Carey blinked at Sam, who could only stare back in unmistakable awe.

“Never saw that one before,” Sam said.

“She was beautiful,” Carey said.

“So is this.”

Sam’s lips writhed as a guttural chant worked its way out of his throat. As Carey lunged toward him, hoping to interrupt it, Sam thrust his glowing crystal up at the sky and opened a rift above the statue’s partly buried head. From the tear in the fabric of reality, a clenched fist—like the hand of Sargos himself—punched downward and smashed the head into huge chunks that fell to the sand with a series of thunderous booms.

Carey’s special attack, which caused a dozen shadowy gauntlets trailing black mist to suddenly appear around Sam and strike from all directions, was only partly successful thanks to Carey’s attention being drawn away by the enormous sky-fist. The damage was enough to seriously annoy Sam, which was almost good enough for Carey.

But the buried statue head… Something bright and fiery was now gushing upward from it, like a volcano, but instead of lava it was Blood Ether—a geyser of pure, hot, toxic energy, enough to fuel a million of Sam’s spells.

Carey ran to the nearest boulder from the shattered head. He went into sneak mode and hid.

Sam was laughing. A thick line of foggy scarlet energy now fed the crystal in his staff, originating from the geyser of Blood Ether. He was drawing from it. Carey could feel its prickling heat against his skin.

He watched as Sam cast a shield over himself. It coated his body like an inch-thick layer of oil infused with a sparkling red glow.

“Hey, DrollSack,” Sam shouted. “You think you can hide from me?”

“Maybe,” Carey shouted back, instantly darting from one boulder to appear behind another, using his advanced parkour skills to flip himself through the air like a ninja. Sam cast a warping bolt of electricity that bounced off the stones, shattering several. “Maybe not,” Carey added, “But they don’t care if you see them.”

He released a high-pitched, bird-like shriek from high up in his throat. Sam frowned, but his confusion only lasted a moment. The sky darkened, and Sam looked up but had no time to react as a flock of screeching hawks appeared from all directions at once.

They descended on Sam, talons extended.

The spell was known as “Call of the Bestial Archon.”

Sam blasted a few of them with spells, but he could only scream from the pain as dozens of hawks flew past him, swiping him with their talons, several crashing right into his head and chest to stab him with their sharp beaks.

To make things worse for the Low Mage, Carey used his Making It Rain throwing mastery to slow time by 50 percent, after which he tossed a Choir of Forbidden Souls potion above Sam. He expertly shot it with three arrows, and the flask exploded—hitting it three times was the only way to activate it, so you had to be quick and have the right bow—and the dark, misting rain that fell over Sam and the hawks caused phantom-like figures draped in hoods to rise from the sand. The figures held scythes that poured grey mist upward. Sam screamed as the blades tore into him.

Sam spun around, drawing ribbons of scarlet light around himself that erased the phantoms. And then an explosive blast flew outward from his body. The hawks in proximity of him were blown apart. Feathers rained back down, and blood speckled the sand. Sam stood in place as if nothing had happened. Some of the blood had gotten on his robe, and he absently brushed at it.

Carey bit back rage and focused on his next move. He drank a Grand Stamina potion to top himself up and watched as his skin turned silvery and shone like metal. With his Stamina fortified—he literally felt like a steel pillar as he transformed, thanks to the potion’s special effect—Carey phased into a Roqi.

Imagine a dolphin grew lean, muscular arms and legs and could swim through the air. That’s only a faint approximation of a Roqi’s power, speed, and finesse. Carey dove through the air toward Sam, wriggling his back half the way a dolphin might flap its tail in water, to slam into Sam and knock him to the ground. Then he clamped his enormous jaws around Sam’s neck and swallowed his head.

He bit down. Hard.

Sam screamed. Carey shook him like a dog with a squirrel in its jaws trying to break its neck. Then he tossed Sam toward a mess of broken stone, phased back into his human form, and scurried like a chimp toward the nearest one, already in sneak mode.

