In black and white, the instant death replay looped a seven-hundredth and thirtieth time.

Ivan watched himself bark at the sky. Embarrassment had long passed. Now, he was amused at this mad dog that only looked like Not Insane, slinging fists full of bloody soil. Sad. The dog grabbed a dagger and slashed at invisible foes, and when a dark fuzz blurred in front of the very ordinary moon, that hooded warrior, possibly male, appeared within a characteristic swirl of smoke that could only be Puff.

A rune-etched curved sword was drawn and swung in a single motion. The warrior’s face remained veiled until the replay’s end, the dog’s head rolling down the path. The replay ended with a black fuzz. Spanish words faded in.

Would you like to watch again?

Ivan politely declined the offer. He was sure he hadn’t missed details: mithril studded chaps, silver-trimmed cloak, steel-tipped boots… and a broken arrow on the ground. Exactly seventeen loose threads tailed from that silky hood, and some form of shrouding magic that blackened the warrior’s face. Why hide? What a shit-eating coward. His mother probably hadn’t loved him enough. Him or her. Girls were not limited by their smaller, weaker bodies in this world.

Girls were not to be underestimated here, especially a certain petite blonde. The mystery warrior, also thin and short enough to be called petite, might just be Gabby LeMort in disguise, because Puff was one of her favorite skills. She was a sneaky little albino fox who often set her status to offline, and she did fancy backup weapons in her expensive dragonscale pouch.

However, Puff, Ivan reminded himself again, was a common movement-type skill. Any dark class character could consume a scroll or learn from a fat-bellied tutor. Gabby was also from North America. She was never on this early. No, it was not her.

And Ivan had not gotten off an Examine—like a total mush-brained numb-skull. His chipped canine tooth bit down on his tongue hard enough that he tasted blood. He was starting to like the taste.

You should become a vampire, a voice said in heavily accented English.

They don’t exist, dumbass.

Are you sure about that?

Have you ever seen one?

Look in the mirror. You’re hideous.

Fucking show yourself, Ivan growled through his nose, his knuckles cracking in the dark.

Smart as ever, the owner of the voice did not rise to the challenge or utter another word. Judging from its nasal gurgle, this was a fat old man speaking. Maybe Ivan’s father, who did know English. The dirtbag liked to play these tricks even from afar, all the way from his padded cell.

Bones in Ivan’s jaw and neck clicked as he chafed at the mention of that medium-security prison. He had visited once, and only once, and he had not enjoyed the two-hour lunch in the visitation ward. The food there was crud cooked in oil scooped from the world’s nastiest sewers, the decor as bad.

The only thing worse was living in communal housing on UBI.

Ivan repeated to himself: I’m here to beat the real-money market, nothing else.

A different voice said in Russian, Stupid prick. What else would you be here for?

Piss off.

You promised me a new mount.

And that was Ivan’s limit. Henceforth, he was not going to acknowledge these fiends. He was above them; they were not worth his time or money, and time was money. Anyone could make one or two credits an hour farming cows. Actual farming: beef, leather, milk, and manure. The manure market was booming.

Ivan swallowed bile. Disgusting shit. And as he was a moment from restarting the death replay a seven hundredth and thirty-first time, a new sentence appeared in the darkness.

Katarina Cinderbreeze (Witch Doctor) has offered you a Resurrection Draught. Do you accept?

“Yes!” Ivan shouted, projecting an affirmative intent. “About time!”

Gravestones popped up through an invisible plane three by three, followed by the surrounding forests and a cloudy mauve sky. Mountains faded in behind a curtain of must, hiding the dawn sun, and the moon was still out, faded, but definitely there. Its craters were on the verge of transforming in Old Man Rowan’s face again.

Finally, solid ground pushed up against Ivan’s feet, and the mist thickened. His body, which smelled of smoky chocolate, took form under the same leather gear from before—a bonus of Resurrection Draughts, he remembered. He whistled a high note, impressed.

“Katarina Cinderbreeze,” he said with an exaggerated Russian accent.

“That’s me,” a girl’s monotone voice said. She stepped through the mist with a meek step, straightened her frilly grayish-blue robes that showed ample skin (magic quality at best). She didn’t smile or glare or show anything that resembled emotion. Her stony pale skin had a look of sickness in the light, her crimson eyes and dirty-blonde hair taking on a muddy hue.

Katarina Cinderbreeze: Level 181

Class: Witch Doctor

Health: 1250

Stamina: 985

Mana: 9850

Though she had curves, a perky chest, and the smooth skin of a young woman, something about her was reminiscent of old age with lines around her sunken yellow-red eyes. Yet the way she stood, how she presented herself, was childlike and playful; her frame was gently swaying like a giant flower. The overall effect was unsightly, a hundred times worse than Derek.

Fighting off a shiver, Ivan extended a hand. He knew well to not piss off a support; they were uncommon folk. “You have my thanks. We can turn this into a most profitable partnership, you and I.”

“I’d…” She looked at his fingers, then into the mist, then back to him. She took a small step back. “I’d rather not.”

Muscles in his forehead twitched. “Suit yourself, but you’re missing out.”

“Hmm… I know. I know all about you, Not Insane.” Her voice remained monotone without accompanying body language. Was her AI broken?

“I am famous.”

“You are. You’re a thief, a murderer—”

“Say something I don’t know.” He waved her off dismissively. “Where’s Derek Goodwill? I need to have a little chat with him.”

Derek’s face had appeared through the mist at the mention of his name. In a more animated Human-like way, he said, “I must apologize, Not. I did not know of any wandering assailants lurking near the mine.”

