Connor ran as fast as his severely injured body would allow, and he was sure that the only thing that was keeping his body alive was sheer panic. Pain burned through him, his breathing was ragged, and his vision was dotted with stars as waves of dizziness threatened to drop him to the ground.

Behind him, he could hear the snarl of Mae-tsu as she cried out for his blood—and yet there was no one left to listen to her. All of the Yakuza who had entered Legends with her had died in the fight, either with the Ranger Marshal or against the Union City guards.

You’re going to make it, Connor demanded of himself. You have to . . .

There was no turning back now, either, he knew. The only way through was to finish, as Finbar had said. Now, that was a lot more than just the mystical ramblings of some strange creature—there was literally no way for Connor and the others to return to Union City now. A city that was tearing itself apart with race wars and who now wanted them all as murderers.

The tunnel at his feet was still dwarfish carved with its naturally flowing and smoothed rock. As Connor ran, he started to see etchings on its surface, strange glyphs and runes scratched into the stone in long, curving script like the enchantments that Connor spoke from the Grimoire.

At the same time, Connor’s forearm was now a blazing light as he stumbled and ran, gasping for air. He swore that he could taste the magic in the back of his throat, a metallic flavor that was thick in the air. He imagined that he could almost see the waves of magic flowing through the air, heavy against his skin.

“Connor! You’ll die for this!” The shouts of Mae-tsu were following behind him as tiredness finally started to take a toll on his steps, slowing him down, causing him to stumble into the walls.

Health: 7 / 80

My health is still going down! He gasped as he leaned against the wall of the tunnel, seeing a light ahead of him. It must be the effort of fleeing—or maybe he losing too much blood?

The health potions! Connor remembered—and then remembered that he had lost his backpack in the fight against the Yakuza, back there. He had lost his hand ax too. In fact, he had lost everything. If he wanted to survive, he had to hope that Dargan and Olanna were still ahead of him, still alive, and still had their own health potions.

“You cannot escape me! It’s a dead end!” Mae-tsu was shrieking behind him, her voice panting and desperate, and somehow, because it was so feral, so savage, Connor was even more afraid of her now, not less.

What’s worse than picking a fight with a tiger? he remembered an old Tokyo proverb:

Picking a fight with an injured tiger.

Connor hissed in pain, sucking in the thick taste of magic through his teeth with each haggard breath.

Pushing through the pain and exhaustion, the half-elf pushed himself forward into the light of a cavern ahead.

“Ah. And here he is at last,” said a cultured voice greeted Connor, and he nearly stumbled to the ground. large cavern before him.

Connor blinked, looking around the large cavern.

He saw the First Gate. And Olanna and Dargan. And a cohort of Fey Warriors with their swords drawn.

***

The First Gate looked like of the Ring of Tantor, just much larger, Connor saw. The enormous, shining, golden half-ring was fatter at the top and thinner at its points, where its glowing stone barely touched the floor. Even through its glow, the half-elf could see that its surface appeared to be moving, and he realized it wasn’t bronze or gold or any other metal. It was a constant flow of squiggling lines, runes, and designs that shone with a purplish light and couldn’t appear to keep still.

The air in the cavern felt thick and heavy like before a thunderstorm, and Connor could feel waves of the magic emanating from the large ring, flowing over all of them. When he squinted, he could see the hair on Olanna and Dargan’s head fluttering in the invisible winds.

He only spared a glance at his friends as his attention was drawn to the Fey Warriors. There were five of them, that he could see. Two, a man and woman, were standing before the kneeling Olanna and Dargan, and Connor remembered from the Aviatrix’s Tower.

All of the Fey had the same moon-white hair, some long and free, others tied back or cropped short. Their skin had a waxy, almost shining appearance.

They DID look a lot like elves and like Olanna. Connor observed. It was easy to see why the mortals of the First Realm had believed them to be elves at first glance.

