There was something wrong with Irados.

Carey had noticed it earlier when he’d crested the hill and caught his first glimpse of the town. The lights from burning torches and lamps had seemed few and far between, as if only half the buildings were occupied. He hadn’t thought much of it at first—maybe it was just a design choice. Maybe the town wasn’t meant to be at full capacity, because you only needed a few essential NPCs to make it immersive enough for players just passing through.

But the closer he got, the more concerned he became. They arrived at the main road, a wooden sign proclaiming the town’s name and slogan:

IRADOS

THE GREATEST TAVERNS IN TARADYN

“Not so sure about finding an inn anymore,” Carey said, studying the destruction. “Looks like someone tried to wipe this town off the map.”

Will and Beatrice walked ahead of him, apparently not taking notice of the wrecked buildings, lightly smoldering rubble, and soot-covered villagers rushing to and fro, carrying pails of water and leading scared children by the hand. Everything was visible from the light of torches and the pale light of the moon, which made it seem even more ghostly and tragic.

“They destroyed everything I own,” a man wailed, shrouded in darkness, sitting on the rim of a granite fountain that shot a paltry stream of water into its basin. He dropped his face into his hands, and his shoulders shook as he wept.

“It’s just a Low Order attack,” Will said. “Happens every three days around four p.m. You can choose to join the town’s soldiers and fight them off, but nothing changes. The town always looks like this.”

Beatrice waved them along. “The inn’s this way.”

“So, these Low people,” Carey said, walking alongside Will.

“Low Brothers,” Will corrected him. “Their actual historical name is the Tenefraterni, but we all know them as Low Brothers. The spellcasters are Low Mages.”

“And… what’s their problem? I’m assuming they follow some sort of dark lord intent on taking over the world? Right?”

“His name’s Voldemort,” Will said.

“Are you fu—” Carey almost stopped in place. Then he noticed Will was grinning, pleased with Carey’s reaction.

“Gotcha,” Will said.

“Very funny. So, these Low Brothers, what do they want, exactly?”

Will brightened somewhat. Apparently, the guy was a huge nerd when it came to Luminether Online, despite the fact the game was holding him prisoner and would probably kill him.

“They thrive on Blood Ether,” he explained, moving aside to let a sobbing woman carrying a pail of sloshing water run past. “But most of the governments of Astros made low magic illegal hundreds of years ago. They basically banded together, sort of like the United Nations back home—except they call it the Blue Crystal Alliance—and outlawed the possession of Blood Ether crystals and the use of spells that drain living creatures of their life force.”

“Why is Blood Ether so important to them?” Carey asked. “Why not use Luminether for their spells, like everyone else?”

“Certain spells require Blood Ether—basically anything that falls within the school of necromancy. Plus, all Luminether spells can be cast using Blood Ether instead of the regular stuff, which makes them more powerful. Think of it this way. Luminether comes from all around us. It’s like oxygen. But that makes it kinda weak, almost how pure oxygen can cause an explosion, but it’s nowhere near as dangerous as gasoline. Blood Ether is like gasoline. You feel me?”

Carey nodded. “I feel you, homie.”

“Christ, save me,” Beatrice muttered.

Will extended one flattened hand in a gesture that seemed to say, Pay attention, because I’m only going to say this once. “The Low Order has one goal. About a thousand years ago, they were the ones in power over Astros. Blood Ether magic was the standard. The Tenefraterni made slaves of millions so they could have an endless source of energy for their dark magic. They used Risen Ones—basically zombies summoned by necromancers—to scare the hell out of everyone and maintain order.

“But the Forge stood against them. They were an army created by Maximus, son of Sargos, and Alexandra, daughter of Aliara, two demigods who continue to fight the Low Brothers to this day. They managed to break the Tenefraterni’s evil hold over the realm and restore peace and order—mostly.

“You see, things have changed over the past few years. A Low Mage named Riven Xor took a bunch of his brothers into a network of caves and tunnels they discovered beneath their secret base. Turns out, there were ancient crypts down there, and in each grave, he discovered a God’s Head Bloodstone. They’re like Blood Ether crystals times a thousand. Holding one is like having the power of a dark god right in the palm of your hand. It’s like carrying a handheld nuclear bomb. It’s like—”

“Okay,” Carey interrupted. “They’re powerful. Then what happened?”