Carey used a mastery known as Parkour Demigod to dart like a light beam around the stone chunks, many of which were as tall and big around as log cabins. Sam tried to get back up and cast his next spell, but Carey managed to strike at him from different directions, slashing at him with his gauntlets, raining pain from left, right, and above, even sliding across the sand like a baseball player stealing home, slashing as he went. Adrenaline surged in his veins. He dove invisibly from behind one chunk to the next as Sam used his staff to blast the stones into dust. Feeling more alive than ever, Carey managed to stay one step ahead of Sam by tracking his eye movements as easily as if he’d internalized the cone of awareness. He could almost tell exactly where Sam would strike next.

He used a special ability to jump in front of Sam, gauntlets raised, finger knives ready—only to have Sam electrocute him with a bolt of jagged orange lightning. Carey’s body became a puff of mist and disappeared.

But that body didn’t exist—it was just a phantom version of him.

Another appeared to Sam’s right, and Sam similarly disposed of that version, but then two more showed up—doppelgangers, Carey Walsh lookalikes, each with a mind of its own—and launched themselves at the Low Mage. Shadow Army was the name of this particular attack.

Sam shot each clone with impressive accuracy, but it was obvious his Stamina was waning. It was becoming harder and harder for him to hold his staff upright, his back noticeably bent, his breaths more shallow and rapid. Finally, Carey crept up behind the Low Mage—the real Carey, not a doppelganger—and executed a special attack that consisted of him beating the tar out of the Low Mage with such force, and so many jabs of his gauntlets, that both Low Mage and Feral rose into the air, emitting cartoonish pummeling noises with each strike, Sam screaming with pain and rage as Carey’s metal knuckles broke his bones, and his finger knives opened veins and arteries all along Sam’s skinny frame.

They fell back to earth, bloodied and breathing hard. Sam was on his knees. Carey was exhausted, but he wasn’t finished yet. He drank another Stamina potion and phased into his Uyghulfang shell. He’d never felt taller in all his life.

Sam stared, wide-eyed, at the eight-foot-tall baboon-like creature standing over him. It was a pink baboon, of all things, but it was strong enough to grip Sam’s neck and lift him two feet off the ground.

Sam grunted, struggling to speak. He lifted his staff with one hand and cast a spell.

Damn it, forgot about that thing!

The spell caused energy from the smashed statue head to momentarily surge even higher, the gushing tip of the geyser flattening and spreading as suddenly as spilled milk spreading across a linoleum floor, until it seemed the sky was on fire with burning, bright-red Blood Ether.

Which subsequently rained back down, of course.

A shriek crossed with a roar emerged from the Uyghulfang’s throat, flinging spit all over Sam’s face. Carey tightened his grip on Sam’s neck, feeling his own HP run down as the burning acid rain bit into him, lighting his fur on fire and dissolving patches of skin. The spell was an unforgettable one—not just beautiful in the way it furiously lit the landscape on fire, each devastating drop sparkling in the air, turning the world red and hellish, but also ugly and terrifying in the way it spelled an automatic death sentence, the effect too potent and widespread to escape.

Carey used his other Uyghulfang hand to grab Sam’s staff and toss it away. Then, still gripping the Low Mage around the neck, he began to pummel him with his free hand, his fist as big as a twenty-five-pound dumbbell.

There were tears in Carey’s eyes. The fiery acid rain wasn’t letting up, and it was clear his HP wouldn’t last longer than another minute. But if he was going to die here, then he would take Sam with him.

Or would he?

Could he really kill another person? Another living human being? Even one as evil and twisted as Sam Solsteim?

No… I’m no murderer…

Carey relaxed his hairy, oversized Uyghulfang fist until Sam slipped from his fingers. The acid rain stopped, and the sky cleared, but the damage had been done. Carey was almost dead. The spell had sapped not just his HP but his Stamina—and not just the vital stats of his animal shell but his human form as well. That “crossing over” of damage was one of its special effects, unfortunately. Carey—the human Carey—was toast.