But there was something different about them as well, Connor realized. Something in their bone structure that was different from that of any elf, and also in the way that they turned, moved their heads. Something was at the same time more graceful and more angular, as if their bodies were mere expressions of poetry, whereas for everyone else in Legends, they were heavy vehicles.

“There he is, the one who stole the key,” the Fey man said, lifting his sword from where it had been held against Olanna’s neck and pointing it at Connor.

“You mean this?” There was no point in denying it, Connor thought. His forearm was shining bright, almost as bright as the First Gate was itself, and he could feel, the sympathetic throb of the magic inside his arm synchronizing with the waves that flooded out from the Gate.

“You’ve proven quite the problem for us, boy!” the Fey Warrior, dressed in black leathers and silks, started to laugh. “That ring imprinted on you is the last key, and with it, we will open the door to Annwn!”

“What?” Connor gasped, his chest burning from his run and from his injuries as he wobbled where he stood. He could hear stumbling footsteps echoing down the passageway behind him. It was Mae-tsu, coming closer.

“No,” Connor said disbelievingly. “This ring opens the Gate to the UnderWorld, the Second Realm.”

“Pff!” the Fey Warrior scoffed then signaled to two of his brethren with his sword, who hurriedly sheathed their weapons. The two Fey started to remove strange implements from their belt purses. Once again, Connor felt the wave of turgid magic seeping from them. He saw they were holding what appeared to be bits of bone, crystals, complicated arrangements of bronze and metal, and they started approaching the First Gate.

“Perhaps your Ring of Tantor,” the Fey Warrior was casually walking toward Connor, “is designed to open the way to the Second Realm of this . . .” Connor saw him gesture with his sword at the walls, the ceiling, “this ‘game’ as you call it. But with our magic used as well, we can force it to open not just this Gate, as it was meant to do—but a direct Gate to the Realm of Annwn itself! Which, let me tell you . . .”

The Fey Warrior made a face of disdain as he looked at their surrounds, at the cavern, and the entire construct of the Six Realms itself.

“. . . is much preferable to this little distraction you have built for yourselves. Now hand it over so the portal to Annwn will be complete.”

Connor started to stumble to one side, wary of what was in front of him as well as who was coming behind.

“Portal to Annwn . . . ?” Connor whispered, trying to buy some time, to find something, anything that would help him and his friends.

But the cavern of the First Gate seemed bare. There was only one way in or out, it appeared—two if you counted through the First Gate itself. Already, the two Fey had settled to either side of the First Gate and had started to make gestures in the air, sweeping and—he hated to say it—graceful movements that somehow added to that heavy sense of magic in the room.

They want to open a portal to Annwn itself using the Ring of Tantor and their own magic. Connor’s mind was racing. Could that mean . . . ?

Could that mean that it was difficult for the Fey Warriors—and for this Lord Pwyll—to get in and out of this realm?

Connor’s mind raced. What if the situation here was exactly like it was for the Six Realms game itself? That it was hard to break from world to world unless you had experience or magical items?

Were the Fey trapped here too? Connor trembled and staggered against the side of the cavern wall as the Fey Warrior before him casually walked closer at a leisurely pace. The half-elf’s body was aching and in pain. He knew he didn’t have much life left in him after the fight with Mae-tsu.

“Oh, come now, do you still think you can escape? Really?” The Fey Warrior made no move to stop Connor’s stumbling walk. Instead, he turned to laugh with his fellow Fey Warriors. “It really is quite charming, in a rather pathetic sort of way, isn’t it? I can see why Lord Pwyll wants these souls—even at the end, they still believe that they have a chance to prevail! What utter arrogance!”

“It’s not arrogance, it’s courage!” Olanna suddenly shouted, even while she was under the point of a sword of one of the guards. “Something which I am sure you know nothing about!”

“Tsk!” The Fey Captain shot her a dark look, and in response to some invisible command, the guard standing behind her savagely kicked her in the back. Olanna—Arianna, Connor’s heart leaped—let out a little cry and sprawled forwards.

