Smash wasn’t sure what the old man had in mind but his friend’s life was in danger. “Let’s get to it then. What would you have us do?”

“You will have to defeat me,” the old man cackled manically.

Turning to his guildmates for support, Smash turned to see that they were gone. “What have you done with my friends, he demanded?”

Looking back at Rory he could see the old man had changed. He was no longer frail but looked wiry and strong as hell. The murkiness in his eyes was gone and he started right at Smash. “They are safe for now but cannot help you. Since you are the one who leads them you must show your valor.”

What the heck was this crazy dude going on about? And how had he made his friends disappear? This must have been a trap of some kind and they’d fallen for it.

“What do you really want from me?” Smash asked defiantly. He pulled his rifle from over his shoulders, gripping it tightly. He shifted his stance, preparing to fight.

The old man assessed him and also slid into a fighting stance. “I think you know the answer. How long have you been leading the Misfits?” Smash didn’t have time to prepare an answer because the old man surged forward. He didn’t have any weapons in hand but he wasn’t going to chance it with an old dude who’d gone from looking homeless to shaolin monk in no time.

As Rory’s hands grasped his rifle, Smash used the momentum to lever the butt of the gun towards his smug face. Too late, Smash realized he’d been had and ended up on his back, still gripping the rifle. The old man had danced out of reach. What the hell?

“Two years. And how the hell did you know what our guild name was?” Smash was red-faced after ending up on his back for no reason at all. He rolled over as best he could in his heavy armor to face his opponent.

The old man just smiled down at him like he had all the time in the world. “And what have you learned?”

“How to kill raid bosses a lot tougher than you,” he retorted. Smash didn’t waste any more time talking but charged in this time, his bayonet set to skewer the crazy hermit. No more mister nice guy. Whoever this man was he was dangerous and he knew way more about him than he should.

Lunging forward he feinted, expecting that the old man would be too wily for a straight in attack. As expected, his opponent side-stepped the bayonet, and Smash followed through with the butt of the rifle, trying to knock the old man out. Faster than he could react, the crazy mystic parried the rifle stock away from his body and redirected the force, grabbing the rifle with his other hand and pushing. Smash saw the world end over end before landing in a pile of books.

“So far all you’ve shown me is that you are afraid to commit to your attacks. Perhaps I need to show you how serious I am. Fight me or die, Sean,” the old man said, his voice cold and methodical. How had the old man known his name? Smash didn’t have time to figure it out before he was attacked again.

This time the mystic’s fists pummeled him. Despite the fact that his steel armor should have broken the old man’s hands, he struck again and again. Smash almost laughed, considering that no one would hurt him like this. He was wearing full-plate armor that covered him from the neck all the way to his toes. Only extremely sharp objects swung with considerable force could get through what he was wearing. Despite what he knew, the old man was in fact hurting him. He felt his chest constrict with each strike and after the third blow he spat out blood. What the hell was happening?

He could smell the tobacco on the old man’s breath as he looked him right in the eyes. “I’m beating the crap out of you Sean Cullers, just like the rest of your life. Are you going to just stand there and try to hide behind your armor or will you fight back?”

Every frustration he’d had over the past few months flashed through his head. The failed marriage, the death of the guild on the asteroid, failing to save Shelly, fighting with Kevin, and on and on. It seemed like at every turn he failed to protect his friends when they’d been attacked by this world. One of his guildmates was currently in danger and was going to become a zombie if he couldn’t get this stupid geezer to give him a magical ring to save her. Not only that but they had an undead army was looking everywhere for them and it was likely headed by their old guildmate, turned traitor, Kevin.

The blood rushed through his veins and he didn’t feel the mystic’s continued attacks on him any longer.

-1750 bludgeoning, +350 damage reduction

-2144 bludgeoning, +402 damage reduction

-1977 bludgeoning, +385 damage reduction

Something about those numbers seemed weird. His health bar was down to 5% and he just snapped. Smash went into a rage then and pummeled the old man with his gauntlets. He didn’t stop until the old man’s face was unrecognizable and he’d been laying still for a long time.

***Congratulations: You have learned General Ability: Rage***

Eventually, the fog in Smash’s brain cleared and he could think objectively again. The mystic’s body was broken on the floor, his face dented in from countless gauntleted attacks. He’d brained a man to death who had only taunted him. Looking down at his own depleted health bar, he had to amend that thought. He’d nearly died fighting the old man but he’d gained a new ability – a berserker like rage. The ability had reduced the amount of damage he not only felt but also the amount of damage he took. It looked like the reduction took away about 15-20% of the total damage. Nice. Not only that but looking through the damage logs he could see that it had enhanced his DPS as well. Having seen similar effects in other games, he knew this was overpowered but considering what he’d had to go through he wasn’t going to complain.

A single ring was on the old man’s right hand. This must be the holy ring that Seona had spoken of. He down at him one last time, wishing that he could have answered some of Smash’s questions. How had he known all of his mental weaknesses? He hadn’t appeared to be a mutant so did that mean he was a person who had survived the fallout? He didn’t look like a Gear, since those creatures usually disappeared after they died. They were questions that might never be answered and he didn’t have time to stick around and try to think it through any longer. On his way out, he saw a tattered journal behind the counter. It was possible the old man had known more than he’d let on but the book would have to wait. It was time to save his guildmate.

Stepping outside the mystic’s shop, he saw Deathberry and the rest of the group looking around. “What are you guys doing?” he asked.

Deathberry looked at him and nodded once he noticed the ring in his hand, “Trying to help you although it looks like you didn’t need it. We were forced outside by some magical barrier.”

“Yeah, he was a real bastard but I did end up getting the ring,” Smash said. He didn’t want to share what had really happened, especially what the mystic had told him about himself. After killing the old man he’d felt vindicated, relived of his tension and much stronger. But there was a part of him that was ashamed for killing the mystic. He was just a crazy hermit after all. He’d worked hard smashing down the darkness within him and not letting his friends or even family see it. Having it pulled out of him forcibly by the mystic had been a scary experience and one he didn’t want to repeat.

Handing the ring to Seona, he said, “Hopefully this works.”

She nodded and the group headed back to the portal at the other end of town. A few minutes later they were back at the bunker. Sean logged out while Deathberry and Seona talked about how the ring should function. It looked like Miles had made it back safely and he and Emmy were talking. He could hear the excitement in their voices at learning that the guild had successfully brought back the Restorer.

A part of him was happy to see the lovers reunited and a part of him was darkly jealous. Sean had too many mental demons to contend with to be good for anyone. Sometimes he wondered whether the things he’d gone through was because he didn’t deserve his friends. On a practical level he knew not to get too close but a part of him longed for the type of connection that he saw the two of them had formed. It was why he’d been blinded by his ex-wife.

She’d had a natural charisma that had pulled him in and he so badly wanted to be saved from his darkest thoughts. But what he’d not realized at the time was that she fed his insecurities and harnessed them against him. She’d had her own share of daddy issues and mental demons and controlling him had been her way at getting back at ‘the man’. They’d been co-dependent and dysfunctional. The side of him that wanted to heal had moved on but the side of him that fed spidery strands of doubt into his brain said he’d been a fool to give it up and that he was nothing without her.

He set the shower to the coldest setting and tried to remember the clarity of his rage only an hour earlier.