Without a moment’s pause, the barbarian charged me. I tried to dodge his impending mass, but only received yet another stern reminder that a player’s physical appearance meant very little when it came to deciphering the stats hiding behind the avatar. The hulking warrior moved with a speed that I would never have imagined a man of his bulk possessing. In a flurry of movement, his club-like arm smashed against my windpipe, close-lining me clean off my feet as he barreled past me to engage my inhuman class ally.

-[ You have been stunned by a crushing blow. Length of effect: 5 seconds. ]-

-[ Barbarian struck you for -15HP. ]-

Not for the first time today, I was staring at the ceiling. Worse, my arms and legs weren’t responding, my connection to my avatar severed by the ‘stunned’ debuff. Now I knew how that raid party had felt. It was only a five-second penalty, but as the sounds of S’haruk engaging the behemoth rang out behind me it felt like an eternity.

The bastard was just softening me up for his mate, I quickly realized. Maybe he’s smarter than he looks. Granted, the table I was sitting at earlier is probably smarter than he looks too, so that isn’t saying much…

To my relief, the rogue was just as inexperienced as I was (perhaps even more-so). He casually strode toward me as if he hadn’t a care in the world, wasting the opportunity the more experienced warrior had handed him on a platter. It dawned on me that just seeing my stats wasn’t enough. He was a noob too, and had yet to learn just how robust 4 points of resilience made a guy. I was more than happy to show him, and the look on his face when I returned to my feet was priceless.

I raised my guard, then quickly turned to see how my ally was faring one-on-one against the ridiculously-named ‘Tiny.’ The pair was trading punches like seasoned pit fighters, and the baying mob were cheering them on with every blow. I turned back to discover that the rogue was now dangerously close, his footsteps muffled by his avatar’s natural stealth. His unexpected proximity demanded my attention. I decided to give it to him as violently as possible.

First blood was quickly claimed as his boney knuckles streaked past my guard, glancing me on the chin. The damage dealt was low, but it was more than I’d accomplished, so far, and the blow stung all the more for it. We circled each other, each studying their opponent for an opening. Finding one I made my move, but it was a swing and a miss, the rogue easily dodging the blow. My defense left wide open, another jab found its way to my avatar, this time shaving a few HP from my unprotected back. As the rogue picked away at me, I realized that the status updates were a distraction I could really do without, and that by simply willing it, I could switch the voice in my head to ‘essential updates only.’ That would do me just fine, I decided. I could feel every blow, so I didn’t need a damn play-by-play. Not unless things got really bad.

Paired against the rogue, I‘d assumed an easy win, chiefly because of my strength advantage. But what the scrawny fighter lacked in power, he more than made up for in both speed and unarmed combat technique. He was good. Too good. Just as my swordsman skill programmed me to fight with a blade, I reasoned that he must have an unarmed combat skill that supplemented his own experience. Speed and agility only served to make him harder to hit, and my inability to land a punch began to draw heckles from the crowd.

Frustrated, I lashed out, throwing the entirety of my strength behind a punch intended to take the cocky bastards head clean off his shoulders. But as I lashed out, he dodged yet again, grabbing my arm. From there he swung behind me and hoisted both my arms into a full nelson, yanking them up to my head where they could do even less damage. Struggling (but ultimately powerless) I watched as yards away, the shit-brick-house of a barbarian delivered a brutal headbutt to my half-orc ally, dropping her to one knee. How I wished I could read their HP, to tell at a glance if we were making an impact on the opposing team at all. I couldn’t even see how S’haruk was holding up: my newfound access to the half-orc’s stats didn’t mean shit if I couldn’t reach my status panel to view them, so my only indicator of her health was the thick black blood that was now pouring from her (possibly broken) nose. That, and the alarming lack of crimson that adorned her opponent’s avatar, by comparison.

Not to be outdone, one of the rogue’s legs suddenly hooked my own, pulling them out from under me as he simultaneously drove my unprotected head forward, slamming it into the granite floor. With a roll and a spread of his arms to welcome the crowd’s appreciation, my aggressor leapt to his feet, drinking in the cheers of the bloodthirsty crowd. Bloodied and dazed, I slowly struggled to raise my face from the crimson imprint, just in time to see his scrawny avatar loom over me.

“You know what really pisses me off about this place?” he began in an oddly conversational tone, whilst his boot found its way into my unguarded ribs. “It’s next to impossible to leave a scar on someone. They just respawn, all shiny and new...”