He dropped to his knees, choked out a guttural animal cry, and phased back into his human form. Suddenly, he was Carey Walsh again, and Carey Walsh he would remain. He didn’t have the energy to phase into any more animals or to keep playing this game.

Sam was also on his knees, exhausted, close to death. He made a Health potion appear in one hand.

“I could kill you before you finish it,” Carey said.

“You could try.”

Sam brought it to his lips.

“Go ahead,” Carey said. “But why bother?”

Frowning suddenly, Sam lowered the potion. They were kneeling two feet away from each other, like fraternity brothers about to endure a hazing ritual that involved fighting unarmed until only one was left conscious.

“Give up just like that, Walsh?”

“Just drink it,” Carey spat at the Low Mage. “Then kill me. Put me out of my misery. I’m done with games. I want to join my friends.”

“Your friends are dead.”

“Exactly. And you’ll live,” Carey said, “but for what? So you can join your dear old dad again? Be his goon? Is that the life you really want? Doing his bidding until your trust fund kicks in? He trapped you in here. He doesn’t care if you live or die.”

Pain rippled across Sam’s face. Carey felt sorry for him. For the rest of his life, he would hate himself and his father. Carey would be dead, but he’d linger in Sam’s mind like a poison. Because in death, Carey would be free. But Sam, though alive, would never learn to cast off the chains weighing him down. He would never be his own man.

And yet, Carey didn’t hate Sam. “You can be better than him,” Carey said, his voice ragged. “You’re not your father, Sam. He’s a wacko. And I’m not my father, either. He almost never showed me he loved me. But I understand now. He carries his own burden—a burden that doesn’t have to be mine… or yours from your dad.”

Tears glistened in Sam’s eyes as he listened. His hand lowered by degrees until the potion poured onto the sand and was cast aside. Was he ready to die, too?

Behind Sam, the toxic red geyser seemed to surge higher and higher. Somehow, Carey knew it would overflow soon and flood this desert, wiping it off the face of Astros—at least until the next instance of someone else’s game. By then, Carey would be dead.

“You don’t know anything about me, Walsh,” Sam said, his voice choked with emotion. “And my dad’s a genius inventor, one of the greatest men alive—not some sad-sack, sorry loser like your old man.”

Carey shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. But forget about fathers. I know what you are, Sam. You’re not just a bully, and you’re not evil, no matter how hard you try to be. You’re like me. Broken. All you want is friends like the ones I had, like Bea and Will and Min-joon. People to make you feel loved.”

Sam turned his head, as if the word broken was a slap in the face. Or maybe the word loved was the one he couldn’t accept. He closed his eyes.

“Is that what you are, Walsh? My friend?”

“Why not? We could both die here, like punks. Or we could team up.”

Carey reached a hand toward Sam. This wasn’t some manipulative plan to win. Carey couldn’t have cared less if Sam killed him right then and there. But he did care about making things right. Only love could do that, not hate.

“Look at me, Sam.”

Sam opened his eyes and studied Carey’s hand, but he didn’t take it. Carey let it drop.

“I don’t care about winning,” Carey said. “Or living or dying. Just don’t hate me. Because I don’t hate you. I’m tired of all the hate, Sam. I’m fucking tired of it.”

“I can fix that,” Sam said, his voice a snarl. By killing you, his tone seemed to suggest.

“Fine. Kill me,” Carey said. “At least I’ll die a man. Knowing that I figured it out. That I was better. I’m done being an asshole. I used to be as toxic as that energy burning behind you. But not anymore. You don’t have to be like that, either. It’s what your dad wants. Don’t be his lab rat. Don’t give in.”

Sam looked away, and Carey could see the doubt in his eyes. Veins stood out on his temples like signs of his inner torment nearing the bursting point.

“Which is it, Sam? Are you gonna kill me? Or are you gonna look up right now, and tell your dad, if he’s watching, which I’m sure he is…”

Carey looked up at the sky.