It seemed they were nearing their destination. The sign over the building’s front door, shaped like a wing with long feathers, read Levathon’s Wing Inn & Tavern.

“Riven found eight bloodstones, fully charged,” Will continued. “He used them to build an army and now operates out of the mountains in the center of Taradyn. His mages have found a way to open interdimensional portals using the power of the bloodstones. One of those portals is to a realm called the Nether—”

“Spooky.”

“You better believe it. It’s home to all kinds of monsters, like Cebrons, which you better hope we don’t face anytime soon. Imagine a dragon crossed with the Elki we fought earlier.”

Carey stopped at the inn’s doorstep, blocking the way in. He spun to face Will and Beatrice.

“Okay,” he said, crossing his arms like a bodyguard restricting entrance into a popular club. “I need to know, before I level up and get really invested in this cute little adventure—am I getting an invite to the party or what?”

Beatrice tapped her chin in thought. “I guess that depends. Let’s see how you level up and the choices you end up making. What do you think, Will? See what his priorities are first?”

“Not a bad idea.” Will tapped Carey’s chest with the crystal on his staff. “Show us what you bring to the table. Then we decide if your ass is grass.”

Carey blew air through his teeth. “Fine.”

Entering the inn, an idea began forming in his mind, the seed of which had been planted upon first meeting his two new friends. If Beatrice was an Acolyte and Will a Savant, that left two other races Carey could choose from to balance out the party. Wasn’t that why each party was limited to four? So each race could be represented and some kind of balance established?

They took a seat inside. The dozen or so tables were empty except for a sleeping, broad-shouldered man in a woolen gray robe, using his arms as a pillow in the corner.

A pretty, red-haired waitress—or were they called wenches here?—emerged from a back door and rushed over to take their order.

“Sorry,” she said. “Most of us have been out back, giving food to those displaced by the fight. I’m afraid that we’re currently out of all types of meat, bread, and corn.”

“Which leaves gourmet salt and pepper,” Carey said, hoping his joke would be well-received.

It wasn’t. Beatrice and Will ignored him, each ordering a pint of beer.

Finally.

All concerns fell away as Carey imagined himself sipping an ice-cold lager.

“I will take one frothy pint, dear wench,” he said. “No! Make that two.”

“Four pints for the party of adventurers,” the waitress said. “Coming right up.”

Carey sighed dreamily. “At least they have beer in this dump. Beery beer. Sweet beery beer...”

“Do you ever shut up?” Beatrice snapped at him.

“Hey, what’s your problem? I’m just trying to enjoy myself. Might as well have fun while we’re here. It is a game, after all.”

“It’s also a matter of life and death, I’m sure you know. Don’t you want to go back home at some point?”

That silenced him. Carey thought back to his life in New Hampshire. He’d promised his dad he’d show up for Thanksgiving, but it all seemed so far away. He didn’t miss his parents at all, though he wondered what his best friends and loyal drinking buddies, Tim, Ray-Ray, and Steve, must be thinking, with him missing and all.

Beatrice and Will were frowning at him, apparently concerned.

“Where’d you go?” Will asked. “You kinda drifted away there.”

Carey shrugged. “Just need a beer, that’s all. A level-up beer, know what I mean? And to answer your question, yes, I plan on going home. But first, I plan on winning.”

“Okay, Charlie Sheen,” Will said. “Don’t spill any of that tiger’s blood.”

The reference was lost on Carey. He vaguely remembered some YouTube video about the nutcase actor’s meltdown.

“Hey, by the way,” Carey said, hoping to break an awkward silence that had fallen over the group, “Will mentioned a resurrection elixir earlier, and I meant to ask… If you die in the game, you die in real life, so how does that work? If you can just resurrect yourself every time…”

“Nuh uh.” Beatrice was shaking her head in that authoritative manner he’d seen her take on a few times. “Resurrection elixirs and spells only work when you’re in ‘Pleading Mode.’”

“What’s that? ‘Pleading Mode’?”

Beatrice smiled at her platonic companion. “Will?”

