” he pulls out the grade again and lays it before me again. “You’ll feel the same sense of regret, shame, and failure you had when you couldn’t finish the book report, except on a magnified scale. You think you have changed? You think you’ll still be happy, Greg? Don’t make me laugh!”

I can feel my heart beating fast inside of me. My face is flushed and I am soaking my shirt in sweat. These are the fears I have at night when I am alone. “I’m only twenty-eight, Dad!” I shout, “Lay off!”

“You can’t fool me Greg, even if you try to fool yourself. You haven’t changed in eight years, and you won’t change in another twenty! You’ll still be the selfish, lazy, irresponsible, hypocritical, and self-defeating man. Face it, Greg, you’re not a good person, and nobody will ever want to be with you.”

Oh man. This hurts. I know that this is a mind game, but, God, this really hurts. It's worse because I already partially believe these things, these are all thoughts that have floated in my mind over the last several years. It’s been a hard week, and this is not helping. I could have really used a pep talk, Dad, not this. And, despite what happens in here, I’m still in a load of trouble outside. It’s doubtful if I’ll even survive that.

Dad is getting in my face now, and I lean back reflexively. His hard angry face is pointed at me, something I have never seen. He yells at me, “Do you really think you are a good person, Greg? Tell me, do you really have any worth as a person!? Answer me!!”

It’s a good question. How do you determine to value of a person? I don’t know, but if these arguments are anything to go by, I surely am falling short. Squandering potential is a heavy sin that Dad instilled in me, whether intentionally or not. Dad’s own life shows what somebody who is disadvantaged can do, how much more so can somebody with an advantage? My own values accuse me as I can’t live up to them.

I’ve never been good at arguing with myself. I’ve learned to seek objective opinions less I get too depressed. It time to bring in my back up because I know that if I argue with myself, I always lose. I’ve got some outside arguments from people I know and trust.

After I had broken up with my girlfriend I was miserable. I was thinking a lot of things about myself, many of them along the same lines that Dad had just given here. My eldest brother and I were going to go watch the latest marvel movie together to have some fun on this miserable day. But before that he took me out to a brewery for a bite to eat. We talked during the meal.

“I know what you are feeling, Greg,” he had said to me with a knowing smile at my dismal frown as we sat across from each other, the potato wedges untouched. What he said was probably true too, a few years earlier his wife had left him.

“You’re feeling a little worthless, right now, aren’t you?” I nodded at that. I was feeling more than that but I was definitely feeling that one too.

“Well, your not.” he said bluntly. Thanks bro. But then he took a gulp of beer and expounded. “You’re a good person, Greg. You care for others more than you care for yourself. You’ll do things for me, and your other brothers without question, hard things. Like opening up the restaurant with me. I know it wasn’t your first choice and you would have never done it by for even yourself, but for me? No problem.”

I don’t answer and I remain unconvinced as I stare at my bubbly root beer.

“Trust me, Greg, you are very selfless. In fact you are the most selfless person I know. You never take offense at anything, you are quick to forgive and slow to anger.” he puts his hands together and continues, “You’re like the glue that holds are family together, you know? You are everybody’s favorite brother, the one everybody gets along with. If there is any strife,we all know to come to you, you know that? You sacrificed a lot, not just for me, but for all of us. And you’re content with your life, that’s a gift, you know? Some people live their lives never being happy, always wanting more, but you’re content and you give your time away freely. That means a lot to me and I know it means a lot to the brothers too. And Mom and Dad. You visit them, like, every weekend, right?”

I nod slightly. It's all true, from a certain point of view.

“And as for your now ex-girlfriend, she doesn’t know what your missing. You’re the kindest, gentlest person I know. You’ll just need to find a girl who can appreciate that.” I know he’s saying stuff to cheer me up, but it is working. He winks at me in his roguish way, “in fact, let me find one for you. Give me the word and I’ll find a girl worthy of you.”

Perhaps I should take him up on that offer when I get back. I don’t know where he’ll pull such a girl from, but I am confident he will. He always had this way of getting things done.

As it is, I straighten up and look back at the overbearing version of my father. I give him a snort of disdain and say, “Your eldest son thinks I’m valuable and that’s more than enough for me. Like I’m going to trust my own thoughts over the wise words of my elder brother? I’m crazy, there’s no way I would believe myself!” Dad looks back at me angrily, as if he can’t believe what a fool I am. I add in, angry myself, “Now, SHUT UP!”

