The armor of the shadow king gave me a rather imposing appearance, blending with the darkness around me, save a faint shimmering of blue cutting through the darkness. I kept my gloves, boots, and cloak, though, as I felt their bonuses to parry and magical augmentations would lend better to my play style.

Sitting in the clinic I thought deeply about where I could best test out my new gear. I was formidable, that was certain. I had the weapons and armor to take on challenges I’d never been able to face alone before. I thought hard of places where I could go unnoticed, and grind a few high-level mobs.

I decided on Ruhrdan. It was the minotaur settlement, a small logging town filled with minotaurs, satyrs, and fauns. Most of the area was pretty bleak, hidden away in a small box canyon deep Firedrake mountains.

It wasn’t a long journey, past Gnomehome and to the northeast across the old trade road. Aberdeen was quite beautiful, mostly grassy fields and rolling hills. Many of those hills were barrows, erected as burial sites for great warlords. Those tumuli would often hide powerful undead wights, creatures of great power who would drag would be adventurers to their deaths. It was a trap for the lowbies—encouraged to explore, and punished for it. It was a cruel way to teach new players that there were no level restrictions on areas. It was just as easy to follow a few similarly leveled monsters into a dark castle, only to be humbled immediately by what lurks inside.

Getting to Ruhrdan was easy enough, I knew the way. Minotaurs had a natural track ability, that allowed them to see paths through meandering caves and canyons. A perfect compliment to their ancestral home. I had to do it through memory.

Except for their seat of power, a large stone temple to they ancient Bullgod and a gladiatorial ring where combat would decide their leaders, the buildings were all constructed of stacked logs. Longhouses and crooked shacks that leaned on uneven foundation. Unsurprisingly, each was adorned with large horns above their entryways, each etched in beautiful and ornate scrimshaw with looping patterns and images of great beasts and worthy battlefield achievements.

I entered the Inn, the Broken Horn, where Torments the barkeep kept a watchful eye. He was enormous, scar worn, with one horn broken near the base. He only spoke minotaur, a benefit for minotaur payers looking for quests, but perfect for my needs. Few came here to rest, as it offered very little for other players. Other NPCs and random mobs spawned here, going about their business, serving drinks to one another, and adding the din of the place. Near the back was a large fire, where satyr priests of the Bullgod would feed it fresh medicinal herbs—lending the smoke a restorative property.

I wielded the black dragon rapier first in my main hand. It was heavier than my last blade, and had a wicked, spiraling grip. Then I seconded the Daggermortis in my off hand. It hummed with cruel energy, its midnight blade and red hilt resting in my palm. Even now I could feel myself speed up.

Its status as a lore weapon meant that there could only ever be one in the game at a time. And it was mine. For now, anyway. I was the sole wielder of this powerful artifact, and I alone had the strength it imbued.

Preparing myself, I moved from the inn, and followed the dirt street through the cramped town up a small hill. At the top was one of the largest longhouses. It was home to dark conspirators, minotaurs who had rejected the Bullgod in favor of the old evil diety, corrupting the minotaurs in the holy war that divided the continent. They wanted the minotaurs as shock troops, and were slowly bringing them to their side. Sometimes overtly, but in this case, not so.

I had to dip my head down low to enter the large structure. Minotaurs built their longhouses with squat, low entrances. It was to keep in heat, as well as force invaders to bend at the waist to enter single file, squatting down and exposing their necks. A single minotaur could defend a longhouse for hours against an invading force with one solid axe swing after another. Fortunately for me, the majority of this place was whisper quiet, the real target for me was hidden deep beneath it, where the cultists lied in wait for someone as foolish as me to disturb them.

Readying my weapons and preparing for traps, I crept slowly across the uneven floorboards. Each creak was strained, letting our a quiet wine that flooded the empty hall. Making my way to the cobweb dressed alter, I ducked beneath it, following a distance torchlight to where the cultists were. They were mobs I could sometimes handle in a group, but I’d never been able to take them on my own. But they weren’t my target.