I’d only just registered the strike when his boot came down on me again, this time to the back of my head. Face and granite were reacquainted in a violent burst of crimson, leaving me dazed and bloodied. I instinctively rolled onto my back, swearing not to offer the assassin such a vulnerable target again. Staring up at him through the crimson mask that now poured from my brow and onto my chest, I realized that he was pointing to his own forehead.

“…that’s why you’ve got to savor these moments,” he continued, his grin almost maniacal. “Create precious memories for your fellow prisoners, so they understand the dangers of crossing you. I’m going to build my reputation on your corpse, swords-noob. Oh, and when you respawn back in your cell, don’t forget to say hello to my hairy frie-”

His cocky monologue was cut off mid-sentence, as the hulking mass of Tiny’s avatar came tumbling into him, back-first. Its appearance was followed by that of the half-orc, who promptly dragged me back to my feet. She looked like hell.

“Change of tactics,” she announced with a growl. “We’re switching opponents.”

“We’re what!” I gasped. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I shouldn’t need to,” she snapped, “but I was convinced that you’d have killed the fucking rogue by now.” There was an unquestionable accusation in her voice. “I’m going to take him off the board, freeing us to double-team the real threat,” she added, before charging my staggered opponent.

The rogue, who was only just returning to his feet, stared in horror as he realized what was happening. Unable to move in time, the half-orc rattled his jaw with a sickening punt kick. Then she turned her gaze back upon me, raising an arm to point at the hulking barbarian. He was already back to his feet.

“Just keep him busy for me. This won’t take long.”

Keep him busy, she says. It’s like David and Goliath. And me without my sling…

Tiny turned to re-engage his orcan opponent, so I charged him just to ensure I had his attention, throwing in an embarrassing attempt at a battle-cry for good measure. I swear I could feel the gathered masses cringing. Not that I had time to worry about that: I was charging at a bloodthirsty barbarian who easily had twice my body mass, so I had other things on my mind. Not dying, being pretty high up the list.

Spying my approach, he swung his huge arm like a lariat, hoping to knock me clean off my feet. I ducked as the powerful limb whooshed overhead, clearing the top of my head by barely an inch. I opted not to strike. I wasn’t trying to give him a stationary target. All I had to do was buy my reluctant ally time to finish the rogue so we could take the big bastard down together.

Easier said than done. My speed stat was high for my level, but as I’d learned the hard way at the beginning of the fight, he was surprisingly nimble, given his size. As he chased me around like a cartoon cat chasing a mouse, his huge fists taking the place of the mallet, I was relieved to learn that our stamina appeared to be about equal. Perhaps my uneven stat allocation wasn’t all bad: it was keeping me alive, for a start.

As I did my damndest to wear the warrior out, I heard the rogue screaming, and the grinding of something distinctly bone-like. It sounded promising, but I couldn’t afford to get distracted. Distracted was dead.

Incidentally, so was the rogue. The scream was promptly followed by another, and it was a howling like the gates of hell itself had opened. I turned just in time to see the smarmy rogue scream his last, and boy, was it ever satisfying. He was laying on his side with the half-orcs foot planted firmly on his ribs, her weight pressing down on him as she gripped his wrist and bicep, pulling his arm toward her. At first glance I thought she was wrenching the poor bastard’s arm at the wrist, but it was much, much worse. With a mighty heft, she drove his body flat to the floor and pulled, literally ripping his arm away from the socket in a bloody trail of sinew. His face a picture of sheer trauma, the rogue was bleeding like nothing I’d ever encountered. His rampant blood loss was a damage over time effect, but as the crimson flooded from his avatar, I knew that he’d be lucky to last the minute, let alone the fight. The crowd went apeshit as S’haruk roared and tossed the gruesome souvenir into the crowd, their bloodlust more than satisfied. And a fist the size of my head buried itself deep into my stomach, knocking every scrap of air from my avatar, and cracking a rib in the process.

Stupid. What was that I said about getting distracted?

I fell to the floor, willing the air back into my body and coughing it back out again at every opportunity. Bringing up my status menu as I staggered a retreat, I took small comfort in the fact that I wasn’t dead yet. 18/90HP. I’d left myself open, and I had no doubt that the pumped-up powerhouse could easily have ended me. Why I wondered, was I still breathing? Well, trying to, at any rate.

Through half-blurred vision I realized that my ally had instinctively crossed the ‘arena’ to join my side. Powerless to help her, I watched Tiny lift S’haruk like a ragdoll and choke-slam her to the ground, her vulnerable spine hitting granite with an impact that would easily have finished me, had I been in her place.