“Sure you didn’t.” Ivan stepped into his breathing room. “You’ve been here for how long? Days? Half a week? Yet you haven’t encountered anything up in the mountains? Bull. Shit!”

“Please. Calm. We’ve been here thirty-two hours. We haven’t—”

“Are you the warrior?”

His head flinched backward. “No. Why would you assume such a thing?”

“It could be any one of you… Dark Humans.” He looked deliberately at Katarina, whose face was still blank even in weight of his glare. He walked to her, noticing a few others were standing among the tombstones. “You’re very calm, Katarina. What’s on your mind?”

“Breakfast. Just breakfast.”

“What are you having for breakfast? Not my corpse, I hope.”

“Is there something special about the meat of your corpse?” Her head tilted ever so slightly as though she were curious about the taste of his flesh.

“Shit, no.” He ripped his eyes off her, spitting the grass. Back at Derek: “See what I mean? There’s something not right about you Dark Humans. Like the gods made an error while creating you lot.”

Someone in the mist, a male, asked, “Do you know that for a fact? Or are you merely taunting?” His voice was also monotone, almost robotic. Every syllable had been carefully pronounced.

Another male said, “Is he one who dueled our Lord?” Monotone.

A female said, “I believe so.” Also monotone.

“We should keep a close watch on him,” the first male said.

“I agree.”

Monotone. Monotone. Monotone! They all had the same strange AI. Ivan snarled, “I don’t have to know for a fact. You’re not dark. You’re all just very… strange.”

Katarina said, “I’m starving. May we leave?”

“Yes, yes,” Derek exhaled. He dabbed his forehead with his sleeve. “We’re good here. Thank you for helping.”

“You’re welcome.” Katarina’s face turned to smoke. Puff.

Three indigo winks in the mist indicated Mages of sorts. There were also scratchy buzzes—Static Steps. And more smoke. A small raid party had come. Was it distrust? Or curiosity? It didn’t matter. At least they weren’t talking shit and arresting him for his reputation alone. Here, in a way, he was a new man.

Derek gestured into the mist. “Would you like some apple porridge?”

“No. I don’t need food. I’m going back to the mine.” He stepped past between two oblong tombstones.

Derek followed. “I must insist for you to wait until we gather a party. I’ve already sent word to Ayla Frost.”

“You’ve talked to her?”

“She hasn’t responded.”

Ivan felt his nose scrunch. “What is she doing?”

“I do not know.”

“Fine. You dicks can play this game. Where’s Zaine? He could take care of this in ten minutes flat.”

Derek stumbled in his waddling gait. “You know about Zaine Everlight?”

“Don’t give me that. Every adventurer does. We have other means of communication.”

After a few steps through the arched gate, Derek mumbled, “I wasn’t aware you know. You must understand the divine realm is a mystery to most.”

A smirk pulled Ivan’s lips leftward. “What do you want to know? It’s not interesting shit.”

“Is it true that magic doesn’t exist there?”

Ivan ducked a long-hanging branch as it was about to smack his head. His reflexes were on point even without a set of one-eighty gear. “You heard right.”

“Then how did your kind create this realm?”

“Technology. Knowledge you can’t fathom.”

“What kind—”

“Just tell me where Zaine is.”

Derek was silent for seven steps. He sighed. “He appears to have abandoned us. We haven’t seen him since the Humans were defeated.”

Convenient. Simply convenient.

Ivan massaged a sore spot on his neck, ten minutes remaining on the resurrection weakness debuff that he had missed. Katarina’s Draught wasn’t nearly the same quality as Gabby’s. He mumbled, “Are the Humans all gone?”

“There are many holdouts south of Terrensade River. Two strongholds and dozens of small towns and villages.”

“Is that what Ayla’s doing? Raiding? I could help.” Though it was unlikely he’d loot anything valuable.

“They are too entrenched in the canyons. We are maintaining a stalemate for now.”

Ivan frowned. “Yet this is the only stone mine you can find?”

“That is correct. Enchanted quarries are uncommon among these plains.” He sighed, then muttered in a hushed voice, “Read the game guides, idiot.”

Ivan’s knuckles cracked. He yanked Derek to a halt. “What did you just say?!”

“Excuse me?” His eyes were wide, a touch frightened.

“What did you just say?”

“I said enchanted quarries are uncommon among these plains.”

Ivan’s grip tightened around his elbow. “Call me an idiot again and I’ll slash your throat.”

“I— Um—” Confusion twisted his face. “I… apologize. You will not hear such comments again. I did not mean to disrespect you.”

“That’s more like it.” Ivan released him continued downhill, beckoning. “Don’t leave. I have more questions.”

“What do you wish to know?”

“What were their levels and classes? The fighters and Mages back there.”

“See for yourself. We are dining in the hall.”

“I told you I don’t have time to waste. Just answer: how many level one-eighties and above? How many are here? Any other adventurers?”

“Eleven above one-eighty out of a hundred and seven. You are the only adventurer to spawn so far.”

“Shit. You’re just like regular Humans in that regard.”

“We are not so different,” Derek said weakly.

“You can believe that.”

They came to a three-way intersection in the path, the dining hall to the left, the quarry to the right. Ivan didn’t say another word and walked right, ignoring Derek’s urge to wait for a scouting party. This time, he activated Stealth. Mana surged from his chest. His body shimmered out of sight.

He broke out into a sprint with his daggers drawn, cackling along with his father and shadowy fiends at his sides. They were welcome to tag along for the fun.