Dad looks like he is going to implode. And then a moment later, he does. It looks very odd, his face twisting in on itself and then consuming his whole body. I’ve seen a lot of horrible things this last week, but his is pretty far up there. I do not enjoy seeing my dad implode like there is a miniature black hole inside of him, but I guess saying the phrase “shut up” for the first time in my life was the ticket out of there because soon the blackness starts wavering. Before it disappears though I see Pesos emerge out of the darkness red eyes gleaming, its slick body burning lightly in a phantom black fire like the final boss in a video game.

I don’t know what the mind games were supposed to accomplish, but if they were trying to fold me over in despair, I am afraid it backfired on you.

“You should have come out in the beginning, Pesos.” I say, preparing myself for a fight, “It would have saved us both the hassle.”

Pesos snarls in response and starts circling around me like a predator. I try to bring up flare but I am disappointed that it's still not working. Whatever is canceling my powers here appears to be also affecting Pesos because I am more than in range of her acid breath and she hasn’t shot me with it yet. Good, that would have been awful to deal with.

I’ve killed her before with bare hands. Looks like I am going to have to do it again.

I taunt her. “You’ve been a bad dog, Pesos! You’ve tracked mud into the house again, haven't you!”

She stops at the words, her nostrils flaring furiously.

“Bring it, girl! Your tricks have failed and it's just you and me now. And when I get back to earth, I’m going to tell my brother what a bad dog you’ve been!”

Pesos loses it after that and comes charging at me with a howl. She is still fast and her claws are sharp; I know I’m not going to be able to come out of this battle unscathed. I charge her too, meeting her in the middle with a tackle. She feels as heavy and real as ever.

Greyhounds are big and fast with powerful muscles in their legs. But they are pretty fragile, besides their large thighs, their actual legs are quite spindly.

To be honest, they are probably one of the worst dogs for pure fighting.

We collide in the middle as I tackle her. I let her bite me good, getting my shoulder and neck area, clamping down on me, but I use my weight against her and drive her back onto the ground. My shoulder burns and I don’t have my healing skills now, but I ignore the issue and press my weight against her right front leg. It snaps easily.

She lets go of me and I fall back on my rear as she howls in pain. She backs off with a limp.

I get up slowly. God, my shoulder hurts, but it feels like my arm is still usable. I’m already covered in blood, so there won’t be much of a difference there.

Pesos is pissed and is snarling savagely at me. But I have her now, it was a mistake for her to take away both of our powers.

“I’m sorry, girl.” I say as I move in on her disabled form. She could move away still if she wanted, but she hunkers down as I approach, her red eyes gleaming. “I’ll make sure to avenge you.”

I end up strangling her. She struggles against me, clawing and tearing at me as much as possible, but I break her back legs and she is powerless against me. As she dies, I can feel such venom in her eyes it makes me shiver. Rest in peace, Pesos.

Once she passes, the black void I am in dissipates and suddenly I am on the temple grounds again, surrounded by the undead, my respite from this battle gone.

You know what? I would have appreciated a few more minutes in that blackness, before getting thrown back into this Hell. I check my stats quickly to see where I am at. The timer for Pesos has returned, even as her corpse turns into black wisps and fades away. I don’t plan on being here when she returns, though. Next I check my mp. To my surprise, I see that it's full.

…

Nice!

Whatever the mage had intended to have happen in that fight, it's backfired on him now. Pesos is gone and my mp is back. What was he expecting me to do when confronted with the mind magic? Lay down and die?

The words of Luke come to me,“You've failed your highness. I am a jedi, like my father before me.”

The two armored skeletons I had been running from are right in front of me now. They looked startled by my sudden return and I waste no time charging them and spending thirty mp each to cook them from the inside out with flare. Before they can react their armor flashes in a bright white light and dull thuds reverberate in their armor as their bones explode. The smoking husks fall down and I glare up at the temple steps, staring back at the mage and his guardian. I heal my shoulder in the meantime.

The mage looks as furious as ever and he raises a hand and fires a black bolt at me. I flash him a grin and raise a barrier, watching the black spear smash into the unyielding wall, covering it in its darkness for a second before dissipating. It was an expensive show of force, but I think the intimidation factor is real.

I’ve got to let him know, I’m coming for him next.