A wrestling fan. That was all I bloody needed. Of course, it probably made sense. All he was missing was the face paint to go with his Ultimate Warrior-like steroid-bod and bad 80’s hairdo.

One thing couldn’t be questioned: S’haruk had saved me, and it was time to return the favor. I unsteadily returned to my feet and clenched my fists. Like I did when facing the goblins, I prayed that my real-life experience would somehow compensate for my piss-poor unarmed combat stat. Oh, and that I would last a lot longer than my ballsed-up-in-general stat allocation gave me any actual right to. I’d faced down a shadow stallion, for fuck’s sake. And S’haruk needed me.

Try not to think of it as an opportunity to get your shit kicked in, I assured myself. Try to think of it as an opportunity to level up.

The bastard was pressing his knee into the fallen half-orc’s chest, pinning her with his considerable weight. He was offering to skin her without killing her, if she threw in the towel and conceded to his superiority. Right there and then, I knew I had to end this sick fuck. But then a status message rang out, and I realized there was something important that I that had to do first.

-[ User: Garak (level 2 rogue) has died. Congratulations, as a member of the alliance responsible, you have received a reward. XP gained: Resilience: 20. Unarmed combat: 10. XP until next unarmed combat level: 75. XP until next resilience level: 70. Max HP +10. Max MP +10. Mana gain: +10. ]-

My share of the spoils was small, and that was perfectly understandable: S’haruk had done most of the heavy lifting, after all. But I was happy to take what I could get, and even happier to think that the rogue had just been demoted back down to level 1. Better again, his lifeless corpse now presented me with an opportunity.

I staggered across the now blood-drenched arena and took a moment to apply my rolled-back, yet oddly present thievery skill to the rogue’s bloody carcass. The skill was sitting at zero (thanks to my earlier respawn) but my unusually gross look-crate was dead, and powerless to resist my efforts. If I couldn’t pick his pocket, I reasoned, then surely there was no point in having the dubious skill at all.

I observed that unlike the tank I’d robbed earlier, this player had nothing on his physical person, besides the clothing on his back. And much as I could use that (my nipples had already been on display much too long for my liking) there was something else that I was much more interested in. I placed my hand into his pocket, hoping the symbolic gesture would activate the menu I needed. And bingo, to my excitement a new status panel opened up before me. It was his inventory, and it was ripe for the plundering.

“No weapons allowed, remember,” cried the orc, in case I was getting any funny ideas. I was, but not that one.

I knew full well that pulling out a weapon to end our remaining opponent would be a forfeit, an act that would once again leave me at the mercy of the entire rabble. So, I began by opening the rogue’s ‘miscellaneous items’ tab. To my relief the item I sought was there, just as I’d hoped it would be: the bushel of healing herbs the bastard had stolen from me earlier. No doubt stunned by the trauma of having his arm forcefully removed at the shoulder, he’d been unable to use them himself. And that would be my gain.

To my satisfaction, ‘stealing’ the item was a simple matter of dragging and dropping it into my own inventory.

-[ Item acquired: Healing herbs. Replaces 60% of the player’s full health instantly. Durability: 1/1 ]-

-[ You have reacquired the thievery skill, level I. XP required to reach level II, 100. Rep penalty: Neutral. You have reacquired an item that was originally stolen from you, a perfectly acceptable act. Warning: thievery is generally an immoral act, and your reputation may drop if this skill is put to ill gain. ]-

As I chewed the herbs, a very welcome status message confirmed my return to two-thirds health.

Nice one.

Taking full advantage of my ‘ethical’ thievery skill, I moved my dagger and ankle-strap back to my inventory. I couldn’t use them for this fight, but I had a feeling I’d be needing them, soon enough. Each act bumped up my ‘thievery’ XP, but not to the extent of the initial act. Having taken everything the rogue possessed that had once belonged to me, I decided to press my luck, taking the rogue’s choke wire and his own superior dagger, reasoning that I was owed the items in exchange for my stolen sword. The lack of a rep penalty seemed to suggest the system agreed with me, so I pressed my luck further, taking his last remaining item: a battered looking ring that had no doubt been swiped from some other unfortunate victim of the sneaky player. Once it was in my inventory, I could ‘read’ its information, despite my zero perception. I immediately did so, praying that the unassuming looking item could help me in my duel.