Shifting light in the earthen cavern cast my form as a giant wavering shadow beside me. In the distance, I could hear their chants. It was in the minotaur language, deep, guttural vocalizations that carried through the cavern, humming in unison.

Slipping into the shadows I crept up to their summoning circle. It was a stone-carved room filled with green light, emanating from shifting marks and sigils that lied across the floor. Each cultist was wearing dark, grimy robes with long curved horns piercing the sides of their hoods.

Using their focus on the ritual to my advantage, I moved through the shadows like fluid, and darted out towards the closest one. Unleashing an ambush I landed both hits, and the cultist folded in front of me. The others paused, then turned their attention to me.

While they mumbled their incantations, I began my warpath, allowing my hasted dagger to feed on each one with precision. I tore the second asunder with ease, then darting out of the way of a deadly bolt of green energy from the palms of another, singing my cloak, I eviscerated the next. In short order, I had cleared the room.

I took that moment to stand above their fallen bodies, minotaur blood soaking into the dirt on the floor, and flowing towards the glowing sigils. The power I wielded was intoxicating. I had never felt it before.

Readying myself, I stepped into the summoning circle, and my world warped in green light.

I emerged in a realm of shadows, smoke, and suffocating fog. My headset fired the synapses in my brain to feed me every feeling, and my lungs contracted reflexively in the haze. I had stepped into a dimension of demons, and I prepared myself for what was to come.

The first bulldemon, a creature wreathed in corrupted dark energy with multiple sets of long seated minotaur horns, lunged at me.

I expertly parried his claws, and whirled to the side, raking my weapons across his back. It wasn’t enough damage to kill it, but it was bloodied.

Another, appearing from the darkness, its burning eyes flowing with green fire, clawed at me from the side. I wasn’t fast enough this time, and hurriedly moved out of reach after it grazed my arm, dealing substantial damage.

Maybe I had miscalculated. Maybe I couldn’t face these creatures alone. But the dagger reached out to me, hungry for more. And I capitulated to its want.

I hurriedly unleashed another attack. I allowed two rounds of my hasted weapons to tear the creature apart. The second lunged from behind, and I turned, piercing it deep, and entrails fell from its soft belly. It landed with a thud in the thick mist on the floor, out of view. Dropping a bulldemon horn. It was a quest item I didn’t need, I hadn’t taken the quest.

I continued on. Striking and killing another. Then another. I was dancing in the bloodshed, striking with purpose—with enthusiasm. It was euphoria. I was the dark, ravenous thing in this plane of evil, I was its commander.

I lost track of time. My high constitution granting natural healing that mitigated the damage they dealt. I could last here for hours.

1 NEW MESSAGE.

I wiped green demon ichor from my face, I was covered completely. I must have killed dozens by now. They came in waves of two, each pair dissected completely between my blade. I came to then, and decided to remove myself from this place, and return through the summoning circle.

Gathering the bulldemon horns I returned to the cave. My dagger seemed to reject my exit. It was thirsty for more. Strange, I thought. I had never felt something like that before.

Clicking on the message, I read the name Sly at the top.

“Curio,” it began. “You have to meet me in the Druidwood. Plur has something you've got to see!”

It was common for Plur to peek at inventories and collect a menagerie of strange items she had pilfered from all manner of monsters, and sometimes players. If Sly felt it was worth showing me, it must be something significant.

Cleaning my blades of gore, I replaced them in my bags for safe keeping. And I began my long journey out of the longhouse, through the canyon, past Gnomehome, through Bridgeport, and down southwest towards Druidwood.

Lifting the thick vines, the shimmering grove of Druidwood opened up in from of me. The same wisps collected above the pool, sending dancing lights scattering around me. There was Sly, he was huddled over a shared menu screen that floated in front of them. It held an image. It was of something that looked familiar.

“Curio!” Sly exclaimed. I was surprised that he seemed excited to see me after our argument. But it wasn’t unlike him to change moods after he had time to settle down after getting upset, losing a fight, dying to a low level mob, or having his rare items break. But this wasn’t just excitement, there was a tint of concern in his voice.