“Tell him what?” Sam asked.

“Tell him,” Carey said, as if speaking directly to the old man in the sky, “to fuck right off.” He looked back at Sam, who seemed slightly curious now, as though new opportunities had just opened up for him. “Then quit this game with me. Let’s get out of here and never play anyone’s game again.”

“Quit the game,” Sam said, nodding. “But the Blood Ether…”

He stood up, clearly infused by some force of will that came from no potion or spell in his arsenal. Then he did something incredible.

He reached down and extended a hand to Carey.

Carey could only stare at it, dumbfounded. Then he took Sam’s offered hand and let the Low Mage help him up.

“That fountain,” Sam said, studying the towering geyser of Blood Ether. “It’s an artery. We could poison it and destroy the whole thing. Win the game. I’ve never actually done it. I still need a few levels to survive such an attempt, but maybe… together…”

“Wait a minute. How do we poison something like that?”

Sam turned to Carey, and he was grinning. He held out his right hand, palm turned up, and made a green crystal appear. Bathed in light and bobbing a few inches above Sam’s palm as though suspended by a force keeping it from touching anything earthly that might soil it, the precious relic made Carey’s heart swell.

“It’s a Heavenly Shard of Aliara’s Eye,” Sam explained. “I found it on the corpse of another hero who came close to beating the game. There are only three of these hidden around Astros in any given instance of the game. They’re incredibly rare and hard to find. But they act like antimatter, destroying all Blood Ether they touch because…” He paused, gazing down at the beautiful crystal. “… because this is the opposite of Blood Ether. This is life itself.”

“Use it,” Carey urged Sam. “Only you can do it. Only you know how.”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“I’ll need you to fly us over the geyser and hover there while I recite the chant. We won’t make it out alive.”

Carey tipped a nod at Sam. “Let’s do it, brother.”

For the first time since they met, Sam smiled—really smiled, not one of his wicked, condescending grins. The quality that descended over his face in that moment was one of pure boyishness. He was, in that moment, just a clever little kid playing a game, a kid who’d just stumbled upon a secret weapon of great power, and he was obviously pleased to be sharing the experience with his friend.

Carey smiled back at him. He knew the feeling.

“I’m sorry I was such an asshole,” Sam said, making another Health potion appear in his hand.

“I forgive you, man. It’s okay.”

Carey also took a Health potion from his inventory. He and Sam clinked their potions together and chugged them. Then Sam clapped a hand on Carey’s shoulder. “If it means anything, you’re the best player I’ve ever stood against.”

Carey put his own hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Hang on for the ride.”

Before Sam could react, Carey phased into his owl form, grabbed the back of the Low Mage’s robe with his talons, and swung them both up toward the sky. The owl was enormous now, thanks to all the levels gained, and Carey could easily clutch Sam’s entire body in his talons, which is exactly what he did, facing the Low Mage downward.

They flew over the geyser. Looking down at it, Carey was amazed by the visual. It was like being above an ocean of blood that had been lit on fire, and the ocean was foaming and churning and spreading outward, eager to swallow the world. Carey’s owl flesh tingled, then began to burn.

The pain was remarkable. It must have been worse for Sam, whose skin was beginning to char.

“Okay!” Sam screamed above the rushing roar. “I’m throwing it in!”

Carey squeezed him to show he agreed. The pain was unbearable. Feathers along the edges of his wings had begun to catch fire. Carey loosed a screech from his owl throat.

“Good-bye, Carey Walsh!”

Sam reached out with his free hand and flashed a thumbs-up.

Carey released another screech, this one more controlled, noble, and friendly.

Good-bye, Sam, he wanted to say. And thank you for bringing me here.

Sam’s body caught fire, yet he managed to heave the crystal into the maelstrom before his hands melted, and instantly, the entire world exploded, white light filling Carey’s field of vision, until the energy finally lit his entire body on fire and consumed him down to the last feather.