-[ Analise: Ring of the Rising Alpha. Crafted by a warlock to afford his beastling pet a modicum of leadership ability, this item can be used to raise a beastling’s leadership stat by +5, granting them dominance over the rest of the pack. The effect on other species is limited, typically a leadership bonus of +2. Item durability 46/100. ]-

So, the rogue had an item that could seriously benefit beastling buddy, yet he still kept it for himself. The revelation hardly surprised me. To the best of my knowledge, the item wouldn’t help me much in this fight. But with a ‘zero’ hovering in my own leadership column, it made for a nice little piece of compensation, just the same. I wasn’t sure how leadership affected the other players, exactly. But if charisma was anything to go by, it definitely had the potential to prove useful, down the line.

Returning my focus to the one-sided battle, I got to my feet and charged at the behemoth with a suicidal lunge, throwing everything I had into a devastating right cross. Or I imagine it would have been devastating, if it had connected. It didn’t get close. A huge leg was raised to block me, the flat of the boot catching me square in the chest. Then with a powerful extension of his leg, the barbarian powered me backward and onto my ass.

The sequence of events at least drew him away from S’haruk, but it also drew laughter from our audience. The blow had only cost me minimal HP, but killing me hadn’t been the bastard’s intention. He wanted me humiliated. And he’d succeeded. I was on my back again, ready for him to deliver the killing blow.

Pain lanced through my systems as I felt an elbow land on my ribs, backed up by the crushing weight of the barbarian’s avatar.

Was that a fucking elbow drop? Seriously. If I look up and he’s strutting for the crowd, I’m grabbing a fucking chair to wallop him with…

He wasn’t, oddly enough, but his praise-seeking gestures to the crowd made for a similar display. As I lay there hugging my ribs, I quickly realized something about my opponent. This wasn’t a real fight for him. It was little more than an opportunity to show off. A way to increase his rep with a public display of violence, much like the half-orc had done with me, but on an infinitely larger scale. His new gang had offered me up as a sacrifice to their chosen one, even pointing out my weaknesses to help him on his way, and he was going to milk it for all it was worth, like a dirty heel wrestler who wanted the crowd to know just how dangerous he was.

That was when I had a flashback to my old life, one of the memories that hadn’t been stolen from me. I’d spent my Sunday mornings watching wrestling with my little brother. And when the bad guy started to get cocky, they always spent too much time preening to the baying audience to notice the rallying underdog as he attempted to make his comeback. I was the underdog in this battle. So why the hell was I wasting this opportunity by lying on my damn back?

I made my move to get to my feet. The naive strategy was promptly cut short by a left hook that immediately floored me. It was followed by a brutal stomp to my chest. Just like that, half the HP I’d gained from the herbs was gone.

“Hear me, fellow warriors…” bellowed my opponent, addressing the crowd with my chest as a soapbox.

What the hell? Is he stopping to cut a fucking promo?

“For too long, the Brotherhood has been overlooked,” he continued. “Hobbled by the very thing it once lauded as its strength… its lack of leadership.”

It is a fucking promo. And if his newfound eloquence is anything to go by, there’s no way in hell he wrote that himself.

“That is why I, TinyTheTankEngine, am claiming leadership of the Brotherhood.”

No, it’s more than a promo, I realized. It’s a power play. And we’re little more than an opportunity to show off his credentials.

He looked down at me, mockingly asking me why I looked so ‘pissed.’ Then, having set up his next action with a crappy pun, he slowly began to unfasten his loin-piece.

Oh, fuck no…

The tank’s boot was pinning me to the floor, so I had no way to escape the humiliation that followed. The crowd roared.

-[ You have lost reputation due to an act of public humiliation in front of your peers. Rep -1 ]-

By the time the unpleasantly warm shower ended, I wanted to kill the man responsible. The bastard had just lengthened my sentence, taking me one-point further from my goal. With that one childish act, he’d cost me my rep gain from my role in assisting the raid party. The old me would have put him in a coma for less. I swore to myself that regardless of how this fight ended, the sick fuck was going to pay, reputation be damned. But for now, as I struggled underneath his boot, I could only think of only one way to hit him where it hurt.

“At least we finally know why they call you tiny, eh,” I announced with a defiant smirk.

The audience again erupted into fits of laughter. ‘Tiny’ didn’t join them, oddly enough. In a heartbeat, his expression went from one of cocky satisfaction to the definition of absolute fury.

Oops.

Without another word he ground his heel into me, stealing a hefty chunk of my remaining HP in the process. Enduring the pain, I prayed I’d done enough to wound his rep, just as he had lowered mine.