“Glad you asked.” Will loved explaining everything, and even cracked his knuckles excitedly as he spoke. “Pleading Mode is the 15 seconds you have between game death and real death, when you’re down on the ground, bleeding out, begging for someone to save your life. You’re not technically dead, but you can’t get up, fight back, or use any healing items or spells. In that state, you can’t be healed at all, because you’re already dead—except you’re alive just enough to open a window for someone else to resurrect you.”

Carey nodded. “I’ve seen that sort of thing before. Your allies can take time out of the battle to resurrect you, but it comes at a risk. Usually, it takes like ten full seconds for them to pull it off.”

“Right,” Will said. “But there are ways to make resurrection elixirs automatic, so you consume them as soon as you enter Pleading Mode. Then you’re back in the battle with twenty-five percent of your HP restored. But they’re hard to find, expensive to buy, and almost impossible to craft unless you’re an expert in both crafting and alchemy.”

“They require both benches and skill trees to craft,” Beatrice added.

“Damn it.” Carey smacked the table. “It’s like they want death to hang over their players. Like they want us to have to work just to stay alive.”

“Of course,” Will said. “What kind of game would this be if it was easy? If there were no stakes.”

“Speaking of steak,” Carey said, “I could use a nice big one right now.”

Will chuckled at that. Beatrice checked her inventory on the off chance she might have a steak item, but she didn’t.

They were silent for a minute, only this time, it wasn’t awkward. Carey checked his inventory and stats, just seeing what was available, what was possible. Beatrice busied herself with polishing her Araband’s crystal, checking her reflection in a spoon. Will drummed his fingers against the table, making the occasional beatbox sound with his lips.

“Want to hear a joke?” Carey asked.

Will shrugged as if to say, Why not?

Beatrice ignored him and was now cleaning her nails.

“How is dating a single mother like playing a video game?”

Carey glanced at their faces. No clue, either of them.

“You’re just continuing from another player’s save slot.”

Will looked elsewhere, shaking his head. “Not funny.”

“Another misogynistic musing from DrollTroll,” Beatrice said, “a fitting username that now makes total sense.”

Carey sighed. He needed a beer right now. Or seven.

When the pints arrived, overflowing in their pewter mugs, Carey found himself slightly nervous at the thought of his expectations being smashed. This was “game” beer—what if it had no flavor and only served to mess up his stats? What if it disappeared instantly, like the Elki meat—a pleasant, one-time burst of flavor and nothing more?

Luckily, none of that was the case. The beer didn’t register as an item or enter his inventory in any way. It was simply an ice-cold beer that felt and tasted like an ice-cold beer.

“I’m in heaven.” Carey smacked his lips and took another gulp. “Precious, precious beer.”

“Slow down,” Beatrice said. “It lowers your Agility and Perception.”

“But increases your Constitution and Strength,” Will added happily.

“Good enough for me,” Carey said, emptying his first pint and moving on to the second.

As he slid the mug over, he tapped his Araband—an unnecessary gesture, but he liked doing it—and opened his character sheet.

“Can you guys see this?” he asked.

Beatrice nodded. “Now we can, because you want us to. Otherwise, it’s hidden.”

“Good. ’Cause this warrior’s about to level up, kids. Watch and learn.”

First, he had to review the two races he hadn’t read about yet: Acolyte and Feral.

He was dead certain he’d never, ever choose the Acolyte race. Not only did they already have an Acolyte—thank you, Beatrice, for taking that off everyone’s shoulders—but never in his past, as a role-playing gamer, had he assumed the role of a healer, and he didn’t intend to start now.

He read the description anyway, due diligence and all.

The beloved children of Aliara, Goddess of Wind and Harmony, Acolytes are known for their love of theater, music, and art. They are devoted to peace, even if it means battling evil to defend it. Depending on region and the presence of predators who might be misled by camouflage, their feathers can be a wide variety of colors, like brown and green for those whose ancestors lived and hunted in the forest.

The animated Acolyte male and female resembled a pair of husband-and-wife angels. Their broad, white wings fluttered, lifting them into the air. The male hung there, bobbing slightly, while the female zipped around for a moment before casting a sparkling bluish spell on her partner. The spell apparently buffed him, making his entire body sparkle with bluish mist and his biceps and shoulder muscles swell.

Acolytes make excellent healers in battle, as their affinity for Spirit allows them to summon many aid spells at a moment’s notice. Their shields, cures, and stat-buffing spells can be the difference between a party’s success and annihilation.