“Leave her alone!” Dargan managed to roar before the sword resting at his shoulder flicked closer, pressing against his neck.

“Olanna!?” Connor called out, and got an answering cough of pain in reply as the elf struggled back to a seated position.

“Leave my friends alone,” Connor growled at the Fey Captain, who had turned back to regard the half-elf with bright, catlike intent. Connor saw a half smile play across his features.

“Yes, I do see now the attraction of your kind,” the Fey Captain said in a tone that made Connor’s skin crawl.

“You have such faith in your own ability to choose, don’t you? Such staunch freewill.”

“Go to hell,” Connor snarled back, staggering from one side of the cavern to another. He wasn’t even sure where he was going any more. All he knew was that he had to buy time somehow.

“Perhaps that is what makes your souls so sweet to the Lord Pwyll. To take something that believes so deeply in its own freedom and to break it, to put it into service. I wonder how long your soul will take to break? Until you become just another slave to Annwn?”

“Does—does that way lead out?” Connor gasped, saying the first thing that sprang into his head as he pointed his arm at the First Gate. When he did so, he swore that he felt a tug of power between his arm and the Gate itself. He could also see that the two Fey witches or magicians or sorcerers, were now making more sweeping movements with their arms, holding aloft their strange artifacts. Their arms were leaving brilliant blue trails in their wake, forming ghostly designs in the air.

“Out of the game?” the half-elf asked. I have to stop them, somehow.

“Oh, my dear mortal,” the Fey Captain appraised him, his humorous smile evaporating into a flat, serious line.

“Perhaps it is not stubbornness and freedom that infects you so but sheer stupidity. Did you not pay attention to what I just told you?”

I did, I did, Connor nodded. His eyes flickered to the movements of the Fey Sorcerers. The glittering designs they were making in the air appeared to be staying for longer, nearly meeting together in the middle, now. I don’t have long, he thought.

“Soon, there will be no other worlds of your game,” the Fey Captain said. “As soon as you give us the ring and we open the Gate, this all ends.”

“Then why should I open the Gate for you!?” Connor gasped.

The Fey Warrior considered this question for a moment before bursting out laughing. “Well, you can either die in here as we take over this game of yours . . . Or you can open the First Gate and start your service in our world.”

“Your service . . .” Connor muttered. That didn’t sound like something he wanted to do.

“Connor! Don’t give it to them!” Olanna pleaded, her voice bursting out.

“Well, if it’s either that or die . . .” Connor pointed out.

The half-elf looked the Fey Captain in the eyes. “I’ll offer you a trade instead.”

Connor continued edging his way closer to the First Gate and the Fey Sorcerers.

“A trade?” The Fey Captain merely smirked. “And just what do you think you have that I cannot take?”

“Call it a challenge, then,” Connor smirked. He wondered how many steps it was from where he stood to the first sorcerer and if he could kill them with just the belt knife at his side.

Will it even do anything to stop the portal to Annwn? The half-elf had to consider, knowing that it wasn’t particularly a great plan. But it was a plan . . .

“Continue,” the Fey Captain said.

Connor breathed. “Back in my world, I was considered one of the best of our heroes—”

“What?” Olanna whispered.

“I was someone who could go into any realm, or game, and I could win. I know how to win. Rich and powerful people would seek my services from near and afar,” Connor said, trying to mimic the style of the Fey. Use language that they would understand.

“You were a sort of champion, then?” the Fey Captain said appraisingly. “That would explain how you were able to obtain the ring, then.”

“I was a champion,” Connor agreed. “I was GhostEffect!”

The Fey Captain shrugged, but Connor could tell that his words held the being’s interest. “And your challenge?”

“I challenge you to a duel!” Connor said before he had even really had a chance to think about it.

“Connor—no!” Olanna gasped.

“A duel. A champion of my realm versus one from yours,” Connor said, drawing himself up as his hand moved to his belt knife and slowly slid it from its sheath. He did this obviously and slowly so that the Fey Captain wouldn’t instantly order Olanna and Dargan to be killed.