The behemoth looked to S’haruk’s crumpled body, then returned his gaze to the crowd. His uncharacteristically statesman-like demeanor was now gone, and the next words he spoke flowed all the more naturally for it.

“These two fucks were undercard at best,” he scoffed. “But if any member of the Brotherhood wants to challenge the new boss, they’re more than welcome to step up an’ become the main event. I don’t care how many of yeh I have to kill, yer all jus’ XP to me.”

As he spoke, the pressure began to lift from my chest. But I knew that only confirmed that he was done ‘pissing’ around, and readying himself to draw his massive foot back for the killing blow. My stamina had been recovering throughout, so I blocked out the pain that was lancing through my body and put all my trust in the one thing I knew that I had in spades. My strength.

Grabbing his foot before he could withdraw it, I suddenly and violently twisted his leg, doing my best to snap the barbarian’s high-booted ankle. It didn’t break, but he howled in pain. Taking advantage of his unstable footing, I wrenched again, twisting him to the floor. His pained cries were music to my ears. Interestingly, they were the only sound that could be heard, the crowd no doubt stunned by what they were witnessing.

Shambling back to my feet while maintaining my grasp, I increased my leverage, leaning in and adding pressure. It wasn’t the critical hit I’d hoped it would be, in that his leg wasn’t damaged beyond repair. But I was dealing out damage over time… if I held him in place, kept cranking on the ankle, I could continue to shave off more and more HP. And if I could keep him down until S’haruk was back on her feet, then we could really do some damage. Of course, that was only if she got back to her feet. She hadn’t moved for quite a while, now, and I was more than a little concerned.

The barbarian attempted to roll, hoping to throw me off in the process, but my grip was too powerful, and my stance too strong. Alas, thanks to the dirty fuck’s efforts to humiliate me, that same grip was also wet. It wasn’t weakening, but it was slipping. Another jolt like that and he’d be free. I was going to have to fight again. So I decided to fight dirty. I pre-empted his efforts to throw me aside, pushing his foot away and thrusting my own boot hard into his crotch.

Again, my opponent cried out, and again I took untold pleasure from his pain. A few rapid boots to his sword-and-two-shields ensured he stayed down: he now lay before me on his back, his huge hands instinctively cupping his besieged body-part. So that was when I dove on him. If my real-life experience had taught me anything, it was that no matter how big or muscular your opponent was, there was one other area that no amount of training was ever going to build up. His guard was low, so I threw the full force of my avatar behind my fist burying it deep into his throat.

Weary but exhilarated, I smugly watched the barbarian gasp for air. I’d impressed myself. And I must have impressed the system, too, because…

-[ You have acquired your first base point in the unarmed combat skill. Rank I. XP required to reach rank II, 98. ]-

Yes. for the first time since it began, I felt like I actually had a chance of winning this brawl. And yeah, maybe I was getting ahead of myself. My next punch was easily blocked by my opponent as he grabbed my fist, dwarfing it in his powerful crushing hand. He took a small moment to flash me a shit-eating grin, before punching me square in the face with his free hand.

I fell back, instinctively rolling to put distance between myself and my enemy while attempting to shrug off the disorientation caused by the blow. But he held fast to my fist, preventing my escape, and the shortened distance was easily closed. The barbarian pounced on me, pinning me to the floor by the neck with one hand, and ominously raising the other in a fist. I could see it in his eyes. He was ready to end me.

From there, blow after blow rained down, the effect of the herbs quickly neutralized. An alert advised me that my HP was now critical. Then without warning, the alerts stopped.

-[ You have been stunned by a sequence of blows to the head. Length of effect: 1 minute. ]-

Forget that, why am I not dead, already?

In the periphery of my vision, I spied my answer. S’haruk was finally back in the fight, and she was spearing Tiny’s avatar like a fantasy-themed NFL player. She’d grabbed his leg, hoisted him into the air, and brought him crashing down on the back of his neck, all in one impressive fluent motion. She didn’t hesitate to press the advantage, laying in vicious stomps to the barbarian’s head. To my surprise, he didn’t even attempt to shield himself.

He’s stunned, I realised, being more than familiar with the debuff myself.

But it wasn’t over. The half-orc’s stamina was flagging, no doubt due to the amount of damage her own avatar had sustained. Her kicks were still powerful, but noticeably slower. Worse, her fallen foe was beginning to cover up his head with his arms. He was coming out of the debuff already.