Acolytes may select from two classes: the Priest (or Priestess) and the Cleric.

The Priest and Priestess focus on healing and shielding themselves and their allies. The wide-area effect of certain restorative spells can protect entire parties for minutes at a time, turning the tide of battle in their favor. Priests and Priestesses cannot wear armor of any type and are limited to using workbenches and enchantment stations only once a day.

The Cleric is a master craftsman and sharp observer of nature. This makes them excellent in the areas of alchemy, herbalism, and enchantment. Need a strong resistance-to-fire elixir before battle? How about an enchantment that slows an enemy with each strike of your dagger? Call upon the Cleric, and in no time, you’ll have the buffs you need!

Clerics also receive a boost to Charisma and are adept in diplomatic skills such as convincing weaker enemies to surrender (for extra XP) and haggling with merchants for better prices. Clerics can wear Light Armor but cannot wear Medium or Heavy Armor. They have unlimited use of any crafting or enchantment station but are not capable of crafting weapons or armor.

Reading on, Carey noticed the Acolytes beginning to change, until they were no longer the smiling, angelic pair from before. Their wings darkened and became black as coal beneath an oily sheen. They frowned, having lost their smiles, as their skin turned white- and blue-veined. These two were no longer angels but pale demons.

The Acolytes’ corrupted twin is the Dark Acolyte, a soulless monster who feeds on the life force of his enemies to cast spells that ravage bodily, mental, and spiritual Health. One such spell is Plague Breath, in which the hovering Dark Acolyte breathes decay and pestilence over an entire enemy party, causing unsightly boils, skin parasites, and blinding discharge to emerge all over the body in painful spurts.

An Acolyte receives the following attribute changes:

+25 Spirit

+15 Wisdom

+10 Charisma

-25 Strength

-15 Constitution

The following passive abilities are granted while sitting or taking a knee:

+1 HP gain every 2 seconds

+1 LP gain every 2 second

+1 SP gain every 4 seconds

The following active abilities are granted once a day:

Resurrect: Bring a person back from the dead. Once a day, an Acolyte is capable of calling upon Aliara’s divine will to resurrect a fallen ally and bring them up to half their total HP and LP. Cannot be cast while frenzied, blind, or silenced.

Shield of the Gods: Game changer! For 10 seconds, an Acolyte can cast a protective shield over the entire party that completely deflects enemy attacks of all types. Extremely powerful! Gives your allies time to buff themselves, ready their best weapons, and put on their game faces.

The following active abilities are available between cooldown sessions per class:

Inspirational Song (Priest, Priestess only): Nice voice! For 60 seconds, all party members, including the caster, are granted +1 HP, +1 SP and +1 LP per second. [Cooldown: 30 minutes]

Light As a Feather (Priest, Priestess only): You were born to fly. For 120 seconds, flight does not drain Stamina. [Cooldown: 25 minutes]

Hawk Eyes (Cleric only): Make gathering and harvesting easy. For 30 seconds, a Cleric can easily see all loot and crafting resources—like flowers, herbs, and wooden logs—with bright-orange outlines. Available only in natural settings. [Cooldown: 30 minutes]

Green Feathers (Cleric only): An obsession with money has made you a force to be reckoned with in shops. For 120 seconds, all prices are discounted by 15 percent while buying and are boosted by 25 percent while selling. [Cooldown: 1.5 hours]

While Carey read through the descriptions, Will and Beatrice made small talk over their beer mugs—mostly about tactics they should have used in past battles and spells they wanted to purchase or unlock for future ones. Carey was slightly jealous of the chemistry he observed between them, even though it didn’t seem romantic in the slightest. Maybe that meant he had a chance with Beatrice?

He’d never been with a winged woman before, but there was a first time for everything.

If only to break up their little gossip session, he asked: “Why do Acolytes and Savants get four cooldown abilities when the others—”

“They’re higher in Wisdom and Spirit,” Will said.

“Ah.”

Carey read on. The next and final race to read up on was the Feral.