“A duel. With that?” the Fey Captain said, looking from his considerably longer longsword and the barely four-inch belt knife in Connor’s hand.

“A little presumptuous, don’t you think?” The Fey Captain scoffed. “And just what under the stars could be the terms for this little challenge of yours?”

“You free my friends,” Connor said without a second of hesitation. “If I score first blood, then you free my friends.”

“If you score first blood,” Connor continued, then shrugged. “Then I will open this Gate for you, and we all become slaves to your uppity Lord Who-Now or whatever his name is.”

A frown flickered over the long face of the Fey Captain at Connor’s insult, but it was replaced by a thin, flat line.

“Enough of these antics,” the Fey Captain said, taking a stride forward and raising his sword as he did so.

“Give me the ring or I will hack it from your dead body!”

Before the Fey Captain could make good on his promise, there was a gasp from the tunnel and an angered shriek.

“What is going on here?!” It was Mae-tsu, clearly driven half mad by pain as she stumbled forward, her longsword dropping to the floor. She snarled at the Fey Warriors turned startled glances toward the new person in their midst.

“Now, Olanna, Dargan!” Connor shouted, turning on his heel and throwing the knife he held at the nearest of the Fey Sorcerers.

Through luck or skill—most likely luck—the blade flew true.

Connor attacks Fey Sorcerer with Knife for 6 Health points damage. Surprise attack increases damage by 100%. Total damage: 12 Health points.

The Fey Sorcerer staggered, his hands flying to his side where Connor’s knife had imbedded itself. The attack was far from fatal, but the glittering, blue arcs and twists of light between the Sorcerers winked out in a silent explosion of light, throwing both of them backward, away from the gate. The feeling of heavy, muggy magic in the room seemed to lighten a little.

“Grrr!” The Fey Captain was snarling now, and Connor just barely managed to turn and dive out of the way as the captain’s longsword sliced through the space where he had been standing.

“Connor!” There was a shout, but Connor had no time to see who it was or what was going on. He was too busy diving out of the way of the next sweep of the Fey Captain’s long blade. The sounds of snarls and shouts filled the room as Mae-tsu, Dargan, Olanna, and the remaining Fey Warriors did battle.

“Little rat!” the Fey Captain hissed as he drew back the sword once again.

Connor’s hand lashed out, striking the Fey Captain in the face before his opponent got the chance to strike.

Connor attacks Fey Captain with Hand for 5 Health points damage.

“Hnngh!” The Fey snorted in surprise and stumbled backward.

Hey, maybe I can win this . . . The (very) hopeful thought flashed through the half-elf’s mind as he pressed forward, closing the gap between them.

“Hsss!” The Fey Captain hissed like a cat, flinging his sword forward in a wild sweep.

Fey Captain attacks Connor with Longsword. Attack dodged; no damage done.

Connor managed to duck, his legs sliding before him as he threw himself into an uncontrolled roll across the floor. There was a snarl and a clang behind him as the Fey Captain leaped forward and struck the floor.

Pain speared down Connor’s side and back from his earlier injuries, but he threw himself forward into a scrabbling roll, out of the way. The waves of magic from the First Gate buffeted him, pulling at his mind. The glittering blue arcs and circles were gone now, and the half-elf was sure that meant the gate would not open to Realm of Annwn now.

“Connor!” There was a gasp, and he looked up as Olanna rolled clear of the fight she and Dargan were waging against the Fey Warriors and Mae-tsu. He saw that one of the Fey Warriors was already down, after succumbing to Dargan’s blows, but more importantly a longsword was sliding across the floor to him, having been kicked his way by Olanna.

It’s not my ax, but it will have to do. Connor thought as he snatched the blade and turned, rolling on his side and bringing his blade up just in time.

Thwack!

Fey Captain attacks Connor with Longsword. Attack blocked; no damage done.