Thankfully, so was I. With everything I had left, I pounced on the barbarian’s trunk-like legs, trapping them in a bear-hug. There was more to strength than landing punches, and this was the exact strategy the goblins had used on me earlier, back at Siriso’s hut. I’d never imagined that I could learn something useful from that lopsided battle, but here I was, giving it my best shot. Clamping his legs with my impressive strength stat, I had the barbarian grounded, leaving him vulnerable to S’haruk’s slow but brutal stomps. My strength was vital to our strategy. Finally, my unevenly distributed stats were paying off.

The half-orc let out a howl of pleasure as the stricken barbarian’s head began to bleed, his forehead now busted open. Within seconds, he had a crimson mask to match my own.

We’re actually going to win this, I dared to propose, albeit to myself.

“Puppets” yelled a panicked voice, as (without any prior warning), the crowd descended into chaos around us. I tried to turn my head toward a possible source, but felt the impact of a clubbing blow to the back of my head before I could begin to figure out what was happening. Dazed by the blow, my grip on the barbarian relaxed and fell away.

When my eyes refocused a few seconds later, it was to a very different scene. The lone demonic guard was standing over the bloodied barbarian, guarding him against my frenzied orcan ally. She was furious, enthralled by her hallmark rage, demanding the right to finish the battle. Around them, NPC guards were dispersing the crowd, often with the aid of force.

Shit! I guess evil Pac-man had no choice but to get involved in breaking things up, now that the jobs-worthy NPCs are on the scene.

The crowd were not taking the presence of the NPCs lightly. Trays and chairs were being hurled into the space that had once been a makeshift arena for our battle. The crowd was mutinying like drunken sports-fans who’d just been told that the main event had been unexpectedly cancelled. And technically, that was exactly what had happened. More and more guards poured in, engaging the rabble as they tried to reach Tiny. I couldn’t be sure if they wanted to reach the would-be dictator to stage a rescue, or to take their revenge. Either way, the NPCs weren’t having any of it, blooding the avatars of anyone who dared to advance on their position.

I was pulled from the (admittedly enjoyable) sight of Gary279 taking a club to the back of the head by a familiar, guttural cry that could only mean the half-orc had completely lost her temper. To say that was the case would be an understatement. She was going apeshit, laying into the demon with thunderous blows, despite her obvious fatigue. Quick as a flash, the creature grabbed her powerful wrists, easily holding her in place. Then he forced them, breaking bone and causing my ally to cry out in agony.

Just how strong is that bastard.

Her arms broken, the half-orc spat on him in defiance. Holding her in place. his huge line of teeth began to open, revealing a snake-like tongue that slithered out and began to slowly wind itself across her squirming, bloodied avatar. The creature’s eyes began to dart in all directions, as if checking to see if the other guards were watching. And then it smiled a sickening smile that was wider than the entirety of the half-orc’s body, its decaying rows of teeth slowly opening as its jaw unhinged with a clack.

No no no.

I made to get back on my feet, to try to grab her away, but I was too weak, a combination of my dangerously low HP and flagging stamina forcing me back to the ground. I could only look on in horror as the vile tongue dragged S’haruk into the maw of the creatures gaping mouth. She was swallowed in an instant, her muffled screams fading as her legs were sucked in behind her, like half-human spaghetti.

Fuck. Me.

As if any confirmation was needed…

-[ Your alliance with S’haruk has ended. Reason: your ally has died. Effect: the duel has ceased due to an unexpected stoppage. ]-

The message was followed by…

-[ Quest failed: You have been unsuccessful in your attempts to grant TinyTheTankEngine a horrible painful death. You may reattempt this quest if the original issuer agrees to an additional try. Warning: This has not affected your reputation, as the fight ended prematurely, but continued failure in this endeavor may lead to future reputation loss. ]-

I was distracted from the words by the sight that lay before me. The horrific view of my ally being swallowed whole had left me never wanting to play Pac-man again. I suddenly felt sorry for all those poor ghosts. To my relief, it was an image that was suddenly blocked, leaving only the distant (gruesome) crunching sounds of bone and cartilage to remind me of the brutality that I had just witnessed. Another guard was looming over me, and to my relief, this one was an NPC. He didn’t look at all like the prisoner-eating sort. In fact, he looked deceptively human.

The pretend-human extended a hand toward me.

“Hey, it’s about time,” I said, reaching up in response. “Am I glad to see you guys. Listen, you won’t believe what that big yellow bastard has ju-”

The sentence went unfinished as a burst of mana left the guards fingertips, hitting me with a concussive blast before I could even register what was happening. All things considered, I should probably learn to be a little less trusting.

And with that, everything went black again.