In the animation, the male and female Ferals had been loosed upon an unsuspecting forest, where they crouched and sprang like cats; bared tiny fangs, orange eyes and tails; climbed trees adeptly, leaping from one bough to the next like chimpanzees; and—amazingly—were able to morph mid-jump into winged animals, like hawks, and then again into four-legged ones, like antelope, tigers, and weird alligator-looking monstrosities with orange skin and spiked tails.

“Holy crap,” Carey said, calling the attention of Will and Beatrice.

Beatrice smiled at the animation suspended over the table.

“He discovered Ferals,” she remarked. “I almost chose that race, but Acolytes seemed so beautiful.”

“Ferals are definitely a badass choice,” Will added.

“Would I really get to shapeshift?” Carey asked in disbelief. “Like, turn into any animal I want?”

“Well, uh...not exactly,” Will said. “It ain’t that easy. You have to drink an animal’s blood while it’s still alive in order to change into it.”

“Seems simple enough.”

Will shook his head. “The animal has to be at 1 Health Point. That means you can’t just bash it a bunch of times when it’s down. You might do too much damage and kill it. Once the animal gets to low Health, you have to switch to the least powerful weapon you have—I’m talking about a wooden club, a sling, your fists, even. Then shave off one point at a time until it gets to 1 HP. Then you go for it.”

“You can imagine,” Beatrice said as she sipped her beer. “This might be dangerous depending on the animal.”

“Why?”

She flashed Carey a look that said, Are you seriously asking me that?

“All right, fine,” Carey said. “I’ll play along. If the animal is especially dangerous—say, a gorilla with knives instead of fingers who can shoot lava from its nipples—”

Amused, Will snorted into his beer, spilling a few drops. Even Beatrice cracked a smile, though she kept her unwavering gaze on Carey.

“—then switching to a wooden club or a sling to bring it down to one Health Point would leave me extremely vulnerable, should said gorilla happen to catch a second wind and slash its finger-knives at me.”

“Or spray you with nipple lava,” Will added, grinning.

“Or have a friend lurking nearby,” Beatrice added.

“Right,” Carey said. “And then there’s the problem of getting close enough to suck its blood. I’d have to render it unconscious to be perfectly safe. Is that even possible in this game?”

Will shook his head. “Nope.”

“Keep reading,” Beatrice said. “It gets better.”

***

Known as the Goddess of Nature and the Hunt, Valcyona was a wild, passionate, and sensual goddess who often took human form so she could ride horses across our valleys and swim with whales in the depths of our seas. Said to have been enchantingly beautiful in human form, Valcyona was also temperamental and jealous. When she saw the beauty and goodness of her sister’s Acolytes, she decided to make a different sort of being, equal in beauty but not limited by a devotion to harmony and peace—subjects she found boring.

Her children, known as “Ferals,” can drink the blood of any animal, and then take that animal’s form at will. In addition to being shapeshifters, all Ferals have heightened reflexes, agility, and senses of sight, smell, and hearing while in human form—as well as orange eyes and animal tails that make them stand out among the crowd.

Ferals may select from two classes: the Ranger and the Rogue.

Rangers are the quintessential hunters, gatherers, and craftsmen of the realm. Unlike Sargonaut Builders, they cannot smelt ore or build homes and campsites, but they can quickly break down, upgrade, and craft weapons and armor with permanent stat boosts unique to their handiwork. Rangers are experts at detecting herbs and other crafting items in nature. They can cook food items resulting in unusual stat boosts, and they have 50 percent more starting Stamina than Rogues. They can also wear Medium Armor in addition to Light (but no Heavy Armor) and are allowed to wield any swords, as well as maces and axes. They start with +5 to Constitution but suffer a -3 penalty to Agility.

Rogues are the shady thieves and assassins of Astros. Unlike their brother Rangers, Rogues couldn’t care less about crafting. As such, they are not able to use cooking, crafting, or enchantment stations more than once per day. Rogues are essential in parties that rely on stealth and silent attacks and are adept at archery, lockpicking, backstabbing, pickpocketing, sneaking, setting up and disarming traps, and wearing Light Armor effectively, even garnering a passive 10 percent boost to armor points when wearing a full set of matching Light Armor. However, unlike the Ranger, they cannot wear Medium Armor. Heavy Armor is out of the question (as it would impair sneaking, obviously) and the use of maces, axes, and swords longer than a short blade is prohibited.