His arm shook, making it scream in protest as sparks flew. Above him, the Fey Captain snarled and raised his sword for another strike.

Connor kicked out with his feet desperately, striking the Fey Captain by the side of the knee.

Connor attacks Fey Captain with Boot for 7 Health points damage.

The captain staggered to one side, hopping out of the way as Connor struggled to get up, gasping for air. Behind him, the half-elf could hear the grunts and snarls of yet more fighting as his friends battled for their lives.

“What have you done! You little worm!” the Fey Captain snarled at him, flicking his longsword forward toward Connor, who hastily brought up his own in the desperate clang of a parry.

“You have no idea how bad it is going to be for you, your friends, your family . . . for everyone whom you have ever known!” the Fey Captain hissed, once again flicking his longsword forward in a swipe that would have taken off Connor’s head if he hadn’t dodged out of the way at the last moment.

Connor stumbled backward, not daring to take his eyes from the angry Fey before him, hoping that he didn’t trip or fall over.

“You’re going to lose!” Connor returned, making a small swipe of his own that was easily brushed aside by the Fey Warrior.

“And just how can you say that?” the captain snarled. “You can barely hold your own sword. Do you really believe that you can defeat me!?” The Fey Warrior darted forward, and Connor jumped backward—but it was just a feint. The Fey Warrior didn’t even attack with this time, and Connor realized that it was only an excuse to prove how inexperienced Connor was.

“You see? You called yourself a great champion! All I see before me is a child in an imaginary body!” The Fey Captain laughed.

Well, that’s not very nice, Connor thought to himself before the Fey Captain suddenly lunged forwards once again, lightning-fast.

Fey Captain attacks Connor with Longsword. Attack blocked; no damage done.

Connor had no idea how he blocked the attack, and pain shot down down Connor’s arm from the effort. The Fey Captain didn’t give him any time to pause or breathe as he struck again.

Thwack!

Connor parried this one, too, although his arm was quickly starting to tire. He abruptly realized that he was no duelist. He wasn’t even a Warrior or a Knight, but had focused on developing the skills of a Rogue instead. How long could a glorified Thief like him, only Level 4, holdout against a Fey noble?

Thwack!

“We will take over this world and all of the others of your little . . . game!” the Fey Captain shouted all of his ethereal grace and composure ruined by hate and rage.

“And then—”

Thwack!

“—when we have enough of your souls enslaved . . .”

Thwack!

“We will once again march out of this realm to your own. Your entire, puny—”

Thwack!

“—miserable . . .”

Thwack!

“MORTAL realm will feel the full force of what we can do! We will rule over your bodies and we will rule over your minds! No mortal will be left this time! None of you will ever doubt us again! You will all quiver before the might of ANNWN—”

Thwack!

The Fey Captain’s last blow was a mighty, overhand blow, and this time was too much for Connor to withstand. His wrist twisted, and the stolen Fey blade was flung from his grasp and clattered against the cavern floor with a brilliant, sharp note and skitter away. Too far for Connor to reach before the captain would skewer him.

“Con—?” There was a startled call from the others as Connor jumped backward from the murderous Fey before him. A quick glance to his side confirmed his worst fears.

The others were almost broken too. Dargan was down on one knee, still holding his war hammer in one hand as he snarled up at the advancing Fey. Olanna was beside him, her long knives in both hands, but there was a bloody gash across the top of her temple. At their feet, one more of the Fey Warriors had fallen, but they were still being menaced by two more. The only positive was that Mae-tsu had her back up against a wall with one of the Fey Warriors looking set to finish her off too.

Connor didn’t care for Mae-tsu, one way or the other, but she had served as a useful distraction. It hadn’t been enough, though, clearly.

“And now, it is time for you to die, little mortal,” the Fey Captain said, stepping forward, keeping his blade low, ready to run Connor through.

The half-elf, wannabe Rogue, was out of tricks. He was out of cunning words, and he was only a lowly Level 4. He was tired, and his health was dangerously low.

This is it, he thought. I’m going to die in a game.