“Wait,” said Sly. “What’s all over you? Where were you?”

“I was fighting bulldemons.”

“By yourself?” said Sly.

“Yeah, it was easy.”

Sly's eyes widened in disbelief.

Plur stood, her half-elf form coming up to my chin. She had bright blue eyes and blonde hair she kept in tight braids, and wore green leathers adorned with a trim of gold plating.

“Plur said she was able to peek at Luxon's inventory earlier, when we were watching the duel. I guess they were too busy watching you fight those rangers to notice.”

The floating image was a screenshot she had taken of an item in someone's inventory, specifically, of Luxon's sword. “That's his sword! I was just impaled by it in our duel."

“Wait,” replied Sly. “You dueled Luxon?" He stood in shock, and it gave way to curiosity and he perked his head up with a smile. "How did it go?”

“I lost.” I pondered it for a moment. “Badly.”

Plur shook her head, “Never mind that, you have to see this.” She waved the menu over to me, and I leaned in to expect the item’s stats listed in the image. There was nothing out of the ordinary, it had high damage. Very high damage. A fast attack speed, much higher than a longsword would usually have. And the durability was easily quadruple what I would have expected. It was a good sword. Wherever he got them from, it must be quite a monster that drops it.

Plur squinted impatiently. “Look closer.”

I looked up to Plur and shrugged. “It’s a good weapon, one of the best I’ve seen.”

Plur was getting agitated and stood stiffly, extending her arms and stomping her foot. “Look!”

Reading down the weapon sats, I noticed the description. There, in italicized letters, it read “Without equal, this is Luxon’s radiant holy avenger.”

My eyes shot up to Plur, and then over to Sly.

“It’s hacked, man.” Sly threw his hands out. “He wrote his name into it. Probably out of ego, or something. They didn't think they'd get caught, but we have it right here! The evidence you needed!”

“I don’t see what it means.”

“He’s making his own weapons!” said Sly. “This weapon is hacked. He’s making custom stuff for him and his guild. I knew he was bad news, and now we know. He’s a hacker, dude. Luxon and his whole guild is cheating. And I bet you they’re making bank on these hacked items.”

“The durability,” I began, but Plur interrupted me.

“He’s raised it, along with the damage, and the speed. This isn’t a normal weapon. This shit is custom. He’s making it somehow. He’s got to be cheating.” Plur waved away the menu and the image blinked out of existence. "Don't tell anyone I took this."

It was smart that she remain cautious. She didn’t want The Silver Web to discover she knew, or they may make life difficult for her. Or worse, I thought. Maybe this is what Surewinter knew. Maybe this is why he killed her. Luxon couldn’t bare a ban, he was making too much money here. It made sense.

“You need to go to the cops with this,” said Sly. “This is proof they’re cheating. This is proof that they had something to do with it.”

“With what?” said Plur.

Sly and I gave each other a sideways glance and went quiet.

“Wait, what’s going on guys? What aren’t you telling me.”

Sly started to speak and I nudged him with my elbow. “It’s nothing,” I said.

“If you guys know something you need to tell me. I risked a lot showing this to Sly, and now you both know. If Luxon finds out I was rooting through his inventory they’re going to get back at me. I need to know what you guys are keeping from me.”

“Okay,” I began. “Do you know Surewinter?”

Plur nodded, and then her face started to warp, her whole form bending and twisting. Sly followed suit. And then the entire grove began shaking and twisting like a frenzied glitch had taken hold. Then my world went dark.

Shooting up in my small apartment I ripped the headset from my face. I had been disconnected. Someone had kicked me from Abaddon. I looked into the headset and red text read that the connection failed. Someone had cut my internet.

It was dark in my single room apartment, and through a beam of light beneath my front door I noticed a small piece of paper.

Rising from my computer chair I walked over to it and lifted the folded scrap of paper. I unfolded it, and on it, written in thick, hastily scrawled black letters it said, "STOP ASKING ABOUT SUREWINTER."