Much like the other races, at this part of the description, the male and female Feral began to transform into an unholier version of themselves. Their skin turned gray, and their eyes became more red than orange. The biggest change was also the most disturbing: their furry tails changed into a variety of ugly, insectile forms—a scorpion’s stinger that whipped and stabbed on the woman, and a silvery filament, much like a mosquito’s feeding tube but with a sharp tip, on the man.

The most feared of all who follow Xelios, the Pestilent is the nightmare version of the Feral. They have forsaken the world of warm-blooded creatures and chosen instead to make their home among biting, stinging insects.

The female Feral morphed, with a loud burst of wind, into a huge scorpion that snapped its claws and stabbed the air with its stinger. The male Feral changed into a buzzing wasp that hung bobbing in the air, thrusting its stinger forward in a threatening manner that made Carey cringe.

He hated all manner of stinging insects and still had PTSD from one summer during his childhood when he’d been stung by bees—not once, but twice!—on the bottom of the same foot while running barefoot through sprinklers at a public park. He had cried so obnoxiously that the park’s attendants had had to shut off the water works and close down that section of the park, much to the dismay of all the kids there.

Beatrice cleared her throat. “Let’s pick up the pace a little, shall we?”

Carey ignored her.

The Pestilent has +5 Agility and +5 Constitution but suffers a penalty of -10 to Charisma and -10 to Spirit. When in the shell of the insect, the Pestilent is granted a 15 percent boost to armor points and 10 percent boost to attack points.

A Feral receives the following attribute changes:

+25 Agility

+15 Perception

+10 Luck

-10 Strength

-10 Constitution

The following passive abilities are granted while sitting or taking a knee:

+2 HP every 3 seconds

+2 LP every 2 seconds

+1 SP every 2 seconds

The following active abilities are granted once a day:

Scout Eye: Within a distance of 25 feet, all loot, traps, and hidden structural advantages are outlined, even behind walls. This includes cracked walls that can be destroyed to reveal secret areas and doors obscured by magic. Effect lasts for 120 seconds.

Limbs of a Chimp: For 30 seconds, your Agility attribute is doubled, running speed is 1.5x faster, and fall damage is reduced by half—but only while running on all fours and screeching like a chimp!

The following active abilities are available between cooldown sessions per class:

Luck of the Naked Cat (Rogue only): Get naked! For 120 seconds, all skills influenced by the Luck attribute—like picking locks, detecting traps, and backstabbing—have a rating boosted by 1.5x—but only once all armor is removed. Also, locks cannot break, and traps being dismantled have 50 percent less chance of triggering. [Cooldown: 1 hour]

Dead Shot (Ranger only): For 30 minutes, aiming with a bow is as stable as if the hunter were holding her breath forever. All arrows possess an additional 25 percent damage rating. Breath-holding duration is tripled. [Cooldown: 3 hours]

Rapid Nocker (Rogue Only): Become a blur of deadly motion! For 30 seconds, nocking an arrow, aiming, firing, and reloading are all sped up by 10x. [Cooldown: 12 hours]

Fight Like a Man...er...Bear (Ranger or Rogue): For 30 seconds, Strength and Constitution are 2x higher while a pair of thick, deadly bear arms replace the caster’s normal arms. Damage done by bear claws is equivalent to 1.25x the attack rating of the weapon with the highest melee damage in inventory. [Cooldown: 3 hours]

“That’s me,” Carey said, pointing at the animated Feral pair, both of whom had changed once more to their virtuous forms. “Oh yeah. I’m Feral. Totes magotes.”

Will and Beatrice glanced at each other and shrugged.

“Could use one of those,” Beatrice said. “Now, how about your stats? Oh, and don’t forget. When you get to Level 5, your top two attribute ratings—like 30 Strength or 40 Agility, for example—will affect the base rating of certain skills. Right now, those base ratings are at zero, but not for long.”

“What do you mean?” Carey asked.

“Your Dodge skill, for example. It’s based on Agility, which is the Feral’s strongest attribute. Once you hit Level 5, every skill based on your strongest two attributes will go up like crazy, because now your attribute modifiers take effect. As a Feral, your skills in Dodge, Lockpick, Precision, et cetera will all go up thanks to your Agility and Perception suddenly being counted by the formula. You’ll feel like a god.”