With a feral snarl, the Fey Captain leaped forward suddenly, and instinctively, Connor stepped back.

“Ahh!” The half-elf stumbled over the body of a fallen Fey Warrior behind him, falling backward. He hit the ground with a thump and was momentarily stunned—but saw the bright glitter of the Fey Captain’s sword stab the air above, where his heart had been.

In that moment, the world slowed, and Connor took in everything in an instant. He knew he was going to die there. His friends were going to die. He almost longed for his life to flash in front of his eyes, as they say happens in the moment before your death, but instead, all he saw was the Witch Hebspeth handing him a small, leatherbound book.

“Die!” the Fey Captain roared, as the world came back to full speed, continuing his attack with a downward swing.

Connor scrambled away, trying to make sense of the message, his mind taking its sweet time deciphering what still might be his final vision. Suddenly, his mind grasped the meaning, and he quickly began chanting, somehow remembering with exact clarity the words of the spell in the Grimoire of Hebspeth.

The half-elf had no idea whether it would do anything against the Fey Warriors as they weren’t creatures of the UnderWorld, but he had to give it a try, and it was his only weapon left.

Spell: Lesser Radiance

Effect:

Creates a zone of protection. Damages any creatures or servants of the UnderWorld.

Cost: 10 Vitality points

He finished the incantation just before the Fey Captain’s blade fell and felt the kick to his Vitality as a wave of exhaustion flowed over him—and the air exploded around him.

A bubble of brilliant blue-white light shout out from the half-elf, striking upward to hit the Fey Captain in the chest and completely engulf him in the white fire.

“Aii!” There was a high-pitched scream as the Fey Captain was thrown backward, and the bubble of Radiance kept growing, flowing over the forms of Dargan and Olanna without so much as rustling their hair, at the same time striking the Fey Warriors as if they were in a blizzard.

Fey Captain struck for 22 points of damage . . . Fey Sorcerer struck for 15 points of damage . . . Fey Warrior struck for 11 points of damage . . . Fey Warrior struck for 11 points of damage . . . Fey Warrior struck for 8 points of damage . . . Mae-tsu struck for . . .

The Fey of Annwn were pushed back off their feet, thrown to one side like bowling pins as the invisible barrier slammed into the walls of the cavern and burst like a wave. For a second, Connor couldn’t see anything as the afterimages of the Lesser Radiance spell still burned in his eyes.

But then he heard coughing and groaning.

“Olanna? Dargan?” he gasped, rolling off the body of the dead Fey underneath him and looking across the room.

He saw his friends, already shaking the gleam from their eyes and struggling to their feet as the Fey Warriors all around them started to move as well. The Lesser Radiance spell was powerful in close proximity, but it wasn’t enough to kill an enemy, Connor knew. They had only seconds before the Fey were back on their feet . . .

Connor snatched up the longsword dropped by the captain and rushed forward.

“Up! Up!” he called out, rushing toward his friends and throwing out his arms to catch Olanna and Dargan as they got to their feet. And he kept running, pulling his friends along—

Straight for the First Gate.

It doesn’t lead to Annwn. It doesn’t lead to Annwn, Connor’s mind repeated desperately.

“Get them!” He heard the Fey Captain shout as the Fey struggled to their feet, but Connor’s desperate steps were powered by his fear and wild hope. He couldn’t just give up. He couldn’t abandon his friends. He would not lie down and die.

He flung out his forearm toward the First Gate, which began to glow in response to the shining golden light coming from the Ring of Tantor.

Connor had no idea if it was going to work. If anything was going to work, or where, even, the Gate was going to go, but there were no other options.

There was a flash of light, brighter than anything he had ever experienced in the game or outside of it, and immediately, Connor, holding the hand of Olanna who was holding the hand of the dwarf Dargan—were falling through time and space. They saw magic. They felt the enormity of galaxies and the impossibility of subatomic particles coming together to form . . . everything.

And they fell into endless blackness.