“Level 5, huh?” Carey said. “The game knows how to keep a guy motivated.”

“The formula,” Will said, “is ‘base skill equals the attribute total divided by two, plus 20 percent.’ So, it takes half the attribute, adds 20 percent, and makes that the new base stat. If your Agility is 40, then—”

“I get it,” Carey said, quickly doing the math in his head. “Agility of 40 means dodge would go up to 24. Same as all the other Agility-based skills.”

Will shrugged. “Well, he ain’t dumb. That’s a plus, I guess.”

“Level 5 is amaze-balls,” Beatrice said. “Everybody remembers their Level 5.”

Carey smirked. “Sweetness.”

This next part was loads of fun, more so because Carey—finally!—was starting to feel a little drunk. It might have been “game beer,” but man oh man, did it give him the warm fuzzies.

“Another round,” he shouted at the waitress, who was feeding soup to a man with two broken arms wrapped in bloody bandages. She walked over, looking worried.

“Do you fine folks happen to have healing nectar on hand? For my friend, Holm, over there. He’s the baker.”

Carey became quiet. Was it a good idea to give up a healing nectar to some NPC who didn’t really need to heal up? A real player, maybe, but...

“Here you go,” Will said, beating Beatrice to the punch.

He made a Major Nectar potion materialize in his right hand and gave it to the waitress.

“Oh, thank you so much. Your next round is on the house!”

Carey slammed his fist on the table, a bit too hard, causing the empty mugs to rattle.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” he boomed.

“Keep your voice down,” Beatrice whispered.

“Why?”

“Yeah,” Will echoed. “Why? There’s no one who can attack us here.”

Beatrice fumed at her partner. “Really, Will?”

Will sank a few inches into his chair, skulking like a sorry puppy.

Damn it, Will. Grow a pair.

Carey turned his attention to the list of skills, then froze, his mouth gaping open. “Holy Christ,” he said, not caring who he offended by taking the Lord’s name in vain. “You got to be kidding me. There are so many.”

“Want to know the best part?” Beatrice asked, this time beating tour-guide Will to the punch. “You’ll actually be learning these skills, not just activating them and watching what happens.”

“Whoa... Wait... Are you saying… ?”

Beatrice nodded, grinning for the first time since Carey had met her. She had a genuinely pretty smile that made her green eyes seem to glitter.

Will also looked pleased, having risen in his chair, his chest puffing up. “Yup, that’s exactly what we mean. Want to learn archery? Build up the skill and voilà. Once you’re out of the game, you’ll be shooting arrows like a pro. In the real world, I mean.”

“But what about magic? You can’t use that in real life.”

“True,” Will said, looking mildly crestfallen. “But at least here, I can feel like a true Sorcerer. I know how to cast each individual spell like I have a PhD in magic. Plus, certain skills are necessary for my class and really fun to learn, like concentration. Mine’s at thirty-six, which means I can focus deeply on anything I want. Used to have ADHD in the real world, but now, I can focus like a champion chess player. Well, I’m getting there, anyway.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Carey said, sitting back in his chair, his thoughts swirling pleasantly.

At that moment, as if the clouds had parted and God Himself had shone his radiant spiritual light on his brain, Carey arrived at a revelation.

“That’s it, isn’t it? That’s the point of this whole experience. The point of the game.”

Will and Beatrice leaned forward, pints of beer forgotten. They even lowered their voices conspiratorially.

“Now you’re getting it,” Will said.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “The game is just window dressing.”

“That creepy CEO,” Carey said. “What’s-his-name, Ronald—”

“Roger,” Beatrice said.

“Yeah, Roger. You mean to tell me he spent millions of dollars—”

“Billions,” Will interrupted.

“Okay, billions of dollars. So, you’re telling me this dude spent all that money designing what might be the greatest game in human history, just to learn how nanorobots could modify our brains to... to... what exactly? Learn stuff?”

“It goes deeper than that,” Beatrice said. “I heard two of the technicians talking when I was getting the royal tour at the facility. One of them said something about an ‘enhancement in the empathy regions’ of one of the test subjects. The other guy looked amazed and said, ‘Oh man, finally.’ I think that’s what they’re aiming at. Modifying our brains to have better empathy. That’s why Roger built this whole thing. Not to turn a profit or win a Nobel Prize, but to stop bullies like us by changing the neural composition of our brains. In the meantime, he can also modify other parts, like our learning centers. The guy’s reshaping our brains like they’re made of Play-Doh.”

Carey could only stare at her in blunt fascination. Beatrice was panting lightly, obviously excited, her gaze vacant as though she were seeing infinite possibilities in a landscape that existed only in her mind.

“You’re, like, really smart,” Carey told her.

Will gulped his beer. “Here we go,” he said, setting the mug down.

“I’m glad you noticed,” Beatrice said, a cocky smile gracing her perfect, lustrous, shapely red lips (the beer was definitely getting to Carey’s head now). “I studied psychology at Cornell, got my master’s at Columbia.” She shrugged, eyeing the waitress as three more sloshing mugs were set down on the table. “I actually published a paper in grad school on how jealousy alters our perception of ourselves to make us seem more like our rivals, not less.”

“No way,” Carey said, lifting the mug to his lips. “You published something?”

“It was in grad school, actually, that I met my boyfriend—well, ex-boyfriend now—Tom Reynolds. The third. He always liked to add that, the third, like people might actually know who his grandfather, Thomas the ‘Hot Dog King’ was, or how his dad, Thomas the second, managed to grow the family’s wiener empire from a two-million-dollar business to over a hundred million.”

She paused for a moment, staring vacantly down at her beer, then abruptly continued, her voice so sad it made Carey, drunk as he was, uncomfortable.

“Tom the third—or Tommy Ray, as I called him—wasn’t like his father or grandfather in the end. Spoiled, flighty, moody, he actually told me once that Columbia let him in for a Master’s in Film Studies because it was his father’s alma mater and his dad had made a few large donations over the years. He wasn’t really interested in Film Studies at all. He just liked movies. You know what his favorite movie was? This guy studying to be a film analyst?”

She glanced at Will and Carey. Will must have not heard this part of the story before.

“I dunno,” Will said. “What was it?”

“Back to the Future?” Carey said. “That’s mine, anyway.”

He half-expected Beatrice to insult him or snap at him. But she only shook her head, again with that distant look in her eyes.

“Aladdin,” she said. “The Disney version. He said he sometimes felt like Aladdin, flying around the world on a flimsy rug that could fall at any moment. He said I was like his Jasmine.” She sighed deeply. “Sometimes, I think I really loved him. At that start, anyway.”

“So, what happened?” Carey asked. “Does he have something to do with why you’re in here?”

She sipped her beer, then pushed the mug away, scowling in distaste.

“It was right before graduation. I came home a day early from a research trip. That’s how it always happens, right? You get back a day early and bam, your entire world falls to shit. They were in our bedroom, because by then, Tommy and I were living together, after only three months of dating...” She closed her eyes and shook her head in self-loathing. “The woman had her legs draped over his shoulders, completely naked, this blonde nursing student named Karen...”

“Oh, damn,” Carey said. “Karen.”

Beatrice flashed him a dark look. “You diddled her, too?”

“Uh, no... It’s just a subreddit I used to read, about entitled racist women known as ‘Karens’ who think they’re God’s gift to... You know what? Ignore me. Continue.”

Will smirked at Carey. “Nice one, brah.”

“This next part is kinda messed up,” Beatrice said. “I don’t really like to talk about it...”

“As long as the beer keeps flowing,” Carey said, “I’m down to listen.”

Grinning, Will lifted a hand, palm-forward. Carey hesitated.

Really, bro? he wanted to say. A high-five?

His skinny brown hand hung there, pathetically.

Holding back an annoyed sigh, Carey was about to high-five the guy when Beatrice exploded at him.

“Just high-five him already,” she screamed at Carey, standing so suddenly that her waist hit the table, causing beer to splash out of her mug. “You sociopath! What the hell is wrong with you? How much better than us do you think you are?”

Carey just sat there, gaping at her. Will lowered his hand slowly.

No one breathed.

Then the front door slammed open, and a man in soiled clothes, his sweaty, bearded face smudged with ash, ran inside carrying a torch. He was an NPC, but he looked as distressed as any real human.

“Anyone who can fight,” he shouted, “come with me! It’s a Cebron!”